Page 58 of Escape into the Night

“Si,” Bella sighed in response. She knew the director was right. There were still powerful people out there, people who had benefited from the corruption, people who were still actively working to do everything in their power to undo what they had just done. She shifted with unease, glancing around the command center at the swarm of agents working tirelessly on the aftermath. “At least we have momentum. The public, they are on our side. We can leverage this.”

“You’ll need to.” Marissa gave her a cryptic, knowing look. There was an edge of finality in her tone, as if something massive hung on every syllable and Bella was the last to get the memo. She narrowed her eyes.

“Que?”

Marissa hesitated before tipping her head toward the door with a sigh. “Come with me, Agent Garcia. We need to talk.”

Mierda, she thought to herself. That was never a good phrase to hear, especially not when talking to one's direct supervisor. Reluctantly, Bella followed Marissa through the maze of hallways before stepping into her private office, a space of cold steel and glass, a place that had seen its fair share of historic decisions. Marissa shut the door behind them and walked to the lone window overlooking the city skyline as it stretched into the distance. With a weighted sigh, she pulled the wig from her head and tossed it aside to reveal a close-cropped buzz cut in a disarming shade of brown. Bella reeled for a moment in surprise, quickly schooling her features as she slid into the tubular chair she’d sat in many times before. Marissa kept her back to Bella, her voice steady as she broke the silence.

“I won't be the Director of the FBI for much longer.”

Bella froze as the shock of what she heard hit her square in the chest. The words didn't compute. Of all the things she had expected to hear, this wasn't what she had anticipated. A desperate prayer and a series of curses hung on the tip of her tongue before she swallowed the words down.

“Porque?! After everything—”

“Oh, stop it.” Marissa waved her hand and turned around. Bella saw, for the first time in months, an expression that looked like relief on the other woman’s face. Her confusion mounted until Marissa finally continued speaking. “You aren't free of me that easily. We will still be working together. Very closely, I hope.”

Bella blinked as her mouth hung open. She snapped it shut as an afterthought.

A smile played over Marissa’s face, small, almost coy. It didn't match the buzz cut, but the director still made the visual work. “I'm taking over as the Director of the CIA.”

Thick, weighted, immense silence stretched between them. Abriella was fluent in three languages, but at that moment, she couldn’t find a single word from any of them. She blinked again.

Marissa’s smile grew wider in response to Bella’s stupor. “The agency needs to be rebuilt from the ground up. It needs someone who isn't tainted by its corruption. Someone who understands exactly what went wrong and how to avoid the same mistakes in the future.

Bella’s mind raced, reeled, careened off the rails. Logistically, it made sense. Marissa had been leading the charge against the conspiracy from the beginning. If anyone could turn the CIA into something respectable again, it was her. Selfishly, Bella couldn't move past the fact that she was leaving. She couldn't fathom ever being able to trust someone in the leadership the way she trusted Marissa.

“What about us? What about the Bureau? Who is taking your place?” Bella tried to keep the insecurity from her voice. Tried and failed quite epically.

There was a long moment where Marissa studied her from across the room before she finally answered. “Your name is at the top of the list, Abriella.”

Bella’s heart jumped into her throat and made her cough and splutter. She couldn't have heard that right. There was definitely a glitch in the matrix.

“Pffft,” Bella blew out a raspberry before cackling. “You are making a joke. Not a funny joke.”

The older woman simply looked at her with something close to pride playing over her features. Maybe she wasn't joking. Bella quickly cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her composure as she sat up a little straighter in the vintage chair.

“Bella, you have been at the center of this investigation from the start. Even when no one else believed you, even when the odds were insurmountable, you stood ready. You've provenyourself as a leader, a strategist, and above all, a fighter. You command respect, and you understand better than anyone what is at stake here.”

Bella clutched her hands together on her lap to keep them from visibly shaking. The gravity of it all was crushing. Overwhelming. Her? The Director of the FBI? Even thinking the words was terrifying.

Marissa stepped back around the desk and placed a firm hand on Bella’s shoulder. “This isn’t official yet. The President will be making the final decision and you'll have to go through the process like anyone else. But if you want it…”

Did she want it, though? Her gaze took in the office around them, registering the stacks of files, the framed commendations, the years of history clinging to the very walls pressing in on her. She thought of Luke, of Taz, of her team and the work they had left to do. She thought of Connor, of Theo, of the fight ahead of them. Elias and Caleb crossed her mind, the sacrifices they were making to set the world straight. She thought of her Lily, the most selfless soul she had ever met. The answer was already there.

Abriella lifted her chin and spoke into Marissa’s eyes. “I will do whatever it takes.”

“I knew you would.” Marissa smiled and gently squeezed her shoulder.

Abriella exhaled a shaky breath as the weight on her shoulders shifted. The pressure wasn't gone. It likely never would be. But it shifted and morphed as a cautious optimism blossomed in her heart. They had won the battle. Now, it was time to win the war.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Caleb

Calebhadorchestratedhigh-risknegotiations, complicated foreign policy discussions, and a whole ass campaign amidst a national security crisis, but nothing compared to the delicate balance of hosting a proper dinner party for a room full of overachieving, emotionally stunted secret agents. Still, if anyone could do it, it was him. After all, he was never one to settle for mediocrity.

The house was filled with the delectable aromas of roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and the perfume of red wine that screamed sophistication but had actually been bought in bulk from a discount warehouse store. The family room, in all its magazine-ready perfection, was a perfect contrast to the absolute insanity they had all survived over the past few months. Caleb was damn near on the edge of suffering a case of the vapors over it. Thank God he was not of such a delicate constitution as to weep with too many big feelings. He’d leave that for Elias and his self-care shower habit.

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