Chapter 7 #2
She lowered herself to a chair. “I mean…maybe they’ve been watching, and in the storm…” Yeah, even to her own ears, it didn’t make sense.
So she was back to…betrayal.
No.
“He must be talking to the cops,” she said, forcing her voice steady. Keeping her expression neutral. No need to ignite suspicion in Patterson. “Giving his statement about pulling Mark out.”
Patterson drew in a breath, glanced at Dani.
Dani left, probably to confirm this.
Patterson turned back to her. “Witnesses are secure?”
“Yes. Destiny and Roger are fine. We’re all fine.”
“Where are they?”
“In bed. Resting. It’s been a long night.”
Patterson glanced at Martinelli, and he knocked on Roger’s door.
She just stared at him. “You don’t believe me?”
“I just want to make sure they’re actually fine.”
Translation: Make sure they’re actually here. Make sure this whole operation hasn’t been compromised.
Maybe this was how Asher had felt when she hadn’t believed him, back on day one.
Fine. Daphne knocked on Destiny’s door. The woman emerged, her face slathered in cream. “Sorry, ma’am, but…we need your statement.”
Destiny rolled her eyes, then disappeared and reemerged a moment later, her robe cinched tight around her. She still wore the face cream.
Patterson and Michael questioned both of them briefly as Daphne stepped away and dialed Asher.
No answer. She hung up when it went to voicemail.
Dani returned with a shake of her head. “EMS says Asher pulled Mark Sullivan out of the burning car. Got burned doing it. Maybe he went to the local clinic to get his burns treated.”
Made sense, but Daphne remembered the way he’d barely acknowledged them.
Yeah, no. But she kept her mouth shut.
Patterson and Martinelli dismissed Roger and Destiny, who gave Daphne a look as she returned to her room. Something of worry.
Patterson came over to them. “Okay then. We’ll just wait for Agent Morrison to return.”
Fun.
Then he turned to her, his dark eyes on her, and said, “What’s your gut here, Miss Cross? Do you trust your partner?”
She stared at him.
Ten days ago, the answer was no. Absolutely not. He was suspicious. Connected to criminals. Possibly the mole. Possibly corrupt.
Today—after the potluck and the hot cocoa and the pancake stories and the way he’d thrown himself between her and an explosion without hesitation—
The answer should be yes.
Should be.
But he’d disappeared. Without explanation. Without coordination. Without telling her where he was going or what he was doing.
“I think so,” Daphne said.
Patterson smiled, nodded. “That’s honest. I appreciate honest.” He looked at his watch. “When Asher returns, tell him I need to speak with him. Tomorrow. FBI office. Nine a.m.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Make sure you do. We have questions about tonight. About his involvement. About the timing.” Patterson moved toward the door. Paused. Looked back. “Kim. You stick around until he gets back. Just so Miss Cross has backup.”
She didn’t need backup.
But she got it.
Patterson was on a mole hunt.
“I’ll make sure he’s there,” Daphne said.
“Good.”
Patterson headed for the door.
The house went quiet, just Dani and Michael standing awkwardly in her foyer.
“I’ll make coffee,” Dani said.
Daphne pulled out her phone.
Daphne
Patterson wants to see you. 9am. FBI office. Where are you?
No response.
She waited. Five minutes. Ten. Watching the phone screen. Willing it to light up. Willing him to respond. Willing him to have a good explanation.
Nothing.
Outside, the fire trucks finally pulled away, red lights fading down the street. The rain started to let up, the thunder far away, a low, bare rumble.
Daphne sat on the sectional. Tablet in hand. Security feeds on screen showing an empty driveway where a car had exploded. Where Asher had saved her life. Where he’d saved Mark’s life. Where he’d been the guy she could trust.
Until he wasn’t.
Until he’d disappeared without explanation.
Until the questions came flooding back.
Was he genuine, or was this an elaborate setup? Was he protecting them or playing them?
Was he the agent trying to stop evil, or was he part of the evil they were trying to stop?
She wanted to bang her head on something. Sheesh, she’d started to trust him. Felt safe with him.
Even started to believe the partnership was…well, real, in a way.
Daphne stared at the security feeds. At the empty street.
Wondering if he would come back.
And trying not to think about the fact that waiting for him felt exactly like the thing she’d promised herself she’d never do again—depend on someone walking through a door.
But this time was worse.
Because this time, she didn’t know if the person she was waiting for had ever really been on her side at all.
She stared at her phone. Debated a moment and then…fine.
He’d left her no choice.
Stay calm. Stay controlled. Stay in character.
The mantra that had kept Asher alive for eighteen months.
But walking into the warehouse at midnight with burned hands and smoke in his hair and the image of Daphne’s face when the explosion lit up the night—calm was a lie he couldn’t sell anymore.
Draven’s text sat in his pocket.
Unknown Number
Next time, you won’t just get burned.
So yeah, the car fire had looked like an act of nature.
But the text had sliced through him.
Draven knew where they were.
And whatever the source of the fire, Daphne was rattled—he’d seen it on her face, despite her attempts to hide it.
He needed to get back in control of this game. Which meant finding out what Draven knew.
Asher pushed through the warehouse door.
Metal scraped concrete with a shriek that echoed through the empty space.
Cold air hit his face, carrying the smell of rust and motor oil, and standing water pooled in dark corners.
A single bulb hanging from a chain cast yellow light across stacked pallets and abandoned equipment.
Shadows stretched, long and distorted, across the concrete floor.
Dmitri stood near the back wall with his arms crossed. Leather jacket worn soft with age. Dark jeans. Expensive boots that caught the light. He looked relaxed. Almost bored.
“Rough night?” His voice carried across the empty warehouse.
Asher moved closer. Let Dmitri see his face in the harsh light. See the rage barely contained. “That was sloppy.”
“What was?” Dmitri pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Shook one loose with practiced ease.
“The car bomb. Mark Sullivan. The explosion that brought the fire department and police and FBI to a location that’s supposed to be off the radar.”
Dmitri lit his cigarette with a silver lighter. Flame flickered in the dim warehouse. Smoke curled upward toward the rafters, where pigeons rustled. “Unfortunate accident. We had nothing to do with it.”
Asher folded his arms. “People could have gotten hurt.”
“That’s the point.”
He swallowed.
Asher moved into Dmitri’s space. Close enough to smell cigarettes and enough body odor to leave a mark.
“You look upset,” Dmitri said.
“You want to compromise all the work we’ve done? You could have killed me. And you do that, the entire department comes looking for you.”
“A corrupt agent?” He made a sound, almost a laugh. Then it died, his face darkening. “Draven’s getting impatient. You’ve been stalling. The testimony is in three weeks. It’s time to eliminate the witnesses.”
“Not yet.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“That’s exactly how this works. I’m the one with access. I’m the one keeping the FBI from figuring out there’s a mole. You don’t make moves in my operational area without my okay. I’m not going down for this—and I’m not sacrificing anyone else either.”
Dmitri studied him, a smile tweaking his face. “This is about the girl.”
“It’s about not ending up in a cell beside Draven.”
Dmitri stepped closer. “You’ve had access to two federal witnesses for a whole week and they’re still breathing. That makes Draven nervous.”
“Then stop being nervous and start trusting the plan.”
“What plan? You keep saying wait.”
“Wait until closer to testimony. Wait until the moment has maximum impact. Wait until we can eliminate them and make it look like operational failure instead of a syndicate hit.” Asher held Dmitri’s gaze. “You want them dead in a way that doesn’t bring heat. That doesn’t expose your network.”
Dmitri drew on his cigarette. Exhaled slowly. Smoke drifted through the yellow light. He nodded once. “Draven wants a timeline.”
“Give me two weeks.”
Dmitri flicked ash onto the concrete floor. Watched it fall. Watched Asher. “You’ve got two weeks. Then we move, with or without your say.”
Not the time Asher needed. But better than tomorrow.
“Fine. But you stay away from Aspen Ridge. No surveillance. No drive-bys. No more accidents. You spook them, they move, and I’m out.”
Dmitri took a long, final drag. Dropped the cigarette. Ground it out with his boot heel. Nodded. “But if you’re playing us—if you’re actually protecting these witnesses—Draven won’t just kill you. He’ll kill everyone you’ve ever cared about.”
The threat hung in the cold air.
Asher smiled. Dark. Humorless. “Good thing I don’t care about anyone, then.”
He turned and walked away, not running, just an easy walk out, no problem.
He shoved through the door, the rain now a drizzle, and nearly gulped the fresh November air after the stale warehouse smell.
His car was parked down the weedy lot, in the gloom. He got in and started the engine, blasted the heat.
It didn’t touch the cold that had settled in his chest.
He pulled away with gravel crunching under tires and headlights cutting through darkness.
Two weeks.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, the burned skin raw.
He shouldn’t have left her.
More, he was compromising their mission with every day he kept his backstory in shadow.