Page 175 of Exposé

"I went to the prison to interview an inmate whose name was left on a sheet of paper at my door—exactly how I got your address—he asked me if anyone had inserted themselves into my life recently... I'd stupidly said no becauseIhad bumped intoyou."

"Yeah, that was part of my training." He crossed his leg over, resting his ankle on his knee. "What was the inmate’s name?"

"Kane Rogers." I chewed the inner part of my lip, my feet never stopping as I brainstormed. "He'd mentioned that I was ontheirradar, but he didn't tell me what the agency was."

"I'm surprised you didn't write it down."

"The interview was a little rushed. We only had two minutes, at best." I stopped pacing. "Do you think they killed him? He's dead now, Nate. He was worried they were going to get to him. They'd tried and failed the first time." My chest tightened, and my air cut off in short bursts. "Oh God." My eyes widened, and Nate stood. "If they got to him in solitary confinement, they can get to me too."

Nate's arms wrapped around me, his hand cupping the back of my head as I fell into his chest, the air thin as though I'd hiked through Mount Everest.

"Shhh."His hand rubbed up and down my spine, his arms strong around me. "There's one thing he didn't have when he was in there."

"What's that?" My eyes burned, and I hiccupped as I buried my face into him.

"Me."

"What if you find it's too much of a hassle?"

"Hey?" He pulled away and tipped my chin up with his finger. "Haven't I made it clear enough yet? You're mine, my little recluse." He bent over and picked up the pen and paper, swiped my tear off my cheek with his thumb, then handed me the notepad. "Now, you have a story to tell, and I have the missing pieces to get it done."

I glanced down, staring at the little notes I'd made before.

"So, what do you say? Are you going to work with me?"

33

Ava

The motel room stank of stale coffee and grease—the fast food wrappers piling up on the dresser like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I sat cross-legged on the bed, my laptop nestled between my knees as I munched on a bag of skittles and scrolled through yet another cluster of encrypted files. My eyes burned, but I couldn’t stop.

Somewhere in this mess was the key.

“Would you pass me the pizza box?” Nate flipped through a paper as he wiped his other hand on the fresh towels lining the dingy bed.

I grabbed the box and slid it toward him—my fingers hovering over the keyboard, searching for the next lead. “Find anything interesting?” He grabbed another slice, then leaned back against the headboard, a groan leaving his lips.

“There are so many layers of bullshit in here it blends together." I exhaled and rubbed my hands over my face and thenthrough my hair, pushing it out of the way. "If there's a smoking gun, it's so buried that it might as well not even exist."

"Well, we have to keep looking." He dropped the pizza into the box half-eaten and reached for the duffel bag on the ground beside the bed. "We can't let them win."

"We won't." I gripped the back of my hair and gave it a little tug.

Nate's jaw twitched as he leaned forward.

"Here. Stop." I jumped up from the bed and snatched the bag out of his hands. "You're bleeding through your bandage again. Let me help you."

Perspiration pebbled on his brow, his pallor as white as a ghost. "It's fine."

My eyes narrowed as I rummaged inside and grabbed the gauze. "Fine doesn't look like death warmed over." I flicked my fingers, gesturing for him to lift his shirt. "Let me see."

“It’s nothing.”

"Right." I snagged his shirt, his breathing heavy as though it'd taken him a day's worth of energy to fight me. "Lay back." Giving him a slight tilt of the head, he complied and leaned back with a grunt. The hours-long bandage bloomed with blood, reaching the edges I tore away from his skin. A ragged, weeping hole clamped together, the edges red and inflamed.

My stomach twisted.

“Jesus, Nate. This is infected.”

---