Page 67 of Hunted in the Silence

Olivia had told her what to expect. A formal review board. Not today but soon. A procedural inquiry into the events at the plant, specifically Cole’s without authorization and without waiting for full team positioning. The Bureau didn’t acknowledge the fact that the alternative to what Cole had done was Brynn in a building with a syringe and no backup within reach. They described the events on a surface level without ever touching the actual truth.

Pearson was not a bad man, Olivia had said. He ran a department and understood that they ran on procedure, and when procedure broke down, the department broke down, and a department that broke down got people killed. That was true. But it also wasn’t the whole story.

Cole came out of Pearson’s office at eleven forty-seven. Brynn saw him through the break room window, moving down the hallway toward her, and she read his face before he reached the door.

She stood up.

He came in and sat down across from her, the chair Olivia had been in, and Olivia excused herself quietly, understanding when she was not needed.

Cole looked at Brynn across the table.

“Walk me through it,” she said, her stomach in knots.

“Formal review board in three weeks. Pending the outcome, disciplinary action ranging from a written reprimand to suspension to termination.” He said it evenly, as if unfazed, but she knew better. “Pearson was fair. He laid it all out.” He paused to look at the floor, and his avoidance put her even more on edge. “He also said, off the record, that the case outcome and Devlin’s arrest were significant enough that the board would likely land at the lighter end of the range.”

“But not definitely.”

“No.”

She looked at the set of his jaw and the steadiness of his eyes when he looked back at her and saw a man who had already made a decision and was working out how to say it.

“Cole,” she began.

“I’ve been thinking about it since last night,” he interrupted. “Since before last night, honestly. Since the night in the safe house kitchen, when I understood what the case was and what it wasn’t and what I wanted my life to look like on the other side of it.” He stopped, breathed, then continued. “I told you, the Bureau has been my whole life. It was the right container for what I needed during those years. It gave me structure and purpose and a way to do the work that mattered to me after Abby.” He held her gaze. “I don’t think it’s the right container anymore.”

She studied him carefully. “You’re not making this decision because of me.”

“No,” he said. “I’m making it because of me. Because I walked into that building without permission, and I would do it again in a heartbeat, and a man like that does not belong in a job that requires him not to.” He sighed. “The Bureau needs agents who can operate within the rules. I can do that most of the time. But the one time I couldn’t, the one time it mattered most, I didn’t. And I’m not sorry.” He looked at the table for a moment, at his hands spread out on it. “A man who isn’t sorry for the thing he’s being reviewed for shouldn’t wait for the review board to decide his future.”

Brynn held her breath. She thought about what this was costing him, what it meant to build a life inside a box and choose to step outside it. She thought about Abby and what the Bureau had meant as a way of honoring her death, and what it meant to let that go.

“What would you do?” she asked. “Outside the Bureau.”

His expression shifted in a way that told her he knew exactly where he was headed, and she had a feeling it didn’t involve running away.

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” he said. “There’s a gap in what exists for cases like this one. Private investigations that work alongside law enforcement rather than inside it. That can take on the cases the Bureau can’t resource, the connections between networks that fall through jurisdictional gaps, the intelligence work that needs to happen before a case is big enough to warrant federal attention.” He looked at her, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “You built the center because that gap existed and someone needed to fill it. I’d be doing the same thing.”

She looked at the way his eyes danced when he talked about it, the energy she’d watched build and redirect itself for weeks and was now pointed at something new.

“You’ve thought about this seriously,” she realized.

“I’ve thought about it for about six hours,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But yes. Seriously.”

She considered this and how alive he looked just speaking about it, and then she said, “Carson would work with you.”

He blinked, caught off guard by her statement.

“He’s good and he’s understaffed and he’s been fighting this kind of case with a department that can barely cover the territory it’s responsible for. A private firm with federal case experience that he could call on the same way he called on you for this case,” she rushed to explain. “Dax, possibly. Finn. People who know how to do this work and want to do it differently than the structure currently allows.”

Cole’s brows pinched, but not in a bad way. He was considering her words, the implications of them, and she had a good feeling about what his response would be.

“You’ve thought about this for about thirty seconds,” he guessed correctly.

“I think quickly,” she said with a smirk.

He almost smiled. Then he reached across the table and took her hand, and she turned it over and held his, and the break room grew quiet.

“I’m going to resign before the review board meets,” he told her firmly. “It’s the right decision for the right reasons and I’m clear about that.” He paused. “I want you to know that it doesn’t feel like a loss. It feels like the next thing.”