Page 14 of Deep Cover

Eventually Doyle would expect a report, and she had no clue how to explain any of this. She really couldn’t explain Reid being in that dining room, looking older, harder…yet exactly the same underneath it all.

She’d been trained to write up the impossible for a living—suspects with several aliases, buried money resurfacing years later, cases that made no sense until they suddenly did.

There was no “the man I buried is alive” template.

Caryssa looked around the room and pictured Reid lounging on one of those sofas, long legs stretched out. Living here. Laughing with these people. Building a life she’d known nothing about.

Her heart bled a little more.

This was his reality.

And she had never been part of it.

FOUR

Rivers stepped out of the infirmary after cleaning every surface twice just to kill enough time to think. Outside the door, he stilled, listening for something he never thought he’d hear again.

Caryssa.

The sound of her footsteps, light and steady. Her voice, soft in a way that commanded attention.

“Rivers!”

Cannon’s bellow echoed off the concrete, and his stomach dropped.

His commanding officer could be found in one of four places—the war room, his office, the gym or the shooting range. Judging by the strength of his voice, he was in his office.

He quickened his pace and when he reached the office, Townie, Rorke and Younger loitered outside the door.

Cannon flicked a hand for him to come in.

He entered the office. “What’s this about?”

“Ms. Lane.”

Townie, Rorke and Younger piled into the office and crowded Rivers closer to the desk.

Cannon groaned as he noted how small his office was. “New plan. Everyone in the war room.”

The guys turned and filed out, picking up the rest of the team along the way until they were moving as a herd. Two months ago, the sight would’ve amused Rivers.

Today, dread burned too hot in his chest.

Jolie and Stina were sitting cross-legged on the floor with a small mountain of yarn between them and crochet hooks in hand. Since their arrival, the women had gone through hobbies to pass the time, from growing herbs in the greenhouse aboveground to learning how to do their nails to baking bread and making pasta.

“Don’t mind us,” Jolie said without glancing up from her needle.

“I do mind.” Cannon’s voice had an edge. “This is official business. Out.”

Jolie and Stina looked at him.

“There’s no yarn in the war room. There has never been yarn in the war room.”

Stina’s brows puckered at the half-finished square in her lap. “To be fair, this was the only quiet space we could find to concentrate.”

Cannon continued to stare at her.

Suddenly, she scooped up all the skeins and hurled them through the open door. Crochet hooks clattered across the concrete.