After a beat, I talk through the lump forming in my throat. “This is your collar, Agent Machini, so you can do the write-up for it.” She hates that I’m keeping this professional as much as I do. We’ve never kept things formal. But today is different. Today, she put her life on the line, and I’m not willing to let that slide. “I expect a copy to be in my inbox before you rest tonight.”
Sighing, Macy briskly nods before she gathers her belongings and heads for the door.
Before she exits, I call her name, still not willing to let this go.
Although she doesn’t glance back at me, I’m certain I have her attention, because her shoulders sink when I say, “Do anything like this again, and the only report you will be writing is your resignation. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Special Supervisory Agent Rogers. I understand,” is the last thing I hear before she exits the hotel room that reeks of deprivation and disappointment.
10
MACY
As I sit at the kitchen counter, preparing the report Grayson requested, the muted television bounces rainbows on my laptop screen. Excluding Grayson occasionally moving around in the living room, it is quiet. The tension is thick enough to cut, and the weight of Grayson’s disappointment hangs heavily on my shoulders.
I broke protocol, and now he’s giving me the silent treatment. It’s awkward, but I deserve it, so I won’t make him feel bad about his contradictory reply.
After taking a deep breath, I focus on the task at hand. I need to write a detailed report on the operation that occurred tonight, covering all necessary details. I can’t afford to miss anything. Samuel needs to go down for his part in the disrespect these victims faced both before and after their deaths, and I won’t let my bending of the rules jeopardize that.
My fingers fly over the keyboard, struggling to keep up as I recall every detail of the evening. I describe the restaurant, transcribe my conversations with Samuel from the audio files, and remember the minutes leading to his arrest. No matter how small or insignificant it seems, I include everything in myreports, even the part where I threatened to castrate him, and the snivels he released when he believed every word I spoke.
I can’t afford to leave anything out.
Exhaustion sets in while I work. Though it’s been a long day and my body is begging for rest, I remain committed to completing my report.
I can’t let fatigue get in the way. This is too important. We are the only voice for these women—the only voice for my sister.
After checking that every i is dotted and every t is crossed on the transcribed manuscript, I glance at the clock, noting that it’s well past 2 a.m. Grayson hasn’t said a word to me since we got back, and his silence is deafening.
I understand why he’s angry, and I don’t blame him for his response. I put myself in danger and skirted the truth after promising to always be honest. I should have trusted him as I did three years ago when I finally admitted that Agent Moses had assaulted me, but I was too afraid of what he might do.
Also, it’s hard to be truthful when you know the person you’re endeavoring to be honest with isn’t following the same logic.
Grayson isn’t lying to me, but he is keeping stuff from me.
To me, that’s just as bad.
When the black words on the white screen blur, I rub my eyes, fighting to push through the tiredness overwhelming me. I have to finish this report first, and then I will rest, but my body is betraying me.
Desperate, I guzzle down a mouthful of the ghastly tasting tea Grayson purchased for me earlier today while I summon the energy to keep going. It is more soothing to my body than revitalizing, and it makes my efforts to stay awake ten times worse.
The exhaustion is too much, and before I know it, I drift off to sleep with my head resting on my folded arms, and thecompression of my wrists on the keyboard of my laptop making a mess of my report. I don’t care that I’m undoing hours of hard work. That’s how exhausted I am. I can’t lift my head for even a second.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep when someone pulls me into their arms. While blinking groggily, I try to make sense of what’s happening. I am unsure about the strange emotions bombarding me, but panic never engulfs me. The scent of bottled cologne and the unique smell that belongs solely to its owner announce who is carrying me in their strong, comforting arms. Although I stupidly balked at him earlier, I will never experience genuine fear while in the vicinity of this man.
“Grayson…” My voice is still heavy with sleep, even though I’m trying to sound awake and lively. “I’m?—”
“Shhh.” Despite the height of his taunt shoulders, his tone is gentle and nurturing. “Rest. Whatever you need to say can wait until the morning.”
I keep my eyes closed, too tired to argue, before I burrow my nose between his pecs.
As he walks us toward the only bedroom, I enjoy the warmth of his body heating my skin and the steady beat of his heart thudding against my ear. It’s comforting, and although I am sure it will lead to heartache, I let myself relax into his embrace.
He carries me into the room and then gently places me on the bed. When the bedding rustles under my backside, against the screaming protests of my thumping head, I open my eyes and look up at him.
I hate the hurt in his eyes, the disappointment. So much so that I blurt out two words I hadn’t planned to give him anytime within the next week. “I’m sorry.”
Though my voice is faint, Grayson still hears me. The high rise of his shoulders sinks, and the groove between his brows smooths a smidge.
