"She said I'm looking like a bad man, smooth criminal
She said my spirit doesn't move like it did before
She said that I don't look like me no more, no more
I said I'm just tired"

- Matt Maeson, "Cringe"

Chapter Nine

I didn't see Sterling for the next couple hours. When I finally arrived at work, Quentin and I reviewed the newest employee pages, Christina fussed over my imminent departure, and Cruz remained distant.

I'd chalked Cruz's withdrawal up to stress, or even frustration at the lack of investigative progress, but something else had me wondering if there was more stewing behind his sourness. The night before, I'd barely gotten to my room before his wife Amanda had knocked on my door. She'd apologized profusely for not checking in earlier, but I'd assured her it was fine; I hadn't been at the hotel much anyway.

"Derek's barely come home at all," Amanda had tearfully said.

I slumped on the chair, exhausted. "I'm sure he just wants to make sure everyone's safe. The police don't have any leads, and we all want to catch this bastard as soon as possible."

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make this about me. I mean, look at you, you should be in D.C. starting your new job." Amanda sniffled. "I'm sorry, Avery."

"Don't be. This isn't anyone's fault. We're all doing the best we can."

"I'll come by again before you leave, to say goodbye. You know I hate that you're leaving, but since there's no leads... well, I'm glad you'll be so far away." Amanda squeezed my hand before admitting, "Maybe Derek and I need to go, too."

I hadn't known how to respond. Then she'd given me a tight hug, made me promise to call her, and had slipped away to her own floor.

Later that night, I'd marveled at her strength. Her home and stability had been threatened in the worst way possible; her husband was the potential target of a gun-wielding lunatic. The couple was being forced to call a hotel home for the time being. There was no end in sight to her family's nightmare, but Amanda was strong, and so was her husband — they'd get through this.

It was late the next morning when Cruz came to find me in my temporary, makeshift office. While there was an available room reserved for whoever would become Cruz's CFO, it hadn't felt right to use, and I'd settled in an empty conference room. I wasn't part of the team anymore. My time there was only a temporary offer of assistance, and I needed that separation in my mind to ease the internal banging on the walls, and mute the screaming for escape. I needed it to fight the feeling of entrapment telling me to run through the open doors while I still could.

Cruz knocked, looking extremely uneasy as he opened the door. I had the subtle feeling he didn't want to meet my eyes. "Mind if I come in?"

"Sir, your name's on the building. I'm not sure I have much room to stop you," I joked. I closed my laptop and gestured for him to enter with an encouraging smile, but he came in slowly, practically forcing his feet forward. He had a concealed wariness I didn't like. His demeanor would soon cause my own skittishness.

He'd been like that since Monday, and enough was enough.

"Sir, is everything alright?"

No, stupid, everything is not alright. Look around you. Way to sound idiotic to the guy who mentored you for four years. Bet he's real proud.

Cruz sat down, looking gaunter than I'd ever seen him and haggard in his stressed exhaustion.

"Avery, I hate to ask you," he started. "And I wouldn't under... well, normal circumstances, but I have to ask — have you seen Amanda at all?"

My hands fidgeted nervously in my lap, tumbling his words in my mind. It was an odd question; I wasn't sure where the conversation was going. Had something happened? I'd just seen Amanda the night before, and she'd seemed fine, if not a little upset. Did he mean anytime this week, or was he asking if I'd seen her that morning?

"I saw her last night," I admitted. I watched unsurely as Cruz's head shot up, bloodshot eyes finding mine.

"How is she? Is she alright?" he asked eagerly.

I blew a slow breath out, hesitant as I asked, "Sir, with all due respect, why haven't you asked her yourself? She says you've barely been to the hotel."

Cruz had the decency to look ashamed. His fingers found and spun his wedding band, a tic I usually only noticed during election season. In a way I'd never seen before, Cruz looked defeated, seemingly despondent in his helplessness. "Avery, why would my wife want to see me? I can't protect her. I can't find who did this. Why would I join her when we can't go home?"

And suddenly I realized just how far the mighty had fallen, how nasty the infectious rot was that'd consumed him. Gone was the proud, well-spoken, energetic man who'd won vicious political battles — in his place was a distraughtly crumpled shell, brutally torn up about his wife. I didn't even know where to begin. I didn't know if I should.

"Sir, she doesn't blame you," I confided. "She just wants you home."

"We can't go home! Instead, we're stuck in a goddamn hotel!"

Cruz buried his head in his hands. Shudders wracked the frame of the sturdy politician I once knew, and his hands suddenly flew from his face to his hair. His eyes were redder now, more haunted, more tired as he raged.

"Eight years! I spent eight years of my life here, doing everything right, doing whatever I could to help people. I told Amanda I was done. I said I'd leave politics and I promised her we'd do whatever she wanted," he angrily confessed. "And then this happens! After she'd already put up with years of me working this public service bullshit!"

The door opened again, revealing a thoroughly unprepared Quentin. Confusion and caution twisted his face as he took in the loaded scene before him, eventually morphing to a slow dawning of realization. From his look, I knew he'd never seen Cruz like this before, either. I didn't know which of us looked more like a deer in the headlights.

"Derek?"

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, quickly crossing to sit next to a devastated Cruz. Quentin glanced at me in question, but I didn't even have answers for myself.

"Eight years, Quentin." Cruz gazed helplessly at his wedding band, as if he didn't think he deserved to wear it. Then Cruz shook his head. "No, twenty-four. Amanda's stuck by my side for twenty-four years. She's never complained, never said anything when I couldn't come home until late. She was nothing but supportive during my entire career, standing by me for twenty-four years while I worked to get here."

"She loves you. She'd go anywhere for you," Quentin said gently.

"She shouldn't have to! I told her I was finally done! She knew I wanted a career, and she was okay with that, so she waited. She waited for twenty-four years for me, Quentin. And here we are! I'm ready! I'm ready to be done with all of this, to be the husband she deserves. But now I can't give it to her. I can't give her the life I promised."

"You promised her love," I reminded him. "You promised her forever, and you've given her that."

"I told her all this," Cruz waved his hand around the room, "was just going to be a side thing. We were supposed to go to Thailand next week, did you know that? We haven't traveled together in years unless it was for business. I promised Thailand, India, France. Hell, we were going to go anywhere she wanted. Now I can't even get her safely out of a hotel room."

"Sir," I cut his rant off. I couldn't stand to hear his spiral. There was time for pity and hurt, and even time for fear. But it had to be a short window. It had to be a means to an end. "This isn't a forever issue. They will catch this guy, and you two can go wherever you want."

"I—"

I continued stubbornly, "She needs you. She needs you to be safe, and for you to tell her you're going to be okay. Avoiding her is just hurting you both. You're not doing her any favors because you think you're protecting her."

"Avery's right, Derek. You and Amanda have been together for twenty-four years, and in the thirty years I've known you, you've never been happier than you are with her. You grew up when you met her," Quentin added. "Don't let her down now."

"And the only way you'll let her down, sir, is if you leave her alone when she needs you the most," I explained.

Cruz's face flickered with a hundred emotions. Shame, fear, guilt. He swallowed harshly and averted his gaze.

"I'm sorry, this is very unprofessional of me," Cruz mumbled.

"Don't worry about it. After everything that's happened, I think we'd be a lot more worried if you were totally fine," I said lightly. I grew serious again as I pointed out, "Sir, you're going through a lot right now... but she is, too."

Cruz nodded slowly, a look of determination blooming as he stood. "Quentin, call me if any new developments come up. I'll be out for the rest of the day."

Quentin smiled as he stood with him. But before Cruz could escape to his wife, a strong knock sounded at the door.

Again? Talk about a crowd.

Quentin pulled the door open to reveal a tense Sterling. His shoulders were pinned back and his eyes were narrowed. I could tell he was pissed.

"Mr. Romano, Mr. Cruz," Sterling said sharply. He walked into the room; a manila envelope gripped tightly in hand. He leaned over the table to spread the contents across the surface. "You need to see this."

Quentin looked over his shoulder, and his expression immediately hardened into grim fury. Cruz's face was scrunched in confusion as he walked towards the table, but as he came to a stop on Sterling's other side, his face immediately blanched.

"What is this?" Quentin thundered.

"Just delivered by a paid courier. Guy's young, said he was doing deliveries when an average man in sunglasses approached him and offered a hundred bucks to deliver this to any member of Greystone. Kid thought it was a steal. He couldn't give an exact time, only sometime in the past hour." Sterling leaned on the table, his weight on his knuckles. His face was dark and murderous as he examined the papers.

Quentin pulled his phone out and furiously began to pace the room. I watched like a ghost, unable, or unwilling, to be part of the scene.

"Perimeter sweep, now! Full check — nobody gets in or out without me knowing about it!" Quentin barked into his phone.

"I have to get to Amanda," Cruz said hoarsely, his face pale. "They've been to the hotel."

"Who? Who's been to the hotel?" I suddenly asked. The two looked startled. They'd probably forgotten I was in the room between the newly introduced chaos.

Cruz only looked at me, terrified. I had a bad feeling, and the feeling of being trapped grew stronger. Uneasy despair pushed against my lungs and heart with ballooning force.

"All teams respond. Bravo to Alpha at Third Street. Omega to Delta at Hamilton," Quentin said into the phone. His knuckles were white, especially when he clenched his other fist by his side.

Third street was the hotel we were staying at, where Alpha and Bravo alternated shifts. Cruz's office was on Hamilton — and all teams were being called to action. I felt increasingly nauseous as I pressed my hands flat on the table before me.

"Peacock will be in flight shortly," Sterling informed, adjusting his earpiece. Cruz looked relieved, and I wondered if 'Peacock' was a code name for someone; I guessed Amanda based on his reaction.

"Bravo on Peacock, Alpha on perimeter. Omega on Falcon. Delta will cover," Quentin instructed, agitation clear in his voice. He was pissed but still radiated a sense of command. Cruz was surely 'Falcon'.

Three alpha males. The politician, the drill sergeant, and the warrior.

"Hamilton is clear. Peacock getting ready for flight."

I felt like I was glued to my seat. Something had happened — something big had happened. Cruz and Amanda were being transported to another location. Whatever was in that envelope was bad. It was very, very bad. My eyes settled on the table where the papers laid. Sterling was closely examining them, his jaw working in distress, clenching and unclenching with pulsing frustration. His arms strained and tensed from holding his weight where he leaned on his fists.

I wasn't glued to the seat anymore. I slowly stood, and Sterling's head rose to look at me. I felt like I was floating as I moved across the room.

Cruz was watching Quentin intently as he paced, laser focused on every word Quentin spilled into his phone. Neither noticed as I crossed to the table. But Sterling watched, cautious as I came to a stop next to him. He straightened and moved out of the way so I could see.

Photos covered the table. Photos of Cruz in the lobby, and Cruz speaking to the woman at the front desk.

And photos of me.

Photos of me in the parking garage, in my car. Photos of me entering the hotel, walking Rolo, entering and leaving work. The pictures had been taken from a distance, some even slightly blurry, or peeked around objects as if the photographer had been hiding when he took them.

He was. It hadn't been security's eyes I'd felt on me — it was them. They've been following me.

I could feel Sterling's gaze. But everything was blank. My face was blank; my mind was blank.

"Sterling, coordinate Delta and Omega. All files will need to be transported and secured. Avery, you'll come with us. We're past the point of assumption. Whoever this is, they've involved you," Quentin fumed. He stopped his pacing to ensure I'd heard him. I nodded, and he resumed his back-and-forth.

I felt myself step backwards.

"Files. I'm going to get my files," I said numbly. Cruz and Quentin now huddled on the other side of the table in terse discussion. They hadn't heard me, but it didn't matter.

My arms gathered my stuff, shoving everything in my bag without care. My legs carried me to the door; I walked as calmly as I could, fighting the tremble beginning in my knees.

I felt myself turn at the doorway. My eyes met his.

His green eyes were burning. A lush forest set on fire, a hint of knowing pooling in his irises. I didn't know what he knew, but I couldn't afford to find out.

I looked away quickly and disappeared out of sight. Out of his sight. I sped up as I got further from the room, faster and faster, desperate to put distance between myself and those photos.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Cruz and Amanda. I'm sorry, Sterling. I can't do it.