Page 69 of Newton

We've moved from the apartment near the government building to a house a block and a half down from where Nathan and Brielle are with what we can tell is at least four guards inside.

He isn't even trying to hide the fact that they're there, and if anything it's a slap in the face.

"Hemlock said he heard the two of you arguing, that she claimed to have been lying to you all along," Kincaid says as we both stare at the live feed.

One of Deacon's guys is in a car right across the street from the house. There's no sense in trying to be covert right now.

They aren't even trying to hide. The curtains in the living room have been pulled all the way back, allowing us to see right into the house.

We've been posted up here for eighteen hours, and there hasn't been so much as a flutter of the curtains in the room we're presuming is hers. The bars on the window aren't reason enough for us to make entry into the house, and after the judge released Nathan, apologizing to him, we aren't getting much help from the local police department either. I really think they blame Brielle for Detective Greene's disappearance, but they also have probably been given orders to stay clear of Nathan Adair.

The prosecutors assured us that they weren't giving up, but it'll take time to build a case that will hold up in court. We don't have the luxury of time right now.

"Newton," Kincaid snaps, pulling my eyes from watching Brielle sit at a fucking table eating breakfast with a man that has spent most of her life hurting her.

He looks sad when I meet his eyes, and I can see his faith in her wavering.

"Are you sure she wasn't telling the truth?"

I swallow when my eyes go back to the monitor.

"She didn't tell the truth the other night," I say, wishing I didn't have to share her secrets. "Her body is covered in scars. He doesn't even smoke yet she had cigarette burns etched into her skin."

The more I talk the higher my heart rate climbs.

"She tried to kill herself once with the glass from a bathroom mirror. Xan cut her arms even deeper to show her how to really get it done." At this point I'm like a caged animal, spittle flying out of my mouth as I pace back and forth.

"Okay, okay," Kincaid says, stepping in front of me and stopping me in my tracks. "We have to wait. The second she shows any sign of distress we'll go inside."

"We have protocol to follow," says the only detective from the police station who bothered to show up here.

Kincaid turns to glare at Detective Alice Calloway. The woman doesn’t back down, which says she's either incredibly brave or stupid.

"You'll have to shoot us in the back," Kincaid snaps. "If we move on that house, you're either with us or against us."

She stands a little taller, straightening the firearm on her hip the way the cops do to remind the people they're talking to that they hold all the power.

"Don't make me get a supervisor out here," she says, the warning clear in her voice.

"If any supervisors wanted to be here, they would already be here," Kincaid argues, and the man is telling the truth.

It's not only orders keeping the others away. Fear is a very real motivator. Either she wants to be here because she thinks she can be the one to finally work a good case against Adair, or she's trying not to act scared because she's been forced to be here.

She licks her lips, telling me that she's not only annoyed, but she's also feeling as if she's being backed into a corner.

She doesn't open her mouth to argue another point.

Kincaid turns back to the monitor and I do the very same, feeling completely helpless.

We don't have a good enough shot to tell if her hands are trembling, but I know she's been taught how to not look afraid. She did it when she walked into that house when Beth was being held captive knowing that there was a very good chance she wouldn't make it out of there alive.

She's brave, but she's also working with the knowledge of exactly how evil Nathan is. The rest of us can only guess and speculate. She's borne witness to his abuse for years.

They're situated at the dining table perfectly, so we can't read lips, although Wren has included software into the feedback we're getting right now to do just that if they face forward at some point. There are jammers in the house, so we get nothing but a screeching sound when we try to pull audio from inside.

"I need a breath of fresh air," I mutter, but I'm met with Kincaid's hand on my chest before I can walk out of the room.

"That's not a good idea."

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