Page 16 of Deep Cover

The room was dead silent again, but no one was amused now. Rome uncrossed his arms and Rorke’s expression shifted as he realized the teasing they’d been enjoying came with a depth of pain they all understood.

“She thought you were dead.” Cannon’s statement stabbed Rivers all over again.

He nodded. “And she just found out otherwise. Today. In the dining room. In front of the entire team.”

“Jesus, Rivers.” Rome dragged a hand down his face. “No wonder she threatened to kill you. No wonder she took down Townie when he got in the way.”

“I could have handled her easy. But I don’t hit girls.” Townie was just flexing to preserve his ego, but he shot Rivers a sympathetic look.

“Now she’s here.” Rivers blew out a breath but it didn’t help ease the tightness in his chest.

Cannon studied him for a long moment. “You good?”

Rivers thought about how Caryssa’s hand felt in his when he bandaged it.

How those little freckles on her nose stood out so sharply against her face that was too pale.

How she wouldn’t meet his gaze, and when she did lift her eyes, she looked right through him as though he was a stranger wearing a face she used to love.

He thought about six years of time he never got to explain.

His throat clamped tight, every breath scalding.

“No,” he said. “I’m not good. Not even close.”

* * * * *

Reid was shot. He could have died.

Caryssa turned the information over in her mind for the tenth time since she’d caught the casual mention of Reid and a bullet, unable to decide what made her angrier—that he’d nearly died again, for real this time, or that according to every official record, he already had.

Reid Rivers had a death certificate on file. She’d seen it with her own eyes.

She shoved her hair off her brow. She didn’t even know if the shooting was true. Nothing here came with proof.

This place was hooded car rides and a room full of secondhand furniture and two women who treated her as if she were the enemy.

Fine. If no one would tell Caryssa where she was, she’d figure it out herself.

In the kitchen, she’d spotted a whiteboard mounted on the wall. A column of names ran down one side, with numbers and tallies beside them that looked unmistakably close to bets.

She’d just been committing the names to memory when Reid had turned around and blown her entire understanding of the last six years to pieces.

But one glance was all she needed.

Now, sitting at a desk with the secure connection Jolie had rigged for her, Caryssa pulled up the names one at a time. She only had last names, and in some cases, nicknames, to work with.

Cannon. Townie. Rome. Monk. Rorke. Younger. O. Rivers.

Her heart flexed at the last name she once thought would be her own.

Chewing her bottom lip, she searched through file after file. It didn’t take too much digging to find what she was looking for.

Deceased.

Deceased.

Deceased.