Chapter Eighty-Two
Raine
Inara pulls into the garage, idling a few feet from the elevator, and checks her phone. “Brett and Toby are safely stashed in one of our hidey holes. He’s recording his affidavit now. You’ll have it the minute he’s done.”
I nod, but the motion lags half a second. “Thank you. Really. For everything.” The gratitude is easy. This next part? It’s harder. “When Asher is— One of us will call you.”
Inara studies me, head tilted to the side, a slight frown curving her lips. “I’m coming up.”
“You don’t have to—”
She gives me the side-eye, puts the car in reverse, then pulls into a space close to the elevator.
The garage tilts a few degrees to the left as I get to my feet. My fingers curl around the doorframe, knuckles white, until the world steadies itself. “I’m fine,” I say—as much to myself as Inara.
“Uh huh. Most people who are ‘fine’ don’t announce it.”
In the elevator, Inara stands slightly closer than necessary. Not touching. Near enough to steady me if the floor tilts again.
I focus on breathing, and getting inside the apartment so I can remove my hat and sunglasses. They were easier to tolerate today, but still far short of comfortable.
“Let me clear it, okay?” she asks when I unlock the door.
I nod, then watch her move through the space with practiced ease. Closets, bathroom, behind the couch, and inside the tiny pantry hidden by a narrow door.
Thirty seconds later, she moves to the fridge. “I’m making you lunch. Anything in here you can’t eat?”
“No. Asher...” I can’t finish the sentence. He left me all those containers. Four days of food, labeled and tucked away because he knew I wouldn’t take the time to cook anything.
“Well, shit. Someone planned well. Friday lunch it is.” She pulls the Tupperware of creamy potato soup out of the fridge and starts rummaging through the cabinets for silverware and a bowl.
I sink down into one of the kitchen chairs to open my laptop. The disposal order folder sits in front of me, but the characters are nothing more than faint black lines against a white background. I can’t make them resolve into words.
“So…” Inara sets the bowl, spoon, and a glass of water next to me. “Want to tell me why you don’t think you’re living through the end of this?”
I choke on the first taste of soup.
“Sorry. My timing is usually better than that,” she says with a little smile. “But that doesn’t change the question.”
I eat slowly. Deliberately. Keeping my focus on the bowl so I don’t have to look Inara in the eyes. Halfway through, I pause. “I’ve run the variables. All of them. In most of the scenarios, we’re together. In a few…that doesn’t happen. I’ve made peace with the odds.”
Inara leans back in her chair, lifts the lid on the box of donuts, and places a large fritter on her plate. “Well, I haven’t.”
A sudden burst of emotion flushes my cheeks. “For what it’s worth, I’m going to try very hard not to die.”
Her light, musical laugh fills the space between us. “That’s something, at least. Eat. Talking about death can wait until after the dishes are done.”
The soup helps. Until it doesn’t. The exhaustion sitting behind my eyes moves somewhere louder. My vision blurs for a moment, and I push up from the table to make another French press pot of coffee.
The bag slips from my hand. It lands on the counter, splits open, and beans roll everywhere with tiny, ridiculous-sounding plinks.
I stare at the mess with no idea what to do next.
“Okay.” Inara turns from the sink, dries her hands on a dish towel, and folds it carefully. “You’re wiped, hon. Why don’t you get horizontal for a bit? I’ll clean this up.”
The panic is immediate and not entirely rational. But knowing those things doesn’t help. The heat hits my face first. A sudden rush of blood that floods through my neck, into my cheeks—then vanishes in a heartbeat. The cold is sudden and everywhere, and I can’t tell if I’m breathing.
“Raine?” Inara asks, positioning herself in my eye line.
“I can’t… The disposal orders. I have to redact them before Brett’s affidavit comes in so I can send the third packet and contact GSD and get Asher out of there…”
“I’ll do it.”
I blink, not quite understanding those three words.
“You sleep,” she says. “I redact. You wake up, the orders are ready, and we wait for Brett’s affidavit together.
” She pauses for a moment, her tone softening even further.
“I’m as stubborn as you are, Raine. And I’ve been in…
well, not your shoes, but similar ones. I’ll tell you that story when this is all over. But you have to be around to hear it.”
I’m exhausted in a way that’s almost worse than when I escaped from the black site. There, it hurt, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do…anything.
But now, it does. Now, if I can’t function, Asher—
“Okay,” I whisper. “The redactions are straightforward. I can show you.”
We move back to the table, the beans forgotten all over the counter.
I open the laptop and show her the folder.
“We’re redacting Voss’s name. I need leverage to get Asher out of GSD custody, and this will do it.
If I threaten to release the unredacted files—blast his name all over the news—I think… he’ll agree to my terms.”
I don’t tell her those terms might involve me voluntarily turning myself in. Or what happens once I do.
Inara reaches out, but her hand stops an inch from mine before she rests it on the table next to the laptop. Like Asher, she’s adjusting around me. Easily. No fuss. No judgment. Just…acceptance.
“If I survive this,” I say quietly. “Maybe we try that whole”—I swallow hard—“friendship thing.”
Inara looks up, smiles.
“When.” She pulls the laptop closer and opens the first disposal order. “When you survive this.”
I’m already halfway down the hall by the time her words register. I crawl into bed and let myself sleep.
“Raine?” Inara knocks softly. I sit up so quickly, the room spins. I’m still clutching Asher’s pillow to my chest, and the ache of it—of it being only his pillow and not him—hits before I’m fully conscious.
“I…what?” My words are too thick, sleep still clouding the edges of my mind.
“Shit. I’m sorry. Brett’s affidavit came in. Transcript too. I thought you’d want to know. And I finished the redactions.” She doesn’t hover. Doesn’t fidget. Inara seems to radiate calm in everything she does.
“I’ll…give me a minute. I’ll come out.” I push off the blanket, setting my feet on the floor briefly before I try to stand.
Inara sits at the table, laptop still open, her phone propped up next to it. The kitchen is spotless again. “We don’t need to watch the whole thing—unless you want to. Natasha sent a transcript too.”
A full French press sits next to the laptop, along with a fresh mug, and I pour myself a cup. The scent helps enough for my brain to catch up. “Natasha?”
Inara smiles. “She’s one of ours. Kind of. Another former Ranger. The first, actually. She doesn’t work for Hidden Agenda, but the Canada job hasn’t quite wrapped up yet. So she’s the one I called to get Brett somewhere safe.”
I nod, filing that away as if it will matter later. As if I’ll still be…here.
Inara launches the recording, and we watch in silence.
Brett sits at a table I don’t recognize, in a room with neutral walls, Toby curled up in his lap.
His voice is steady, and he looks directly at the camera.
His entire demeanor is that of a man who’s been waiting a long time to tell his story in a way that matters.
After seven minutes, I pause the recording.
“He’s good. Credible. Can I see the transcript?”
I scan it quickly. The first death. The incident report.
How approvals were requested. And, finally, what manual disposal looked like.
Waiting up to twenty-four hours for a cardiac event to occur on its own.
Then inducing it with a single injection and watching the detainee die.
I don’t let myself dwell on that part. Not now.
“The second video is all about Voss,” Inara says with a delicate snort. “The transcript reads like a blackmail how-to manual.”
“That’s part of my final drop. The one I’ll use to get Asher out.”
I’ve already written the cover letter for the third packet, so it takes me less than five minutes to get everything together, add it to my SecureDrop folder, and hit Send.
“Done.”
The word sits there for a moment. Everything I’ve been working toward since Asher carried me out of Coherent Path—barely alive—is now in the hands of the Public Integrity Project.
This last packet proves that GSD purposely ordered multiple agents’ deaths for nothing more than being…difficult. Which means Asher has very little time left.
My stomach flips. Coffee…might not have been the best idea.
“Voss will contact me soon,” I say, forcing strength I don’t feel into my voice. “After this hits. He won’t have a choice. So…I need to ask you for one more favor.”
Inara sets her coffee down, giving me her full attention without making it feel like pressure. “I’m listening.”
“Asher is being held at a GSD interrogation facility in Kent. I need someone outside with enough firepower to cause a distraction if things go sideways. And…possibly a getaway driver.”
Her eyes narrow, head tilted slightly to one side. “Is this a full extraction with multiple hostiles? Do I need blueprints? I can get a team—”
“No. If you can give me that distraction, then the calculus changes. My response to Voss changes.” I press my fingertips to the table top.
It’s smoother than the one in Seattle. Fewer grooves and scratches for me to ground against. But after a moment, I can feel my pulse enough to speak again.
“He wants to win. So I let him think he has.”
“You are not walking in there and giving yourself up.” Inara’s dark gaze sharpens. “Not an option. If I call the guys in Boston right now—hell, I’ve got a guy in Texas. No…two guys in Texas—”
“Asher doesn’t have six hours. Or even three. I’m not surrendering. That’s just the play. Make Voss think I am, and he gets cocky.” Wrapping my hands around the coffee mug, I tell her the plan.
When I’m done, she glances at her watch. “If I don’t get to Hidden Agenda and raid the weapons locker, we’re doing this with the M4 stashed under my spare tire and whatever firepower Asher has hidden in that closet. The minute Voss contacts you, let me know.”
“I will.”
She pauses at the door, the box of donuts tucked under her arm. “What would you have done if I’d said no?”
“Told Voss he had to release Asher or I’d expose him.” I offer her a small smile. “Hoped for the best. Tried not to die in the process.”
She doesn’t flinch. “You don’t strike me as someone who leaves things to chance.”
“No.” I shrug, pleased when my shoulder doesn’t do more than twinge. “But I’m trained. And Voss didn’t manage to kill me the first time, despite how hard he tried.”
I lift my gaze to hers. “If he boxes me in—if I can’t get clear—I’ll remind him he’s digging his own grave. That tends to focus people.”
Something in Inara’s expression settles. Almost…understanding. “I’m glad you called me,” she says quietly.
And then she slips out the door.