Reed sighed, pocketing the card. “Yep.”
He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Five years ago, Elena had walked out of his life to protect him from people who wanted to kill him. Today, he’d watched her walk out again because he was too much of a coward to face what her being alive meant.
But maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late to stop being a coward.
The elevator ride to the lobby was the longest thirty seconds of his life. But this time, Reed wasn’t watching the numbers go down with relief.
This time, he was going after her.
CHAPTER 3
Elena paced the small hotel room like a caged animal, her arms wrapped around herself as if she could hold the pieces of her composure together through sheer force of will. But it wasn’t working. Nothing was working.
She usually didn’t allow herself to lose emotional control. Five years of living in hiding, of constantly looking over her shoulder, of maintaining false identities and keeping her guard up at all times had taught her that emotions were a luxury she couldn’t afford. But tonight, in this sterile hotel room with its beige walls and generic furniture, everything she’d held back came flooding out.
She couldn’t stop crying.
Reed had sent her away. Just like that. After everything she’d risked to come to him, after laying her heart bare and begging for his help, he’d dismissed her like she was nothing more than an unwanted solicitor.
I can’t help you.
The words echoed in her mind, each repetition like a knife twist in her chest. She’d known he’d be angry. She’d expected hurt, accusations, even hatred. But she’d never imagined he would simply refuse to listen. That he would look at the evidenceof what was happening—the people dying, the technology being used to destroy innocent lives—and just walk away.
Elena sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling as she wiped her face. How naive had she been to think their history would mean something? That the man who’d once whispered “I love you too” would be willing to help her save the world from the monster she’d inadvertently created?
You’re alone,she told herself, the truth hitting like a physical blow.You’re completely alone in this.
The weight of that realization threatened to crush her. For five years, she’d carried the burden of WATCHDOG’s theft, the guilt over the lives lost because of her technology. She’d survived by telling herself that someday she’d find a way to make it right. That someday she’d be able to come home and fix what had been broken.
But now “someday” was here, and she was still powerless. Still running. Still watching helplessly as the surveillance system she’d designed to protect national security was used to blackmail politicians, silence journalists, and make people disappear without a trace.
Marcus Webb, her former mentor and the man who’d betrayed everything she’d believed in, was still out there. Still selling her life’s work to the highest bidder. Still using her technology to line his pockets while innocent people paid the price.
And now she had nowhere left to turn.
She fell to her knees beside the bed. The carpet was rough against her skin, but she barely felt it. The pain in her chest was so much worse than any physical discomfort.
“Dear Lord,” she began, her voice breaking on the words.
She hesitated, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as she tried to find the words for what felt like an impossible situation. How could she pray when everything had fallen apart? Howcould she ask for help when she had already lost the one person she’d hoped would save her?
“Please,” she whispered, the word torn from somewhere deep inside her soul. “Help me. Help me know what to do.”
Her voice cracked, and she pressed her hands to her face as another wave of grief crashed over her.
“Reed... he turned me away, Father.” The admission came out as a broken sob. “I thought... I hoped he would understand. I thought he would help me. But he’s gone, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
She cried harder, years of suppressed emotion pouring out of her in a flood she couldn’t control.
“Please help me figure out how to move forward,” she pleaded. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Elena stayed on her knees, head bowed, as she tried to quiet the storm inside her heart. The pastor at the church she’d attended last week—one of the few times she’d risked going to a service—had said something that hit her like a lightning bolt:You need to wait for answers to prayers. You need to listen.
That was when she’d actually prayed and felt like she should go to Reed. The certainty had been so strong, so clear, that she’d booked a flight to Seattle that very night. She’d been so sure it was guidance from God.
Now, she waited again, straining to hear something, anything, that might tell her what to do next. Maybe she’d gotten it wrong. Maybe the prompting she’d felt had been her own desperation masquerading as revelation. Maybe God wasn’t going to answer this time.
