She’s silent for a beat, then says, “What does that mean, exactly? Are they expecting me to push harder? Start using those ridiculous prompts they made me memorize? Because I won’t compromise the therapeutic relationship just to?—”
“Nina, slow down.” I can hear the edge creeping into her voice. “It’s not about changing your approach. It’s about them taking this seriously enough to commit real resources.”
“What kind of resources?”
“Full operational support. Round-the-clock surveillance, dedicated intelligence teams standing by, expanded security protocols. And they’re sending me to LA for DEA support on the operation.”
“So more ears listening?”
“More protection,” I correct. “More people watching your back. More analysts ready to act on anything actionable that comes through. They’re not asking you to do anything differently—they’re just making sure you have everything you need to do it safely.”
“I see.” Her voice is steady, but I can hear her processing. “How long have you known?”
“I just found out tonight. After listening to your session recordings.”
She exhales slowly. “Good. Because I spent weeks memorizing their ‘suggested conversation starters’ and they were all terrible. ‘How do you process feelings of betrayal?’ ‘What does loyalty mean in your operational context?’ Like I’m conducting an exit interview instead of therapy.”
I almost smile. “I take it you don’t plan to use any of them.”
“Not if I can help it. They opened up because I treated them like human beings, not intelligence assets.” Her voice softens slightly. “Sorry. I know you’re not the one making these decisions.”
“Nina, about Chris showing up?—”
“He said he’s handling Tatiana Petrov now. Some last-minute assignment change.” Her voice gets quieter. “But that wasn’t really why he came.”
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know. To see me, I think. We couldn’t exactly have the conversation we needed to have... It’s complicated, Wyatt. All of this is complicated.”
There’s a strain in her voice that goes deeper than just Chris showing up unexpectedly. Something fragile underneath the controlled professionalism.
“I know.” I pause, remembering her earlier text. “Nina, you said we needed to talk. Is everything okay?”
A longer silence. “It’s not... it’s not about Chris specifically. It’s about all of us. What happened that night.” Her voice gets quieter. “But I can’t do this over the phone. It’s too much.”
My chest tightens. Whatever she needs to tell me, it’s big enough that she can’t say it while there’s three states between us.
“Okay.” I don’t push. I’ve learned that much about her—when Nina needs space to process, pushing only makes her retreat further. “We’ll figure it out when I get there. Speaking of which, Mason invited me to dinner next Wednesday night.”
“Oh?” Her voice shifts to mild amusement. “Callie invited me.”
“Did they talk to each other first, or is this just how they operate?”
A small laugh escapes her. “Probably both.” She’s quiet for another moment and I can picture her calculating her next words. Then she says, “I invited Chris. I’m not sure if he’ll show up.”
Of course she did. Of course all three of us are going to end up at the same dinner table.
I think about telling her. About Chris showing up at her apartment in Denver, desperate and unraveling. How afterward he couldn’t even look at me, just dressed in the dark and disappeared before dawn like shame was chasing him.
But what would telling her accomplish?
“I should let you go,” she says finally.
“Nina?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for calling.”
