Chapter 12
LILY
After Max left, I tried to fall asleep to make the time until he’d come back pass faster.
My mind had other plans. Thoughts ran through my head like a freight train, shame, guilt, worry, attraction, self-doubt, and anticipation interwoven in a way that made it impossible to discern one from the other.
When I can’t stand the chaos in my head any longer, I get up and distract myself by looking through the countless shelves and filing cabinets.
Because no matter how comfortable Max tried to make this room, there’s not much for me to do in there apart from getting lost in self-destructive thoughts and sleeping.
During our talk yesterday, he didn’t mention anything about the witness protection program, and I decided against bringing it up.
Rushing him would be rude, and if the process is anything like getting things approved by the administration office at my workplace, it’s going to cost him enough time, even without me constantly asking about it.
It feels a bit wrong to admit it, but a part of me wouldn’t mind spending more time with Max; and with Logan, who probably doesn’t feel the same.
Hours pass while I wait for them. At least, I’m pretty sure they do since my only way to estimate the time depends on the rays of sunshine trailing over the bed until they reach the wall.
As they wander over to the desk, reflecting on the bullet casing Logan left here, they illuminate the dust specks hanging in the air.
When the light turns golden, I wonder if I messed up yesterday and if Logan and Max are currently trying to come up with a plan to get rid of me.
“I need to have a talk with whoever is responsible for filing the damn documents,” a man grumbles, and my body tenses.
“Doubt we’ll find anything up here,” another man responds. “Oldest date on here says 2020, and most of this shit is admin stuff.”
Papers are shuffled in the room next door, mixed with the sounds of tired sighs.
“Arthur, c’mon, let’s go. We’re wasting time. And yes, I know Cantrell trusts you, but why on earth would they put classified shit like this in our building. Would make more sense to look in his damn office, if anything,” the man adds, a little quieter.
Just when I want to exhale in relief, the door flies open. Mortified, I jump up from the bed. Hiding is pointless; the inflatable mattress will raise questions either way.
“Please tell me you see her too, Sam,” one of them mutters, and without the flimsy door separating us, I’m sure I’ve heard his voice before.
“Yeah,” the other man answers, confusion plastered all over his face.
“What in God’s name are you doing in this room?” the older man asks, and before I can answer, he lifts his hand to silence me. “Wait,” he mutters at the exact moment he puts two and two together in his head. “Did Vaughn and Cabrera bring you here? Did they tell you you have to stay here?”
“No. Yes. I mean, kind of?” I stammer, looking from one man to the other.
A vein on his neck throbs as he pulls his phone out and dials a number. When the call connects, he doesn’t waste a second to scream into the phone.
“You and your buddy get your asses up to the fourth floor immediately,” he seethes, and I want to disappear.
“You look different, now that you’re clean and conscious,” the other, massive guy says, adding, “Wait, are you wearing Vaughn’s stuff?” with a snort.
I worry my bottom lip, and he laughs, shaking his head. We hear Logan and Max before they even reach the room.
“I fucking told you—“ Logan snarls at Max, lifting his hand to slap the back of his head once they reach the doorway, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.
“Silence,” the older man bellows. “This,” he points at me, “is inexcusable.”
“It’s not their fault,” I try to defuse the situation, but a single glance from who I assume is their superior is enough to make me shut up.
“My office, now,” he orders before storming off, muttering, “fucking mental asylum,” when he passes Logan and Max.
“You guys are so fucked,” the big one says, holding back laughter. “That’s a textbook case for highly unprofessional behavior.”
“Maybe they can add it after the chapter explaining how you’re not supposed to rail the daughter of your target, Samuel,” Max snaps back while he walks up to me.
He takes my hand in his and pulls me past the no longer grinning giant whose name seems to be Samuel.
The elevator ride down to the first floor is uncomfortably quiet.
Logan doesn’t spare me a glance, and whatever the outcome of this meeting may be, I don’t think I should count on him.
While Max’s intentions are still a mystery to me, I do have a feeling my safety is important to him.
Logan, on the other hand, would probably throw a party if I left his life as quickly as I had entered it.
When we reach their captain’s office, he’s already sitting behind his desk, a cigarette clamped between his lips, ash falling down on the floor while he’s busy pouring himself a glass of whiskey.
The vein on his neck stopped throbbing, but the ‘I want to rip someone’s head off’ look didn’t disappear from his face.
“Sit,” he snarls as we walk through the door.
A young-looking guy sits on the leather couch at the back of the dimly lit office, and just when I want to join him in an attempt to take me out of the confrontation, Max pulls out a chair for me.
Captain Arthur Rockwell, I learn from the nameplate sitting in between mountains of documents, takes another deep drag from his cigarette before he puts it out with force and leans back in his office chair.
Closing his eyes, he blows smoke out of his nose, looking more like a very disappointed dad than a fuming boss.
“I had hoped there was no need to repeat this conversation after the incident with Sam and Ruby at the shooting range,” he says with a sigh, and Sam glares at him.
“But it seems like you guys are too dense, so I am going to say it again. Real slow because I want it to stick in your pea-sized brains this time: This is an army base, for fuck’s sake, not a hotel. And especially not a love hotel.”
He gulps down half his glass of whiskey before he continues.
“We have more freedom than other units, yes. What this doesn’t mean is that you idiots can do whatever you want. You can’t just go around disobeying my orders or hide fucking civilians in storage rooms,” Rockwell adds, looking at Max with narrowed eyes.
“It was too dangerous to let her go,” Max says, squeezing my hand.
“Don’t you think it would have been a good idea to talk to me in that case, Sergeant? No, the clever choice was to ignore my direct order and get all of us in hell’s kitchen, as if shit isn’t already hitting the fan with Sanders.”
Captain Rockwell picks his glass back up, mumbling something to himself before he downs the rest of his whiskey. He clears his throat, and then his gaze is on me.
My fingers itch with the need to fidget, a bad habit I carry with me since my childhood. Over the years, I managed to transition from picking at my skin to playing around with hair ties or my wedding band. The wedding band that’s now gone, I realize once I touch my ring finger.
“Mrs. Holton, I am deeply sorry about—all of this, but you can’t stay here, and I don’t think I need to explain why. We, no, I, will find a safe place for you to stay—“ A ringing phone interrupts him, and the quiet man on the couch gets up and leaves the room with a whispered apology.
“It’s more than understandable that you're afraid to go back to your house. There are other options.”
I swallow thickly, and Rockwell shakes his head, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes filled with compassion.
Logan shifts in his chair, a groan following his movements.
“She stays.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” Rockwell says, the compassion now replaced by anger as he slams his glass down on the table.
He and Logan stare each other down, the already uncomfortable tension in the room becoming so thick it could be cut with a knife.
Logan looks at me before he sits up straight and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “If she has to leave, I’ll go with her. And you can bet your ass that Sergeant Vaughn leaves with us. End of discussion,” Logan says, getting up.
Max tugs on my hand, urging me to leave the room with them, but something tells me this discussion is far from over. The office door opens, and the expression on Rockwell’s face darkens.
“What is it, Charlie?”
“Sheriff Adkins just talked to two of his deputies patrolling the area surrounding the Holton house. The front door was open, and there’s, uhm—“ Charlie walks around the table to show his captain something on his phone.
Rockwell runs his fingers over his beard, and Max leans forward to see what’s going on, but it’s Logan who holds me back when I want to do the same.
“See, I was right. It’s not safe for her,” Max says, a little too loud and agitated.
“You’re going to be the cause of my burnout one day.
All of you.” Rockwell groans, shaking his head.
“Fine, fine. She can stay. For now, and only until we defuse the situation.
Not a goddamn day longer. Her belongings need to be removed from the storage room immediately.
If anyone ever finds out we had a civilian in there—“
He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I am too scared to ask about his plans for me or about any kind of timeframe.
“And Cabrera, you better fix your attitude. I am your superior and don’t even start bringing up Cantrell. I don’t give a shit about your contract. This is my task force, not Cantrell’s. Maybe Max should read you the definition of insubordination.”
Logan shoves stacks of paper to the side, and some sheets sail down to the floor when he puts his fists on the table, leaning closer to Rockwell.
“Wanna discuss this now, Arthur?”
“Get out of my fucking office,” Rockwell says, standing up from his chair.
“Thought so,” Logan says with a dismissive huff. He turns around and walks over to the door, looking at Charlie with raised eyebrows. “Hunter, google the definition of the word sanctimonious for the old man,” he adds before he leaves the office and slams the door shut behind him.
I wonder if this is going to be my life from now on; uncomfortable and goddamn confusing.