CHAPTER 27
Cole
The debrief should only take thirty minutes, but it goes on for an hour because I keep losing the thread.
The debrief should have been held the day after we rescued Tessa, but I kept pushing Malik off.
I honestly didn’t want to think about any of it and needed some space, and Malik granted it without question.
But I’m here now, and I’ve got to get it done.
Malik sits behind his desk with the case summary pulled up on his laptop and a pad with handwritten notes beside it.
He’s been walking me through the disposition of everyone involved with the methodical thoroughness that makes him good at his job.
He’s already done this with Sully and Reid so his questions are organized and pointed.
And I’ve been present for approximately half of it, the other half wondering what Tessa’s doing today. It’s been four days since I walked out of her house and she’s been on my mind at least twenty-three out of every twenty-four hours.
Always the same question… did I make a mistake by throwing in the towel?
“Pelham is out of surgery,” Malik says, and I pull my attention back to the room.
“Femur damage was significant and required a second procedure. He’ll be in the prison medical unit for another two to three weeks before they transfer him to general population.
Bail was denied—flight risk, obvious danger to witnesses. ”
“Good,” I say dully. I mean… yeah, glad that wound I gave him will haunt him the rest of his days and also glad he’ll hobble around behind bars for a good chunk of the rest of his life. But in the grand scheme … not overly important to me.
“DelRey and Schwartz both posted bond. Million dollars each, ankle monitors, house arrest.” Malik leans back in his chair.
“RainVest stock dropped forty-one percent at opening bell this morning. Trading was halted twice.” A pause as he stares at me a long moment.
“The company is functionally done. Whatever assets DelRey has liquid he’s going to burn through on legal fees before this goes to trial. ”
“Schwartz will flip,” I say confidently. “He’s the weasel of the bunch.”
Malik chuckles with a nod. “Yeah… apparently there’s a pool going in the FBI office. Hara bet he’ll flip within the week. My sources tell me his lawyer has already made informal contact with the prosecution about a cooperation agreement.”
I don’t say anything because really, it’s not amusing to me the way it is to Malik or Hara.
I think he mistakes my silence for worry about the case, his expression somber yet reassuring. “It’s over, Cole. Everything Tessa built holds. The case is airtight, she’s safe and it all goes back to normal.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, forcing a small smile and rising from the chair. “If that’s all, I’ve got a few things I’ve got to do.”
“Sit,” Malik orders, and while it’s said in a neutral tone, I can see the weight of authority in his expression. I lower myself back down into the chair. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” I say, my jaw tightening in defiance.
“Bullshit.” He crosses his arms on his desk and leans forward, as if removing those extra few inches between us lends more credibility to his words.
“I know some post-traumatic stress when I see it, and you’ve had your fair share of trauma recently.
” He opens his desk drawer, pulls out a card and slides it across the desktop.
“I want you to call this man and set up an appointment, and before you argue, this isn’t a recommendation. It’s an order.”
I nab the card, flip it over to read. James Miller, Psychologist, and under it is a small line that says Specializing in Combat Trauma, Reintegration Issues, Moral Injury. My eyes lift to Malik. “You want me to see a shrink?”
Malik’s gaze hardens. “I want you to get help, which I think you need.”
I tip my head and laugh, tossing the card back at him. Malik’s eyes go round in shock, then light with furious fire. “There’s nothing wrong with seeking psychological help,” he snaps, completely offended. And I suppose he would know since he went through a brutal period as a prisoner of war.
I shake my head, my chuckles dying down. “I’m not dissing psychological help,” I assure him, my words sobering. “But that’s the wrong kind of psychologist I’d need.”
He stares at me blankly for all of two seconds, then I see understanding filter in. “Tessa,” he says.
Just that one word… the one person who has me fucked up. “Yeah… Tessa.”
“Not good?” he asks. “I just assumed when you needed a few days off that you were spending them with Tessa. Celebrating the victory, cementing the reconnection.”
“I spent them camping up in the Cascades,” I say. “Alone.”
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I look at the tactical map on the wall behind him, the pins still in it from the property in the Cascades.
“Nothing’s going on. The case is closed, she’s—”
“Cole.”
I stop.
He looks at me with eyes that have seen more than any human should have to see and he doesn’t say anything else. He was in a ten-by-ten hole in the Syrian desert and recalibrated entirely what qualifies as difficult. He’s got the patience to wait me out.
I look at the map for another moment, then succumb to the realization I’m probably not leaving this office until I give him what he wants.
“Tessa and I parted ways, and since I know you’ll hammer me for details, let’s just say it’s the same problem that broke us apart five years ago.
I don’t like that she works a dangerous job and she refuses to leave it. End of story.”
“If it were the end of the story, you wouldn’t be sitting here looking like a man who lost everything.
” I wince, because that’s pretty accurate to how I feel.
He’s looking at me not with judgment or sympathy but more along the lines of recognition.
“You assumed she’d change because of what she went through…
well, what you both went through. That she’d finally understand your position. ”
“Yeah… given the fact she came close to dying, it was a logical—”
“Assumption,” he cuts in over me. “After everything she’d been through, you walked in there and told her who she was going to be now.” He pauses, leveling me a hard look. “I’m just curious how you’d feel if someone dictated your emotions to you.”
“Ouch,” I mutter, the truth of his words slicing deep. “Regardless of how it went down, she’s not going to change and that’s a problem. She’s going to walk back into the next story and the one after that, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life worrying about her.”
“Yes,” Malik says simply. “You are.”
I frown, tilting my head as if I didn’t hear him right. “I am?”
“If she’s the one,” he says with gentleness, “that’s what it costs.
The fear doesn’t go away. You just decide what you’re going to do with it.
You decide how important it is for you to have that love, and you figure out how to fucking deal with it.
” He glances at Anna’s photo on his desk. “I know a little about that.”
I don’t say anything.
“It’s astounding to me that a man of your skills, bravery and knowledge would ever let fear dictate his happiness,” Malik says simply.
My frown deepens. I’m almost… offended that he would question my strength of character. But deep down, I know he’s broken this into its simplest form: I’m letting my fear of losing Tessa in a very particular way force the ultimate demise of my relationship with her.
And thus… I’m losing her anyway.
The office is very quiet as I mull this over.
I mean, it’s not a huge revelation. I’ve always known that it’s my choice to walk away and I understand the cost. I accepted the pain of losing her by making the decision to walk away.
What I was banking on was that the pain would be less.
“If I lose Tessa by my choice versus having someone else take her from me, I thought it would be more bearable,” I finally admit, my eyes lifting to meet Malik’s.
“And how’s that working out for you?” he asks glibly.
“Not all that well,” I grumble, running a hand through my hair.
“You can’t hold on so tight that you suffocate the best parts,” Malik says.
“You know that.” He taps a finger on his desk.
“The question isn’t whether you can keep her safe.
You can’t. Not always. Not completely. The question is whether you can live with that and love her anyway or whether you’re going to let the fear make the decision for you. ”
Yeah… it’s as simple as that, and as of ten minutes ago, I thought I knew the answers to those questions. But Malik’s spin on my dilemma casts a different light.
I think about those thirty seconds in the tree line with Reid’s hand on my arm and Sully’s lock on my waist. I think about the door coming off its hinges under my boot.
I think about the hood coming off and her face underneath it and the way she grabbed my jacket with both hands and didn’t let go.
I think about her sitting across from me in her robe telling me This is who I am with that absolute bone-deep certainty that I have always loved and been terrified by in equal measure.
“I think you might be right,” I say quietly. “I’ve been holding on too tight and it’s cost me everything.”
Malik looks at me for a long moment. “Sounds like you answered the important question with the right answer.”
There’s a knock at the door and we both look up. It’s Reid, leaning in the doorway with his usual affable smile, though there’s an edge to it I can’t read.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, looking at me. “You’ve got a visitor at the front desk.”
“Who?”
Reid lifts a shoulder, his eyes glinting. “See for yourself.”
And I know who it is before I clear the chair.
I know because the frequency I’ve been tuned to for five years hasn’t gone quiet since I walked out her door. I come around the corner into the lobby and there she is.
Tessa.