Chapter 33
The house was too quiet.
Not silent. But unsettling, even though she wasn’t alone—Andy was in his room.
The refrigerator hummed. The air conditioner kicked on with a low rush. Outside, a few children laughed and shrieked as the waves chased them back onto the sand. Ordinary sounds.
Still, Tess jumped when the ice maker in the freezer dropped a fresh tray.
Her heart lurched so hard it left her breathless.
She pressed a hand to her sternum and closed her eyes for a second. Her pulse felt wild beneath her palm—too fast, too loud, like it was trying to outrun something that wasn’t even there.
You’re home. You’re safe.
She repeated the mantra the way Brian had the night before, his arms wrapped tight around her while she drifted in and out of fitful sleep.
Every time she’d woken up, shaking, convinced for half a second that the hood was still over her face and her life was about to end, he’d whispered those words until she drifted off again.
In the still of the late morning, while she waited for him to return from the SBI headquarters, those unwanted memories burst through her mind once again.
Grabbed and thrown into the back of the van.
Loss of vision.
Zip ties.
Panic.
Dragged out of the van and downstairs.
Concrete.
Diego’s voice. His demands and threats.
The blast.
The single gunshot.
Brian rescuing her.
Okay, the only reason the last thought was unwanted was that it wouldn’t have been necessary if not for all the rest.
Her throat tightened.
You’re home. You’re alive. And so are Andy and Brian.
She forced herself to open her eyes and look around the living room, noticing the small comforts of their temporary home.
A throw blanket was folded neatly over the arm of the couch, and Andy’s backpack sat on the dining table.
The faint scent of lemon cleaner lingering in the air—she’d scrubbed the kitchen and bathrooms twice already this morning, needing something to do with her hands.
Normal things. She was safe, but her mind and body didn’t believe it yet.
A shiver ran through her body, and she pulled the blanket over her to ward off the sudden chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.
She stretched out on the couch, the cushions dipping under her weight.
The fabric brushed against her bandaged wrists, and she froze—just for a split second—before reminding herself it wasn’t restraints. Just cotton gauze.
Her gaze drifted to the back door. Locked. Deadbolt thrown. She’d checked it. Twice. She’d checked the rarely-used front door too. And the windows.
She almost got up to check again.
Instead, she drew in a slow breath, filling her lungs the way the nurse at the hospital had taught her last night. She’d completely unraveled—hyperventilating when the shock circled back and hit her all over again while Brian had stepped out to use the men’s room.
In for four. Hold. Out for six.
She winced. Every muscle in her body ached, and even though they weren’t broken, her ribs protested when she drew too deep a breath or turned too fast—a temporary souvenir of her abduction.
Her eyes stung unexpectedly.
She’d never been afraid of the dark. Nor afraid of silence. She worked around death every single day, so even the sight of blood, internal organs, and brain matter didn’t bother her.
But now—
Now every unexpected sound made her flinch. Every passing car outside slowed her pulse for a fraction of a second too long. Every creak of the house settling felt like a warning.
She adjusted a throw pillow under her head and stared at the ceiling, trying to get her mind to settle while debating whether to clean the kitchen for a third time.
Dr. Hansen had insisted she take the rest of the week off when she’d called him from the hospital the night before, and she hadn’t even tried to argue. The steady authority in his voice had made it clear it wasn’t a suggestion.
She’d waited in a private ER room for nearly two hours, wrapped in a thin hospital blanket that did nothing to stop the tremors that kept sneaking up on her.
Uniformed officers had come first. Then, more plainclothes agents.
An SBI supervisor whose name she’d already forgotten had introduced himself, his tone careful but direct.
Statements had been taken.
Forms signed.
Questions asked and answered.
Then asked again.
Every time she described what had happened, it felt less real and more horrifying all at once—as if she were recounting someone else’s nightmare while still trapped inside it.
Brian had stayed the entire time after getting permission from his supervisor to have his debriefing this morning.
He’d pulled a chair close to her bed and never once looked impatient or distracted.
When her voice shook, he squeezed her hand.
When she lost her place mid-sentence, he quietly filled in the gaps without speaking over her.
Meanwhile, Sean, Rafe, and the SRT team had handled the remaining arrests, given their own statements to their respective supervisors, and waded through what was undoubtedly a mountain of paperwork.
Sean and Rafe had checked in with Brian several times while she was in the ER, asking how she was holding up.
She’d caught pieces of those conversations and felt a surprising wave of gratitude.
It made her feel like she was part of the family Brian had mentioned before—part of that thin blue line of law enforcement.
Even if she stood on the outer edge of it, she wasn’t outside looking in.
She’d been in the ER for about half an hour before Andy had arrived with Dan and Bonnie.
She could still see her brother’s face when he first walked into her room. White. Tearful. Shattered.
“It’s my fault,” he’d kept saying. “I shouldn’t have— I didn’t think—”
She’d grabbed his hand despite the IV in her arm. “Stop. I’m okay.”
But he hadn’t believed it.
And this morning, he still didn’t, if his avoiding her, downcast gaze, and slumped shoulders were any indication.
With her mind ping-ponging from one horrible memory to the next, unbidden and relentless, she glanced at the clock on the mantel.
Ugh.
What had felt like three hours had only been three minutes since she’d last checked the time.
While she was exhausted, if she closed her eyes, she could still feel the hard, damp floor under her. The bite of plastic around her wrists and ankles. The suffocating press of that hood.
Her fingers curled around the blanket, holding it close, wishing it were Brian’s arms instead.
I will always find you. Always.
The words felt fragile, like something precious that she wanted to—no, needed to hold onto.
His voice had been solid in the aftermath of her ordeal. Grounding. Certain. He’d held her like she might break apart if he loosened his grip.
Her chest tightened again—but this time for a different reason.
He’d left for his headquarters just before six a.m., over five hours ago, needing to fill out paperwork, debrief with his supervisor, and be interviewed by someone from Internal Affairs—standard operating procedure for an agent-involved shooting.
He hadn’t been able to give her an estimate of when he’d be back, but she hoped it would be soon.
Dan and Bonnie had stopped by earlier with a bag of fresh bagels and a tub of cream cheese, the kind gesture wrapped in quiet concern.
They hadn’t stayed long—just enough to see her with their own eyes, to look Andy over, and to assure themselves neither of them was falling apart more than they were letting on.
The older man had rested a steady hand on Andy’s shoulder and told him to take the day off, but to be at the store tomorrow on time and ready to work his ass off. No lecture. No pity. Just expectation.
Andy had nodded, subdued but responsive, giving Tess a flicker of relief.
Somewhere along the way, Dan Malone had slipped into the role of father figure without making a production of it. Gentle when needed. Firm when necessary. Clear about right and wrong. Tess had watched the shift happen over the past few weeks and couldn’t deny how much it mattered.
She imagined that the same steady influence had shaped Brian and his brothers after their parents' deaths. Structure instead of chaos. Accountability instead of anger. Love without smothering.
Andy needed that. And for the first time since all of this had started, Tess allowed herself to admit she couldn’t be everything for him on her own.
Her gaze flickered toward the hallway that led to her brother’s room. His door was still closed. No music. No game sounds. No low murmur of him talking on the phone drifting under the door.
He’d only come out one other time that morning—to use the bathroom—his eyes down, his shoulders rounded. He refused the breakfast she’d offered to make for him, just shaking his head and retreating to his bedroom like he didn’t deserve to take up space.
Guilt.
She recognized it immediately—heavy and suffocating and impossible to outrun.
They needed to talk.
She’d put it off all morning, telling herself that he needed time. That she needed time. But the necessary conversation was like a live grenade.
“Tess?”
She hadn’t realized Andy had come out of his room.
He stood at the end of the hallway to her left, just beyond the back of the couch, hovering like he wasn’t sure he was welcome to step into the living room.
He appeared taller somehow. Thinner. Older—as if he’d aged five years in the past twenty-four hours.
His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes clumped slightly. He’d been crying.
Her chest tightened.
She pushed herself upright too quickly, pain flaring through her ribs as the sudden movement made the blanket slide from her shoulder.
His gasp echoed her own.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, even though her pulse sprinted.
“You’re not fine.” His voice was rougher than usual. Sadder.
She forced a small smile. “I’m working on it.”
He didn’t smile back.