Page 91 of Mariposa
“What are you doing in here? Did someone see you?” My question is barely audible. Whatever is going on between her and me needs to stay discreet. My spine straightens in my chair as I wait for her to answer.
“No, everyone is gone. I checked three times before I came in.”
She walks over to me, the sound of her uniform brushing against her thighs with each step. Her eyes sparkle as she takes in the office. She walks over to the one photo I have of me and my mother with my siblings as young children on the opposite wall of my desk.
“Where’s your dad? I assume the blonde woman is your mom because she has the same emerald eyes as you.” She traces the photo with her finger.
“Dead to me.” My tone is emotionless.
She looks at me hesitantly, acknowledging my short answer, and doesn’t press me for more details.
“Actually, if you tell me about your dad, maybe I’ll tell you about mine.”
Her body goes rigid as I watch her over her shoulder.
“He, uh.” She swallows, the words getting caught in her dry throat. “He’s dead, too. Just dead as in six feet under the ground, dead.”
“You told me that, but what happened to him?” Walking over to her, I raise my hand to touch her shoulder, but she moves before I can get a chance to. My hand stays in the air for a second before I drop it to my side. She retreats to the front door with fast, long strides.
Her family is a sensitive subject for her.
She pauses, her eyes lingering on her hand secured over the doorknob. “Don’t act like you care to know. I know what this is at the end of the day. You’ll return to your team when this mission ends, and I’ll stay here. This can’t go anywhere. If our relationship gets out, it’ll be me who gets to face the consequences, and I’ve worked too damn hard to get to this point. You’re about to retire, and I’ll be stuck with the reputation of sleeping with my boss.”
My head hangs low at the reminder. But she’s wrong about one thing: I do care about her more than I should.
“You’re right. We shouldn’t get too personal.” Giving her my back, I play with my watch as I return to my desk. The mood has shifted into something different. We’re both two humans with walls up high, and I don’t see the shield she likes to fake coming down anytime soon.
The door springs open, forcing Violet to stagger back with shamed eyes. She pales, unable to look at Booker, and faces the floor instead, while I’m calm and collected because my best friend already knows and won’t say shit. He glances at her, then back at me with a stone-cold expression I know too well.
Bad news.
“Be prepared for a long fucking night. Two people are dead. They were ambushed.” Booker tells me with fury wrapped in each word.
“Leave, Violet.” My tone is harsh and authoritative.
“What?!” Violet shrieks, completely caught off guard. “No, I’m not going anywhere.” She shakes her head vehemently. Her cheeks and neck turn a bright red.
Booker doesn’t spare her a glance and keeps his eyes trained on me, waiting for an order.
“Lay it on me.” I fold my arms across my chest.
“Military-aged males opened fire on them when they were leaving. They’ve killed doctors, nurses, and children. Bombs and explosions followed right after…it was a trap. Everyone needs to be called in right now to get them the hell out of there.”
“Who is dead?” Violet shouts.
“Don’t answer that, Booker,” I demand while I grind my teeth. There’s a process for situations like this; we’re not exempt. I don’t need wrong information to spread like wildfire before I see it with my own eyes. I grab my favorite knife from my desk, shut the drawer fast and hard, and stalk over to the exit. “Let’s go. It’s all hands on deck.”
“Don’t answer that?” Violet follows us into the hall.
“My close friends were on that mission! Booker, please tell me!” she cries, holding back tears. I grind my teeth; the urge to calm her down is high, but we can’t stop walking, and I won’t treat her any differently.
“Yeah, so were mine, Isla!” he snaps, turning around. He stops walking, facing Violet with pinched brows, almost challenging her to shut her mouth. “We all have friends out on that mission.”
My hand reaches Booker’s chest, stopping him from shouting another cruel word. He freezes and zeroes in on my hand. At the end of the day, no one gets to talk to her like this.
No one.
Violet looks at me with tears clinging to her lashes, her eyes big, searching for hope in mine. Her balled fists are at her sides, breathing heavily like a pissed-off bull. She looks like she wants to tear into us both. I’ve always liked Violet because she’s passionate about others and wears her heart on her sleeve, but right now isn’t the right moment. She needs to learn how to control herself. Booker told me she tried to challenge him in front of others the other weekend before, when he was only following my orders to keep her here.
