CHAPTER 19
SLOANE
The UNLV campus grounds buzz with the typical energy of a Wednesday at noon. Students sprawled on the grass, immersed in their books or just enjoying the spring sun. Animated conversations, occasional laughter, the stray frisbee soaring through the trees.
Everything is so normal. So overwhelmingly normal that I feel like an impostor among them. As if I were wearing an invisible sign screaming: "This woman is neck-deep in an undercover FBI operation against the Russian mafia and has no idea whose side she’s on."
Sergei and Yuri, my permanent shadows, wait in the car at a discreet distance, visible from where I'm sitting but far enough not to overhear my conversation.
I check my watch. 12:28. Cooper will be here in two minutes. He’s always punctual, a quality I used to admire and now sets my nerves on edge.
As if summoned by my thoughts, I see him appear on the main path. He walks with that fake nonchalance undercover agents practice, carrying a briefcase that looks too new for a professor with his alleged salary.
"Miss Murphy." He greets me upon reaching my bench, his voice perfectly modulated to sound professional. "Thank you for meeting with me to discuss your paper."
I make room for him on the bench, trying to make my smile look natural. Anyone watching us will see a student and her professor reviewing some academic work.
"Good morning, Professor," I reply, sticking to the script.
Cooper places his briefcase between us and opens it, pulling out a folder with papers. Discreetly, he activates the signal jammer he keeps hidden. The barely perceptible hum tells me we can now speak freely.
"Well?" he asks without preamble, his voice instantly shifting to a harder, more real tone. "What have you got?"
My stomach tightens. I've mentally rehearsed this conversation for the two days since the poker game, but now that the moment has arrived, the words seem to get stuck in my throat.
"The game was... interesting," I begin, carefully choosing my words. "Lots of important people. Lots of conversations about business that seemed to have double meanings."
Cooper watches me intently, his eyes evaluating every nuance of my expression. I wonder if he can read the lie I'm about to tell on my face.
"Did the contacts work well?" he asks directly. "We haven't received any transmission."
Here it comes.
"About that..." I lower my gaze, feigning frustration. "I had a problem. I couldn't use them."
"What kind of problem?" His tone hardens.
"They broke while I was trying to put them in," I lie, surprised by the ease with which the words leave my mouth. "I have sensitive eyes and they were irritating me too much. I was afraid they'd give me away if I kept trying."
The silence that follows is thick, almost physical. I can feel the disbelief emanating from Cooper like a heat wave.
"Are you telling me," he finally says, his voice controlled but with a dangerous edge, "that a technology worth over fifty thousand dollars broke while you were trying to put it in?"
I force myself to hold my gaze steady, not to blink, not to show guilt.
"That's exactly what I'm saying. I'm sorry, but I'm not a trained agent. I'm a civilian doing the best she can in an extremely dangerous situation."
Cooper exhales slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. I can see the gears turning in his head, evaluating whether to believe me or not.
"Fine," he says finally. "Accidents happen. We'll have to settle for your verbal report. What were you able to observe? Who was present? Did you hear anything about shipments, dates, contacts?"
"They didn't let me move freely," I continue with my carefully crafted story. "Dimitri kept me glued to his side the whole time. I was only at the poker table, playing. I couldn't explore or overhear private conversations."
Cooper studies me, his gaze more piercing.
"Are you sure that's all?" he asks, his tone insinuating that he suspects I'm hiding information. "Because you seem pretty... comfortable for someone who spent a night among dangerous criminals."
Heat creeps up my neck. Am I that transparent?
"It wasn't as terrible as I expected," I admit, mixing truth with lies. "They were respectful, at least with me. I think my connection to Harper gives me some protection."
Cooper leans toward me, invading my personal space in a way that makes me uncomfortable.
"Sloane, I need you to understand something fundamental." His voice drops, almost a whisper. "The personal impression you have of these men doesn't change who they are. They are criminals, traffickers, murderers. Being polite at a poker table doesn't wash the blood from their hands."
The image of Dimitri defending the waitress flashes in my mind. Also Alexei looking at Harper with adoration. Are they really what Cooper describes? Or is it more complicated than that?
"I know," I reply, tightening my jaw. "I'm not an idiot."
"Then act like you know it," he retorts, his tone harsher. "We need proof, Sloane. We need concrete intel. If you can't provide it, I'll start wondering if your loyalty is still where it should be."
Something breaks inside me. The frustration, fear, and confusion of the last few days converge on a point and explode.
"My loyalty?" My voice is a furious hiss. "You dare question my loyalty when I'm the one risking my neck? When I'm the one sleeping under the same roof as these supposed monsters? When I'm the civilian doing the job a trained agent should be doing?"
Cooper looks momentarily surprised by my outburst. He quickly glances around, checking that no one is paying us special attention.
"Keep your voice down," he orders. "I'm not questioning your courage, but your focus. You're going soft, I see it in your eyes. And that's dangerous, for you and for the operation."
I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. The bitter taste of bile rises in my throat.
"Look, I get it," I say finally, forcing myself to use a more reasonable tone. "You want results. So do I. But this takes time. I need to earn their trust before I can access really valuable information."
Cooper watches me for a long moment, evaluating. Finally, his posture relaxes slightly.
"All right," he concedes. "But we don't have infinite time, Sloane. Every day Harper stays with them is a day she's in danger."
A dry laugh escapes my lips before I can contain it.
"In danger? Harper is happier and more protected than I've ever seen her. If anyone saw her, they'd think she’s living in a fairy tale, not a kidnapping."
The words tumble out before I can think, and I know immediately I've made a mistake. Cooper's expression hardens.
"There it is," he says, pointing an accusing finger at me. "That is exactly what worries me. You're buying their version. You're letting them manipulate you."
"I'm not..."
"Stockholm syndrome," he interrupts, "doesn't just affect hostages, Sloane. It can also affect those who are too close to the situation. Watch out for that."
His insinuation lights a fire inside me. Is he suggesting I'm being manipulated? That I can't trust my own judgment?
"Don't lecture me on psychology," I retort, straightening my back. "I know exactly what I'm doing. And if you want me to keep doing it, I need you to trust me."
Cooper snaps his briefcase shut.
"I trust your intention," he says, standing up. "It's your objectivity I'm worried about."
He walks a few steps away, then turns to give me one last comment.
"I'll give you another week. After that, I need concrete proof. And Sloane..." His gaze turns meaningful. "Be careful with the brother. Dimitri Morozov has the more violent record of the two. He's not someone you want to get involved with."
I watch him walk away down the path, his silhouette dissolving among the groups of students. My heart beats too fast, my hands slightly shaky from the adrenaline of the confrontation.
I've lied to the FBI. I've hidden evidence. I've defied my handler.
And the most terrifying part is that I don't regret it.
As I gather my things, spotting Sergei and Yuri approaching to escort me back to the casino, I wonder when everything changed. When did I start doubting what I'd been told? When did I start seeing the Morozov brothers not as targets but as complex people?
When did I start thinking of Dimitri as something more than a criminal?
I have no answers. Only questions, increasingly confusing and dangerous. And one week to find my way in this moral maze before Cooper loses his patience.
One week to decide who to betray.