I bit back a comment about being handled.Not the time.
Two hours later, we'd hammered out details. I'd go in tomorrow night, just another piece of cargo delivered byfreelance suppliers. The raid would hit at dawn, giving me eight hours to get inside and disable their escape routes.
"Eight hours," Phillips repeated as the meeting broke up. "Can you maintain cover that long?"
"I handled myself for twelve weeks," I said evenly. "Eight hours is nothing."
Nathan didn't speak during the drive back to his apartment. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, jaw clenched so tight I worried about his teeth. When we finally parked, he killed the engine but didn't move.
"Say it," I told him.
"Say what?"
"Whatever's eating you alive. Better out than in."
"I hate this." The words came out raw. "Hate that you're right. Hate that it makes tactical sense. Hate that I'm sending you in there like—"
"Like bait," I finished. "Because that's what I am. What I'm choosing to be."
"I'm supposed to protect you."
"No." I turned in my seat to face him fully. "You're supposed to respect me. There's a difference."
"Can't I do both?"
"Not always." I unbuckled my seatbelt. "Sometimes respecting me means letting me make dangerous choices. Letting me be more than just your rescued rabbit."
"You're not—"
"I am though. Part of me always will be." I got out of the car, needing space. "That's what you don't understand. I can't just shed that skin. I have to integrate it. Use it. Transform it into something that serves me instead of him."
He followed me to the elevator, crowding in beside me. The tension rolled off him in waves, filling the small space like smoke.
"I could lose you," he said to the closing doors.
"You could lose me crossing the street." I hit the button for his floor. "At least this way, the loss means something."
"Not to me."
The elevator dinged, doors sliding open. I stepped out first, anger building with each step toward his apartment. He unlocked the door and I pushed past him, needing distance but finding only walls.
"So what then?" I whirled to face him. "I should stay here? Hide? Let other women burn while I play house?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." My voice cracked with frustration. "Every time I try to use my skills, my knowledge, my experience for something good, you look at me like I'm made of spun glass."
"That's not—"
"It is!" I moved into his space, backing him against the closed door. "You say you see me as feral, not broken. But then you try to cage me anyway. Just with nicer bars."
"Wanting you safe isn't caging you."
"It is when safety means inaction." My hands fisted in his shirt. "I need to do this, Nathan. Need to prove that everything he put me through can serve a purpose beyond his sick games."
"Prove to who? Me? The FBI? Or yourself?"
The question hit like cold water. I released his shirt, stepping back.
