Friday afternoon, my phone rings. Wyatt.
I stare at his name on the screen for three rings before answering.
“Chris.”
“Hey.” His voice is careful, like he’s testing the temperature. “How are you?”
Not perfunctory—he actually means it. Wyatt probably always means things like that.
“I’m...” Falling apart. Watching Nina from a distance. Trying not to think about you. “Fine.”
A beat of silence that tells me he doesn’t believe me.
“Chris—”
“I’m managing,” I cut him off, sharper than intended. “What do you need?”
He exhales, recalibrating. “I wanted to let you know I’m being reassigned to LA. Long-term placement.”
I grip the phone tighter. “When?”
“Next week. Flying in Wednesday morning.”
Of course they’re sending him. The DEA wants their own eyes on the ground, someone to balance out my creative interpretation of protocol. And who better than the agent who actually follows protocol?
“They tell you why?” I ask.
“Officially? Operational expansion. They want someone with institutional knowledge of the players.” Another pause. “Unofficially? I think they want someone keeping tabs on the situation.”
“On me, you mean.”
“On all of it.” His voice is steady, not defensive. “Look, I know this complicates things.”
I laugh, short and bitter. “Things are already complicated.”
“Yeah.” He’s quiet for a moment. “How is she?”
Of all the topics he could choose—the one we’re most at odds about. Her assignment. The fact that he helped facilitate her presence here. And yet... relief floods through me. Because talking about Nina, even arguing about Nina, is safer than talking about myself. About us. About what happened in Denver.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve been... maintaining distance.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve been watching her. Not talking to her, not approaching her, but watching. Because you can’t help yourself.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just recognition. “I’d be doing the same thing.”
The honesty is disarming.
“She seems okay,” I say finally. “From what I can tell.”
“But?”
“But something’s off. I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I got that sense when I talked to her Tuesday. She said we needed to talk when I get there. That it wasn’t for a phone call.”
My pulse kicks up. “She reached out?”
