Chapter 16 Wyatt #3
He hit send. Three seconds later, the screen flashed. She had opened it. She was looking at it right now.
When no response came after two full minutes, Wyatt didn't hesitate. He tapped her contact icon and hit the call button, lifting the phone to his ear as the line began to ring.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
He knew exactly what she was doing. She was staring at the screen, her heart hammering against her ribs, trying to summon the courage to answer him.
On the sixth ring, the line clicked open with a soft, static hiss.
"H-hello?"
Her voice came through the speaker so small, so completely thin and fractured that it instantly sent a sharp, protective ache straight through Wyatt’s chest. The guarded, razor-sharp analyst from Friday morning was entirely gone, replaced by a terrified, freezing little girl sitting in the dark.
"Bitsy."
His voice came through the line like a low, heavy boulder rolling over gravel. He didn't sound angry, but he intentionally injected a profound, unflinching weight into his baritone—a calibration that brooked no evasion and gave her a steady anchor to lean on, whether she liked it or not.
"Yes, sir," she whispered. He could hear her breathing, fast and shallow.
"Why didn't you text me back last night?" he asked directly, cutting straight through any potential for excuses.
"I... I didn't know what to say," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "I didn't want to overstep."
Wyatt let a heavy, quiet pause stretch over the line, letting the weight of his steady breathing settle her erratic pulse. "You don't overstep by answering me when I give you a directive. When I tell you to report in, you answer me. Understood?"
"Yes," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "I understand."
"Good," he growled softly, his tone shifting into something slightly warmer, though no less commanding. "Now tell me about tonight. Have you eaten?"
"I just finished eating, actually," she said, and he could hear the subtle shift in her tone as she tried to reconstruct her defensive wall. "I had some pizza."
Wyatt listened to the cadence of her voice, logging the tiny, hesitant pause before she spoke.
She was lying to him about where she was, trying desperately to project the image of a girl sitting in a normal kitchen, eating a normal dinner.
He looked out his window at the sprawling, frozen expanse of Bridgeport, knowing she was somewhere out there in the dark, tucked into a corner of some asphalt lot, shivering while she tried to sound competent.
"Good," Wyatt said, keeping his voice level, though his jaw was locked tight with the sheer effort of not driving out to find her right now. "You sound tired. What time are you going to sleep?"
"Right now," she said softly, her voice dropping into a weary, defeated register that made him want to pull her against his chest and wrap her in every blanket he owned. "I was just about to settle in for the night."
"Then I’ll let you go," Wyatt said, his voice dropping an octave lower, carrying that heavy, intense parental authority that left absolutely no room for argument.
"You have a massive data layer to map out with me tomorrow.
If you aren't rested, your analytical processing suffers, and I don't tolerate inefficiency in my office. Goodnight, Bitsy. Stay warm. I’ll see you in the morning. "
"Goodnight, Wyatt," she breathed.
Wyatt thumbed the button on his screen, and the line clicked dead.
He slowly lowered the phone, staring at the dark display for a long, silent minute.
Goodnight, Wyatt. Hearing his name cross her lips in that tiny, exhausted whisper did something dangerous to his equilibrium.
It wasn't the formal, terrified compliance she had given him earlier; it was a crack in the armor.
A tiny, subconscious surrender to the fact that he was the one holding the line for her.
He walked into his bedroom, shedding his sweater and sliding into the massive, dark-sheeted king bed. The wind rattled the exterior glass one final time, a bitter reminder of the freeze outside.
He closed his eyes, his mind already executing the script for tomorrow morning.
Nine o'clock sharp. He would put his eyes on her, verify her condition, and then he would systematically dismantle the reality she was clinging to.
She had no idea what was coming. She thought she was walking into a standard first day at her new desk, ready to lose herself in her work.
She had no idea that by tomorrow afternoon, she would be standing in her own warm, secure apartment, facing the consequences of every single lie she had tried to push past him.
He was going to make her safe, he was going to make her warm, and then he was going to give her a very thorough, very necessary lesson on what happens to little girls who disobey his direct orders and lie to his face.
Wyatt settled deep into the pillows, a cold, protective determination locking into his chest as he finally let himself drift to sleep.