Chapter 4 #2
"So yes. You leave." I stand, unable to sit still anymore. Unable to keep the hurt from bleeding into anger. "You stay just long enough to ease your conscience, then walk away again. Just like before."
"Rachel—"
"I need you to understand something, Colton." I cross to stand in front of him, forcing him to look up at me. "I could have loved you and still protected myself. But you never gave me that choice. You made it for me when you walked away."
His expression fractures. Careful control slips, and for just a moment I see the man underneath the operator—vulnerable and hurting and wanting things he thinks he can't have.
"I know." His voice drops. "I know I took that from you. But I'm here now, and I'm not asking for anything except the chance to keep you and Lucas alive."
"That's the problem." I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together. "You think you can just show up and play bodyguard like we're strangers? Like there's no history between us? That's not how this works."
"Then tell me how it works." He stands, closing the distance between us until we're barely a foot apart. "Tell me what you need, because I don't know anymore. I don't know how to be around you without wanting things I have no right to want."
Standing this close to him makes my skin prickle with awareness—the same magnetic pull that used to drag me into his orbit despite every warning sign screaming at me to run.
"I need you to stop making decisions for me," I say, stepping back to put space between us.
"I need you to be honest about what's happening and what you're planning.
And I need you to understand that I'm not some civilian asset you're protecting.
I'm Lucas's mother, and I get a say in how we handle this. "
"You do have a say."
"Do I? Because from where I'm standing, you showed up with a plan already in place. New identities. Relocation. My entire life uprooted because your team decided it's the best option." I cross my arms. "Maybe it is. But you didn't ask. You told."
His jaw tightens, but he nods slowly. "You're right. I should have presented options instead of a plan."
"And going forward?"
"Going forward, we make decisions together." He meets my eyes. "About the relocation. About the timeline. About what happens next."
"Good." I hold his gaze. "Because I've spent years rebuilding my life after people took my choices away. I won't let that happen again. Not even from you."
His jaw tightens, but he nods. "All right."
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, and tension floods back into his shoulders.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Camera picked up a vehicle." His voice shifts into command mode. Professional. Controlled. "Dark sedan, no plates visible, moving slowly down the street. Third pass in the last hour."
My pulse spikes. "Is it them?"
"Don't know yet." He moves to the window, careful to stay back from the glass. "Could be nothing. Could be surveillance."
"What do we do?"
"You go to Lucas's room. Wake him quietly. Get him dressed and ready to move if I give the signal." He doesn't look away from the window. "Don't turn on any lights. Don't let him know anything's wrong. Just get him ready."
My body moves before my mind catches up. Fight or flight kicking in, adrenaline flooding my system. This is what the cartel taught me. What Mateo's compound drilled into my bones. How to function when terror wants to freeze you in place.
"Colton—"
"Go." His hand finds mine in the dark, squeezes once. "I'll watch. If it's nothing, we stand down. If it's something, we move fast."
His palm is warm against mine. Calloused from years of holding weapons instead of holding people. The brief touch grounds me, reminds me that I'm not alone in this.
I pull away and head back down the hallway to Lucas's room, moving quickly but quietly. Every instinct screams to run, to grab Lucas and disappear into the night. But Colton knows what he's doing. Knows how to read threats and calculate odds.
I have to trust him with this, even if I can't trust him with my heart.
Lucas's room is still peaceful when I slip inside. Still safe. Still untouched by the danger circling outside like a predator testing the perimeter.
I kneel beside his bed and place my hand gently on his shoulder. "Lucas. Wake up, baby."
He stirs, eyes fluttering open. Confused but not afraid. Not yet.
"Mom?"
"I need you to get dressed, okay? Quickly and quietly." I keep my voice calm, steady—the same voice I used in the compound when staying calm meant survival. "We might need to take a little trip."
"Why?" He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Mr. Stryker just wants to make sure we're ready in case we need to go somewhere safe." The lie comes easily, smoothly. "Can you do that for me? Get dressed and put on your shoes?"
Lucas nods, still half-asleep but trusting. Always trusting his mother to keep him safe.
I move to his window and peer through the blinds. Street looks empty from this angle, but my view is limited. Colton can see more from his position. Colton knows what to look for.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. A text from Colton:
Stand by. Vehicle stopped three houses down. Two occupants. I’m watching.
I type back with trembling fingers:
Lucas is getting dressed.
His response comes immediately:
Good. Stay calm. Might be nothing.
But it might be something. Might be Committee operatives closing in on the witness they need to eliminate. Might be the beginning of the nightmare I've been dreading since Colton walked back into our lives.
Lucas emerges from his closet wearing jeans and a hoodie, his sneakers in hand. "Are we going now?"
"Not yet. Just sit on your bed and wait for me to tell you, okay?"
He nods and settles on the edge of his mattress, shoes clutched in his lap. Waiting. Trusting. Believing his mother will protect him from whatever darkness is gathering outside.
I move back to the window, watching the street. Watching for headlights or movement or any sign that the people in that sedan are more than just neighbors coming home late.
My phone buzzes again:
False alarm. Just some teenager bringing his girlfriend home.
Relief makes my knees weak. I brace against the wall and force myself to breathe.
"Mom?" Lucas's voice is small. Scared now despite my efforts to keep him calm. "Are we okay?"
I turn and manage a smile. "We're fine, baby. Everything's fine. Mr. Stryker was just being careful."
"Because of the bad people?"
Question stops me cold. "What do you know about bad people?"
"I heard you talking earlier. About people looking for me." His eyes are too old for six. Too knowing. "Is it because of what I saw? At the grocery store when I went around back?"
My heart clenches. Martinez Grocery. Three weeks ago.
I was inside on a work call that couldn't wait, told Lucas to stay right next to the cart.
When I finished and turned around, he was gone.
Found him two minutes later coming from the direction of the back alley, pale and shaking.
He wouldn't tell me what was wrong. Just held my hand so tight it hurt all the way home.
I thought he'd seen a scary dog or a homeless person or something that startled him. Never imagined—
God. I should have pressed harder. Should have made him tell me. Should have been watching him instead of taking that damn call.
I wanted to protect him from this. Wanted to keep his childhood innocent just a little bit longer. But Lucas is smarter than I give him credit for. Smarter and braver and more aware of danger than any kid should have to be.
And I failed him. Failed to watch him at the grocery store. Failed to press him for answers when he came back scared. Failed to protect him from witnessing something that's now put a target on his back.
I cross to his bed and sit beside him, pulling him close. "Yes. But Mr. Stryker and his team are going to make sure those people can't find us. We're going to be okay."
"Promise?"
His word is a knife. Because I learned in Mateo's compound that promises mean nothing when evil is hunting you. That safety is an illusion and tomorrow is never guaranteed.
But Lucas needs me to promise. Needs to believe his mother can keep him safe.
"I promise," I whisper against his hair. "I promise you're going to be okay."
He relaxes against me, trusting my lie because what else can he do?
We sit like that for a long moment, mother and son clinging to each other in the dark while danger circles outside and Colton Stryker stands guard down the hall.
Eventually, I tell Lucas he can go back to sleep. He changes back into his pajamas and climbs under the covers, exhaustion winning over fear.
I wait until his breathing evens out before heading back to the living room.
Colton is still at the window, but his posture has relaxed slightly. Immediate threat has passed.
"False alarm?" I ask.
"This time. But we'll monitor." He finally looks at me. "You did good. Kept him calm."
"He knows." The words taste bitter. "About the people looking for him. He's scared, Colton."
"I know." His expression softens. "But he's also got you. That counts for more than you think."
"Does it? Because from where I'm standing, being his mother just means I get to watch him be terrified and pretend everything's fine."
"It means you're the reason he's still fighting. Still hoping." Colton moves away from the window, closer to me. "You survived Mateo's compound and built a life for him. You're stronger than you think."
"I don't feel strong. I feel terrified."
"Good. Fear keeps you sharp." He pauses. "But don't let it make you forget that you've already survived worse than this. You know how to protect him."
His words settle something inside me. Remind me that I'm not the helpless victim Mateo tried to break. I'm the woman who survived captivity and came out the other side, who rebuilt her life from nothing.
The woman who will do whatever it takes to keep her son safe.
"Get some sleep, Rachel." Colton's voice is gentle now. Less operator, more human. "I'll wake you if anything changes."
"Your team is monitoring the cameras. You should get some rest too."
"I will. Just want to make one more perimeter check, then I'll rack out on the couch." He glances toward the window. "Echo Base will alert us if anything trips the sensors."
I want to argue that he should take the guest room instead of the couch, but that feels too domestic. Too much like we're something we're not.
"All right." I pause in the doorway. "Thank you. For being here."
He nods, jaw tight. Doesn't say anything, but something in his expression changes. Softer, maybe. Or just tired.
I head back down the hallway, leaving him to his vigil. Leaving him to watch over my house and my son while I try to remember how to trust.
Around me, the house settles into familiar sounds—creaks as it shifts, distant hum of the air conditioning, faint ping of a motion sensor resetting.
My home, but with new layers added. Security systems monitoring the perimeter. A man in the living room standing guard. A threat circling somewhere in the darkness beyond our walls.
I still don't know which scares me more—the danger outside, or the possibility that I never really got over him at all.