Page 41 of Drowning in Darkness

FOURTEEN

STEPHANIE

Trust isn’t a switch. It’s a thousand tiny moments arguing against your fears.

Two solid facts about any medical setting. One: they have the staple, stern-yet-caring medical practitioner, and in this case, that is Doctor Melanie Stephens. Two: the food sucks. I poke at the sad orange slices who are trying their best to brighten up the otherwise beige fruit salad. It’s not the quality of the food that makes my stomach twist; it’s the waiting for news of the two agents hurt in the line of duty. I don’t think I could live with myself if they died, which means they need to sort their shit out and survive.

The door swings open, and the lovely doctor raises a brow at the fact I’ve ignored her directive to remain in the bed, forgoing it for the comfy armchair overlooking the neat and cared-for courtyard with a central water feature. Open on the side table is the latest Stephen King novel I found among the generous offerings from the bookcase in the corner. It doesn’t matter what is happening in real life; I will always find comfort in the worlds authors craft. It was my only escape for so long.

“I’m fairly certain I told you to remain in bed until I checked you over,” she grumbles.

“I spent too long of my life wilting away in a bed made for the dying.”

The scars on my wrists prickle. It’s an odd sensory experience that makes no sense. Like my body is reminding me how close we came to no longer breathing, and the fact that I chose to fight.

She huffs as Camryn walks in behind her, dressed in clean black leggings and a gray sweatshirt. I jump to my feet and throw my arms around her, ignoring the way my ribs protest.

“You’re okay?” I check.

She chuckles and pats my back before releasing me. I stay for an extra beat before letting my arms drop to the sides and stepping back. “I’m fine, Stephanie,” she reassures me. “Shoulder shot. Barely a flesh wound.” She points at my temple, a frown marring her forehead. “But you came close.”

“Barely a flesh wound,” I parrot with a grin for the woman I’ve come to trust in such a short time. “Where’s Agent Thompson?”

“Recovering from surgery,” Melanie answers. “He’ll be fine and on his way home tomorrow. It’s more of a precaution.”

A wave of relief ripples through me. “What about the others?” I ask Camryn.

She shakes her head. “Agent Grant is being operated on, but Agent Jenson didn’t make it.”

I draw in a long breath and fight the tightening in my chest. The room closes in around me. The first victims of another mess I’m in the center of. Breathe. In on the count of six, now out.

“I’m sorry.” It’s little comfort. Two words, no matter how genuine, rarely help with the mess that got us here in the first place.

Camryn nods. She doesn’t give me platitudes about not worrying or that it wasn’t my fault. I’m smart enough to understand the spiraling guilt isn’t logical, and she’s even smarter to realize nothing she says is going to alter those feelings. It’s something I will work through. Like everything else, people around you can support and be there to catch you, but only you can find it in your heart to forgive yourself.

“Now what?” I wonder. “Because clearly the safe house isn’t an option.”

Camryn glances at the doctor.

Melanie nods. “I’ll prepare your meds in case they’re hard to come by wherever you’re going. You’ll both need to take antibiotics and painkillers for when you collectively realize that you’re hurt.” She vanishes out the door, which closes behind her.

Camryn takes a seat in the chair opposite the one I was sitting in. I return to it, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the pale pallor of her skin. I’m sure I look no better.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“Do you comprehend how many people have the guts to drive a car through a garage door with not one but two agents bleeding out? The answer is very few. Most would freeze.”

“I learned long ago that freezing or panicking is not how to survive.”

Her lips tilt up. “In another life, you’d have made an excellent agent.”

I wrinkle my nose. “No offense, but in another life, if I had the choice, I’d be a fairy princess or a mermaid, depending on the dating prospects and the tentacle situation.” She blinks. So cozy romance, but not a romantasy fan. Noted. I still can’t picture her kicking her feet as the couple give in and share a kiss in an elevator or discover there’s only one bed in the hotel they absolutely must stay at.

“Where are we headed?” I ask.

She grimaces. “There are a few safe houses lined up.”