Chapter 22
Somehow, between the time Rochan left the meeting room and when I ended up in her office, she had been surrounded by a handful of people, including her assistant Ben, all of whom she hastily dismissed upon my arrival.
The tight-lipped smile from Ben was a small comfort, as he closed the door on his way out, trapping me alone with Rochan.
“Take a seat.” There was no eye contact as I sat down in one of the upholstered chairs. An over-used drawer scraped and sawed, as an unmarked folder was pulled out and onto her desk. Folders were rarely a good thing. “Do you know why I’m bringing you in?”
Oh, for the love of god, this could have been for any number of reasons, and me saying anything would just get me into more trouble. Especially if I guessed wrong.
Rochan’s fingers tapped the plain folder in front of her, waiting out my response. Whatever hole I’d dug for myself was already deep, so I dug deeper. “You’d like… to give me… a raise?”
She inhaled, fingers stilling, as she tried to maintain her composure. “No.” She flipped open the document in front of her, contents obscured by the cover. “I received the results of your drug test.”
The drug test that should have resulted in nothing being detected, yes, I was familiar.
She waited. I waited.
Seconds felt like minutes as they passed.
Rochan was holding out, but I was determined to hold out longer, which garnered me another disappointed sigh from the assistant director. “Imagine my surprise when I found out there was so little of anything in the results, it was like someone tested water.”
Shit.
Silence was still best. I didn’t want to get caught lying to someone so high up in the FBI, but my first priority was to protect Todd, whose admission about the test had allowed my overhydration in the first place.
Giving Rochan nothing to work with, she continued, “Which of course, is not possible. Not usually. So, I had them re-run the tests.”
Not good. Not good at all. A ball of tension worked its way up my throat then slid back down, taking up residence behind my sternum.
“Were you worried about what the test would show?”
I chose my words carefully and truthfully. “I wasn’t worried about drugs.”
“Oh, I know.” Rochan slid the dreadful folder to me across her desk. “I didn’t get around to looking at the results until this morning, but I imagine this is something you would want to see.”
I was fairly certain I didn’t want to have anything to do with whatever was inside. What were the chances she would just let me go and not open it?
“Open it, Ms. James.”
Well, that answered my question. Hiding the shake in my fingers, the rasp of dry paper against my skin, I flipped open the folder.
Inside was a medical form. Lots of squares and check boxes. It didn’t take much to figure out I was looking at the analysis of the re-run test.
Scanning the sheet, the ball of tension in my chest expanded until it reached my spine.
There, near the bottom of the page, in indelible ink, it said:
Delilah James: Pregnant.
No.
Shards of ice shot through my veins, sluiced through my skin. Blue-black panic consumed me.
I thought I had done enough. Drank enough. Hell, my one saving grace in this mess was that the FBI had no idea. Because, somehow, I’d been foolish enough to believe I deceived an institution that thrived on uncovering the truth.
No.
Concern clawed at my throat. Coated my tongue.
None of my training prepared me for this. This wasn’t a situation I could fight or logic my way out of. To confront my situation with the fucking Assistant fucking Director of the fucking FBI had not been on my bingo card for today.
And there it was—the presence of my passenger—on fucking paper. Catalogued and recorded, as permanent as my prison record.
No. No. No.
My vision shook, blurred. My lips, numb.
At least no one knew my passenger was Jack’s. Unless… oh god, did Jack already know? Did Rochan share this with them?
No. No, she couldn’t have. Rochan’s discovery had been recent. The agents had treated me the same as they always had.
But then again, Jack was remarkably good at ensuring things seemed business as usual in front of the team.
Breathe. Breathe. Just in. Then out.
Swallowing air in small choking snippets, I knew I was less than subtle. But with the tightness in my chest, breathing seemed as reasonable as free-soloing the Washington Monument.
For god’s sake, Delilah, you’ve spent your whole life breathing. It shouldn’t be this hard.
But it was, and I needed to get it together.
“—Ms. James, I asked if you are alright.” Rochan’s words cracked through my frozen shell.
I blinked. Once. Twice. Three times, before I realized Rochan was seated in the chair next to me, and not on the opposite side of her desk.
“Who knows about this?” My voice was surprisingly level, deep.
Rochan produced a tissue from the box on her desk and handed it to me.
I wasn’t going to cry—I refused to cry over this—so I folded it and placed in my lap.
If the corners were folded just so, the square perfect and unused, maybe Rochan would believe I had my shit together.
“Me. The people who re-did your lab work.”
Oh. Okay. That was… that was good. But that didn’t mean it was going to stay that way. “Is there a process? Does this mean Jack and Todd…”
“Agents Hess and Galt remain uninformed. I don’t know all the goings on, but this is not my news to share.
” There was a softness to Rochan I didn’t expect, and seeing as I was wracking every nerve in my body to behave, it was greatly appreciated.
“Despite the status on this paper, you haven’t done anything that conflicts with your agreement, am I heard? ”
No, I must have heard wrong. Because Jack and I sleeping together crossed every. Single. Line.
The gentle warmth of hope skated across my skin. Which meant she didn’t know Jack was the father. Hadn’t even considered it. Perhaps Jack’s perceived inability to have children was more widespread than I thought.
“Delilah.” She used my name. My first name. “Am I heard?”
My heart stuttered. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You don’t seem to believe me.”
“It’s just—"
“The only way this would put your position in jeopardy is if you broke the contract. If you stopped taking birth control. Or, if I’m blunt, Jack was the father.” My heart stopped before taking up thundering rhythm. “Something which I’m sure we both know is not possible.”
So, she did know about Jack. Which meant her words should have comforted me. They should have been reassuring. For one reason or another, she didn’t suspect Jack and I crossed the line, which should have a been a relief. Instead, the blue-black panic slammed back into me at full force.
Because Jack was the father, and sooner or later, someone would find out.
“I’m sorry, I just—” Needed to get out. I didn’t care if I had permission to leave.
“Take all the time you need.” As she spoke, I got to my feet and grabbed ahold of the door. “Supports will be made available. A note will be sent to your inbox with resources, given the… unique nature of this situation.”
I don’t remember what I said, what words came from my mouth, if there were any. I vaguely remember nodding, as I put one foot in front of the other, trying to create as much distance between myself and the piece of paper sitting on Rochan’s desk.
Ben said something to me as I passed through the outer office. The only words I made out were “money” and “Ms. James.”
Later. I’d, I’d come back for it later. I needed fresh air. Now.
It was reasonable for someone who presumably just found out life changing news to go outside. Right? Yes, it was. This was normal. Me being strange and not controlling my emotions was perfectly normal given the circumstances.
If anything, it made my surprise more believable.
The world warped and slowed around me, everything muffled, like I was underwater. My limbs waterlogged and heavy with an overwhelming sense of dread. Which was appropriate because I was doomed.
I was going back to prison. There was no way I’d get out of this now. And Jack, Jack still didn’t know. I’d planned on telling him later today when we met at the Jackalope, the news meant to stay between the two of us.
Now, everything had changed. For the worse.
I didn’t recall walking the halls, or taking the elevator down, but somehow, I made it outside. Just a few steps out of the FBI entrance, I squinted at the stifling sun.
What if I just ran?
Disappearing would be favorable to captivity. Embarrassment. The disappointing looks from Todd.
My feet carried me a couple more paces before, despite all my internalizing, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Which usually meant something was out of place. Wrong.
A moment later, I smashed into someone, a man, and as an involuntary “sorry” slipped from my lips I felt a piercing jab into the slope of my neck. A stinging in my veins. The world slowed as I turned, catching a glimpse of the man I ran into—
Wait, why was the man wearing a ski mask?
Shiiiitttt….
My body turned to gelatin, my muscles relaxing to the point I couldn’t support my own weight. The man in the ski mask caught me, dragging me to his chest to keep me upright.
I wanted to push away. To scrape and claw and fight. But I couldn’t even hold my head up, couldn’t raise my arms. Nothing but deadweight, the last thing I remember was the pull of damp cotton against my cheek, a blackout hood placed over my head, and the world went dark.