I grabbed the handset. “Copy that.”
The moment shattered, but Mia hadn’t looked away. The silence stretched between us, heavy with years of accumulated hurt and unasked questions. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but carried the weight of every day I’d been gone.
“You just disappeared. That’s what hurt most.”
“I know.” It was all I could say. All I had the right to say. “I know.”
We were approaching a section where the road narrowed to one lane, orange cones and a temporary signal controlling traffic. Diesel’s brake lights flared red as we joined the line of waiting vehicles. Three cars ahead, maybe a five-minute wait.
I used the stop to look at her properly, cataloging the changes six years had made. She was thinner, her face carved down to its essential angles. There were lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there before, the kind that came from squinting against too much sunlight or too much pain.
God help me, she was even more beautiful now. Not the easy, sunshine beauty she’d had at twenty-two, but something deeper, more complex. Like a blade that had been tempered by fire. The pull I felt toward her was just as strong as it had always been, maybe stronger, and that terrified me almost as much as wondering what had happened to change her.
“Julian Oliver isn’t like these idiots,” I said, shifting back to immediate dangers. Safer than navigating our past.Definitelysafer than thinking of how attractive she was. “He’s smart. Former military intelligence.”
“Military?” She turned toward me again slightly. “Like you?”
“No. Not like me.” I watched the signal, waiting for green. “He was the kind who sat in air-conditioned offices and decided who lived and died based on spreadsheets. Now he thinks he’s going to reshape America with weapons and terror.”
“And you’re going to stop him?”
I couldn’t answer that directly, not even in a clean vehicle. “Right now, I’m just trying to keep us alive.”
The signal changed. Diesel’s truck lurched forward, and I followed, maintaining the interval. The road narrowed here, carved into the mountain face with a drop on one side that would kill anyone who went over.
“Every bit of intel I’ve read says he’s paranoid, controlling, and he likes to test people,” I continued, keeping my voice low even though we’d checked for bugs. “When we get there, you need to be someone specific. Someone who won’t trigger his suspicions.”
“Who?”
“Scared. Broken. Mine.” Each word tasted like poison. “Always call me Coop, never Ryan. The person I was doesn’t exist there.”
She nodded, processing. Always quick to understand, even when understanding hurt.
“Be scared of me when others watch. Flinch if I move too fast. Look at the ground when I’m talking to you.”
“Like property.” Her voice was flat.
“Like property,” I confirmed, hating myself more with each word. “With Oliver, specifically—never challenge him. Never meet his eyes directly. Speak only when he asks you a direct question, and keep answers short.”
“What will he do? To test me?”
“He might try to provoke you. Get inside your head. Oliver’s got a psychology degree from before he went military. He likes to play games, see what makes people break.”
“And if I break?”
“Don’t.” I took a breath, softening my voice. “Just…trust me when we’re in there. Even if what I do seems wrong. Even if it seems like I’m?—”
“Like you’re the monster you’re pretending to be?”
The accuracy of it hit like a physical blow. “Yeah.”
“I trusted you before. Six years ago.” Not an accusation, just a statement of fact. Simple. Devastating.
“I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you to trust me again.” I could see the terrain changing ahead, moving into more remote territory. “Your life depends on it.”
She was quiet for a long moment, watching the mountains grow more desolate. We’d left civilization behind miles ago, entering Oliver’s kingdom where law was whatever he decided and mercy was a foreign concept.
“How many men?” she asked, practical now. She’d always been practical.
