I grab the pitcher and scramble past him, practically running for the door. I don't breathe until I’m back in the elevator, the doors sliding shut to block out his stare.
I slump against the metal wall, my legs giving out. I slide down until I’m crouching on the floor, clutching the empty pitcher to my chest.
Fuck.
That was too close. Way too close. If he had pushed harder... if he had decided to dig deeper right then just to be a prick... I would be burned. The heist would be over. The guys would be exposed. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back the tears of frustration.
I was sloppy. I went in without backup, without a spotter, without a real exit strategy. I did exactly what my pride and stubbornness wanted and it almost wrecked everything. And why? Because I wanted to prove I didn't need them.
And look where that got you, Demi. Cowering in an elevator with an empty pitcher.
The elevator dings at the 4th floor. I scramble up, smoothing my shirt, and step out. I start to walk back to my desk but change directions to the break room on this level. My mind is flashing through all the details of that encounter and I take steps to cover my tracks… just in case. I move to the ice machine, drag it away from the wall, unplug it and then fill the pitcher with ice, dumping it into the sink until the reservoir is empty. I run hot water on the pile of ice in the sink until it all melts away and then leave the pitcher on the counter and walk out. If Graft or Graves decides to follow up on my reason for being upstairs, they’ll find a broken ice machine and hopefully forget any suspicion my presence might have caused them.
When I get back to my desk, my legs and hands have stopped shaking but I still feel completely unstable so I shut off my monitor and grab my bag.
"Gary?" I call out as he walks by.
"Martha! Where’s my coffee?"
"I... I’m not feeling well," I lie, my voice genuinely shaky. "I think I ate something bad. I need to go home."
Gary frowns, looking annoyed. "We have a lot of prep to do for tomorrow."
"I know. I’ll be fine by tomorrow. I just need to sleep it off." I don't wait for his permission. "I’ll see you at the bus at 8:00 AM."
I walk out of the office and then the building fast, my heels dragging on the pavement, ignoring the rain that’s starting to fall again until I make it to the parking structure and fumble with the keys, my hands shaking again at how close to disaster that was. I climb into the driver's seat and lock the doors.
"Skip?"
She pops her head out from the blankets in the back, ears perked. I crawl back to her, wrapping my arms around her small, warm body. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the scent of dog and wool.
"I almost blew it, Skip," I whisper. "I almost lost everything."
She licks my cheek, a rough, comforting rasp with a small whine. I sit there for a long time, listening to the rain on the roof. I think about the cold van, the fear in the elevator as the crushing weight of loneliness I’ve suppressed for the last four years. And then I think about the rental house and how scared I was because the men in it took that weight away. I think about the promises they’ve made trying to convince me that we belong together. Not just on this job but together-together in a real relationship and I swallow back the sob choking my throat.
I wipe my face, remove the wig, glasses and contacts and crawl back to the driver's seat and turn the key. Betty rumbles to life after three tries, a familiar, comforting vibration.
"Buckle up, Sheriff," I call to Skip, my voice steadying. "We’re going to a new base of operations."
It’s late when I pull Betty into the driveway of the rental after driving around for hours getting my head and heart where it needs to be but the lights are still on. I kill the engine and sit there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. This is it. If I go in there, I’m admitting I need them. I’m admitting I can't do this alone and that I don’t want to. So, I let all the fears, the uncertainty go and straighten my shoulders. Fuck it… I want it all with them. A small grin forms on my lips as I start to feel more like myself again. Taking down all these greedy corporate monsters was always the end goal but maybe it is the three men inside that will be my actual prize.
I grab my bag and scoop Skipper up in one arm. She yips happily, recognizing the house as I punch in the door code and step inside. The warmth hits me first and then the smell of food. When I walk into the living room, they’re all there.
Damon is at the table as usual, surrounded by screens. Marcus is cleaning his nails with a switchblade on the couch and Andre is reading a book in the armchair. They all look up at once but none of them look surprised to see me. They don't look angry either. They just look like they’ve been waiting here for me to come to my senses.
I stand there in my ugly Martha clothes, clutching my bag and my dog, feeling like a child who ran away and only made it to the end of the block.
"I almost blew it," I tell them, my voice cracking.
Marcus stops typing. Damon closes the knife and Andre sets his book down.
"Graves, the security chief and his second in command, Graft, caught me," I confess, the words tumbling out. "I tried to test the keycard on the executive kitchen. I wanted to see if it would trigger an alarm. I didn't trust the intel so I went in blind."
"Did they make you?" Andre asks, his voice edged with concern.
"No. They still think I’m a terrified temp but they threatened me. Graft said he’d make me disappear if I stepped out of line again." I take a shaky breath. "I was sloppy. I was distracted. I was..."
"Scared," Marcus finishes for me.
