Chapter 12 Cooper #2
Just stands there, eyes locked on mine, the weight of everything I said hanging in the space between us like smoke. Wide-eyed. Wrecked. Thinking so hard I can practically hear the gears grinding.
But I see it.
The flicker in her eyes. The indecision. The way her shoulders square. The way her chin lifts.
Her lips part.
She’s calculating. Spiraling. Processing.
And even though her body’s still, her mind’s a fucking cyclone—I can see it. Hell, I can feel it. That push-pull tearing her up inside.
Then her lips part.
“Food,” she says.
Barely audible. Barely more than a breath. But I hear it like a detonation.
“You want food?”
She blinks. Swallows. Regroups. Tries again—stronger.
“Yes, please.” Her chin lifts, defiant, but her voice wavers. Not weakness. Just too much truth in one breath. “I need—a minute before I can survive you again.”
Fuck.
I feel that. Right there. Deep in my ribs. It does something to me I can’t name. She’s not rejecting what happened. Not running from it. Not denying it.
She’s just bracing for the next time.
Because she knows it’s coming.
The fire that surges in me isn’t pride. It’s something heavier. Fiercer. A deep, slow burn of possession that tightens my grip on the air between us.
She’s not against more.
She wants it.
She’s just trying to survive it.
Survive me.
I nod once. Step back just enough to give her room. I don’t smile. I don’t gloat. But I don’t miss the irony, either.
I arch a brow.
“Well,” I say, tone dry, “isn’t this a change? Me spending all the words while you’re holding on to yours.”
She looks at me, mouth twitching like she wants to smile.
“I’m just processing,” she mutters.
I nod. “Yeah. You and your think tank in there.”
She looks away, embarrassed. I let her.
But I don’t look away.
I watch her—every move, every breath—like she’s a puzzle I’ve already solved but still want to keep studying. Because beneath all that chatter she usually uses to hide, she just gave me the clearest truth yet.
Next time, she won’t just survive me. She’ll surrender fully.
We don’t talk much while we eat.
She picks at the eggs. Nibbles the toast. Sips the coffee like it might burn her if she swallows too fast.
I eat in silence, watching her.
Not staring. Not intimidating.
Just—tracking.
Every flick of her eyes. Every twitch of her fingers. Every time she glances at the flash drive sitting between us like a loaded gun.
The room’s quiet, but not empty.
It hums.
With everything we haven’t said. Everything we already know.
She doesn’t try to fill the space. Doesn’t rush to explain or deflect or minimize.
She just is—the woman who let me break her open, then came back for breakfast.
When her plate’s half-finished, she sets her fork down and looks at me.
Not nervously.
Not defiantly.
Just—straight on.
“I want to look at it,” she says.
I don’t need to ask what she means. Her gaze flicks to the drive.
“I need to see what I was carrying. What’s on it. Why Phoenix wants me dead.”
I nod once. No questions. No hesitation.
“You need space for that?”
She hesitates.
Then nods.
“Yeah.”
I lean back in the chair. Stretch one arm across the back. Let her feel the absence of pressure.
“Take it,” I say.
I rise, grab my phone off the counter.
“You need what? A laptop? Tablet? Power cords?”
She blinks—surprised. Looks down, like she’s just now realizing she has nothing.
“Yes, please. A laptop, if you have one.”
I nod once and cross to the sideboard, flip open the gear bag. Pull out the slim black laptop I pre-loaded before the op—secure, firewalled, stripped clean except for tools she’ll need.
Drop it on the table in front of her.
“Yours,” I say. “No connection to the outside. Local only. Runs clean.”
She looks at it as if I just handed her the keys to a weaponized vault.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” My voice drops. “Whatever’s on that drive, I want you to find it first.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “Thank you.”
I nod. Nothing more.
Then, “I’ll be in the other room.”
She gives me a look I can’t quite read. Like she wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
So I don’t wait.
I walk out—leaving her with the tools, the silence, and the fire we both haven’t finished lighting.
In the bedroom, I leave the door cracked. In case she needs me.
I call Ghost. He answers on the first ring.
“Status,” Ghost demands.
“We’re in,” I say. “Safe house secure. Perimeter quiet.”
“You good?”
“Package intact. No tails. No contact since the Metro. What’s our extraction window?”
“Forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”
“Damn. Long time to wait.”
A pause.
“We’re working on extraction protocols. Something Phoenix can’t track.”
“Makes sense.”
“How’s the target?”
I glance toward the hall. Still quiet. Still her.
“She’s working,” I say.
And she is.
“On what?”
“Her research. She kept it on her the whole time. I set her up with a sterile computer. She’s digging in.”
Not just on the drive.
On what the fuck we are now.
But I don’t tell that to Ghost. He doesn’t need to know any of that shit.
“Good. You know the drill. Keep a low profile. We’ll let you know when to move.”