I glance at Adena.She's staring out the window, her face reflected in the glass—pale, composed, still on.
The white line down the center of the road blurs and doubles in the rain.I blink hard, force my eyes to focus.One mile at a time.Get us back safe.
I pull into the lot and reverse park near our room, angling so we can see anyone approaching.
Adena’s the first to move; she’s out the door and jogging before I switch off the engine.
I slam the door, lock the truck, set the alarm, and run after her.Rain is coming at us sideways as I jam the key into the flimsy lock.
Out of habit, I sweep the room and catch myself smiling when I notice her doing the same.
“The cops,” she says.“Pretty big coincidence, don’t you think?”
I do think.“They just happened to pick the same diner, same time.”
She nods and peels off her wet jacket.“Are they dirty?”
I shrug.“No way of knowing who’s on Marquez’s payroll and who’s just doing their job until it’s too late.”
She grabs a handful of her hair and squeezes out the water onto the threadbare carpet.“Never thought I’d be lying to the good guys.”
I strip off my jacket and toss it on the closest chair.“If they’re clean, they’ll understand.”
Something flickers on her face.“That doesn’t make it right.”
“Think of it as another necessary evil,” I say.
When she doesn’t reply, I cross my arms.“Undercover isn’t pretending to be someone else.It’s silencing pieces of yourself.You become whatever the moment needs.”
Her gaze drops, lashes shadowing her eyes.“What if the moment demands something you can’t afford to lose?”
I answer without hesitation, knowing the impact it’ll have on her.“You do it anyway.”
And you do.Because what Adena hasn't figured out yet is that when you're this deep undercover, sometimes it's the good guys who get you killed.
Adena
Jagger lets me take the first shower, and it's just as well.
The motel room feels smaller than it did when we first walked in.Two beds.One bathroom.Him on the other side of the thin door, close enough that I can hear him moving around, the creak of the mattress as he sits, the rustle of his jacket.
This isn't like staying at my own apartment, where every move we made was being watched.Here, there's nowhere to retreat.Nowhere to hide from the reality that we're alone together, pretending while something real keeps trying to surface.
Try as I might, I can't push down the guilt anymore.
I scoured scripture to back up my decision to come here, but I can't get past a single verse that’s currently playing on repeat in my head.
I am sending you out as sheep in the midst of wolves; so be as shrewd as serpents and as innocent as doves.
Innocent is something I most certainly am not.And the more time I spend in Jagger's company, the further away I get.
I swore I could handle this.But how can I justify doing all the things God hates?
I turn the shower on—the pipes groan and knock before water sputters out—and lock the door.The lock feels flimsy.Inadequate.Like everything else about this situation.
If I ever needed one of Zack's prayers, it's now.
I need clarity and wisdom.And I need it in spades.
