Page 29 of Mine to Protect

“Not him. Them.”

“Them?”

“Agent Peters and dipshit Mathews.”

“Oh.” I closed the file, leaving it balancing on my lap while I searched John’s blue eyes. “CliffsNotes it for me.”

The chair squeaked as he leaned back and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “They were in combat together. Agent Peters has been out for a while and immediately went into the FBI. It’s the Mathews guy I wanted to warn you about.”

“Warn me,” I urged, my gaze on the closed file in front of me. My fingers itched to flip it open and reveal all of their dark secrets. It’d only been a few days, but we’d bonded, and I didn’t want their character tarnished in my mind. But I needed the truth now that John had planted the seed of doubt.

“He’s dangerous, Birdie.” The high-pitched squeak of his chair pierced my ears in the otherwise silent office.

“How did you get this information?” I kept my eyes glued to the folder. Whatever John had to say, I knew it was probably terrible. Just looking at the man, I could tell he was capable of awful things. But I also knew whatever he did wasn’t to an innocent victim, wasn’t to a woman or a child. I’d only known the man a few days, and yet I knew that for a fact. Whatever John had to tell me wouldn’t change my opinion of Cas.

“Sergeant Mathews isn’t the only one with friends in high places.”

I held back my eye roll. “What did you find out?”

When he didn’t respond, I glanced up only to find unwanted sympathy marring his features. My lip curled in a snarl. Sympathy was the one emotion I couldn’t stand. It was fake, annoying, and clingy. Sympathy made people think you were too weak to handle what was going on around you. Sympathy made the receiver weak. I would know; enough was tossed my way over the years by strangers who somehow found out about the assault for me to loathe that single emotion.

“Cut the crap, John, and don’t look at me that way. I’m fine with whatever you have to say, so say it already.”

In a wise move, John schooled his features back to his usual scowl. “He was discharged before his contract was up for medical reasons.”

“So?” I huffed, tossing my hands in the air. What the heck was John getting at? And why?

“Mental medical shit, Birdie. The guy is fucked up in the head. He spent over thirty days bunkered down with his men after an ambush. Twelve marines went in. Three came out.”

I held my breath as he continued.

“When they did a final count, nine American marines were killed, and over ninety hostiles were dead.”

“Okay, I still don’t—”

“Birdie, most of the enemy were killed in hand-to-hand combat, not by a gun. That guy you’re so fascinated with sliced dozens of men's throats. He snuck up on them and took them out one by one.”

I slid deeper in the chair and focused on the plain white wall. “So what you’re saying is he saved the lives of two other marines.”

“I’m telling you he’s a monster.”

“Or a savior, if you asked the two who survived.”

John shoved out of his chair, sending it flying backward. “You’re not listening to me. He’s violent. He is fucked up in the head. You shouldn’t be alone with him, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be on this case. Hell, he should be locked up!”

I stood, echoing his anger. “For what? Serving his country? Protecting his men? Tell me, John, what would you have done in that same situation? Oh wait, you didn’t serve in the military, so you wouldn’t know.”

John’s eyes widened, jaw slightly slack. “You’re defending him.”

Hell yes I was, and I had no idea how John couldn’t be as well. We were officers, and he knew anything could happen in the line of duty. It came fast and furious with little time to react, much less think through all the possible scenarios. But unlike me, John wasn’t the child of an officer. He didn’t have to watch his father justify his actions when it came down to taking a life or having his taken.

No, John didn’t understand that sometimes in battle, the lines were blurred and you did what was necessary to survive. Because deep down, you maintained your moral code, and even though it was killing, you were still on the right side.

“I’m defending any man or woman who’s been forced to take a life in the line of duty to make sure they came home to their family.”

John hung his head. “Maybe it’s this case. It’s screwing with your perspective on things. The Birdie I know wouldn’t be so careless.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I slid it out, read the message, and reached for the door. After unlocking it, I turned back to the now-ashen man behind the desk. “Christina Brown’s husband is here. I’ll show him back once Agent Peters arrives.” One foot over the threshold, I turned. “And for the record, I agree this case is changing my perspective, but what you can’t see through the jealous haze you have over Cas is I’m changing for the better. And next time, show a little more respect for two men who willingly gave years of their lives to protect us. I think they deserve that much from you, don’t you?”

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