Silence settles, but my mind races for an angle. A way to get him to open up.
“You spoke for Phoenix… in the end.”
His face darkens, warm light from the lamp and hearth washing over his hard features.
His next words come out slow, measured. “Better than the alternative.”
That gets my attention.
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I try to speak again. I have to exhale first. “What does that mean?”
“You know, embed.”
I shake my head. “Only sometimes… to track down the really bad guys.”
“That your hobby, then?”
“You could say I don’t stop,” I answer, voice steel.
“You have the guts of an embed,” he says, snorting and looking away.
I don’t take the bait. Not switching topics.
“I’m not here officially.”
He shrugs.
“That means what you tell me stays between us.”
He laughs, letting his head fall back against the wall. “And your parents and your cousins, your uncles and aunts, your friends, Facebook, Instagram?”
“I understand you’re not at liberty to say certain things. But this is off the record. Between you and me. That’s it.”
He lifts his head, eyes locking on me. “Not at liberty. What don’t you understand?”
“Need to know. I get it.”
He opens his mouth, but I shake my head.
“Itisneed to know for me.” My voice sounds too raw now, too close to giving me away. I cast my eyes to the side, swallowing hard.
“Easy to be brave with other people’s families. Not your own.”
“You should know.”
“That’s why I said it.”
Silence. It stretches with the shadows as night closes in.
I feel it again. The claustrophobia. I’m stuck in this place. With this man.
I study his face for a long moment. Square-cut jaw, symmetrical features, haunting eyes. Mahogany color, like the earth where I’m from—SoCal. Not Colorado red clay.
His nose is aquiline and proportionate. I can’t tell if that’s natural, or he’s had it broken before. A thin, silvery scar runs down one side of his face and neck, disappearing beneath his collar.
“It’s obvious you don’t want me here,” I say.
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t move beyond breathing.
