“Agent Foxx, I understand how you—”
“I don’t think you do understand, Director.” His breath huffed out. “You don’t understand what it’s like to think that the woman you...you care about—” he stumbled over those words because there were things he wouldn’t say to Mercer “—is lost to you. When the whole world goes dark because she’s gone, and you know that you can’t go on without her.”
Silence. Heavy. Thick. Then Mercer said, “I know exactly how that feels, and I’m sorry, very sorry, that you had to experience it.”
His quiet words caught Dylan off guard. He’d heard a few whispers about Mercer’s past. Now he knew those whispers weren’t wrong.
“But this case is bigger than you and Rachel Mancini. Other lives are involved.”
“Rachel isn’t even EOD anymore.”
“Ah, well, I haven’t officiall
y accepted her resignation yet, have I?” Mercer cleared his throat. “I need her here. I need you both here.”
Dylan leaned forward and stared into the bedroom. Rachel was sleeping so peacefully. “At 0700,” he said, voice clipped. “But I stay at her side, every second.” He didn’t trust Jack. He’d be happy when the guy was locked away in a maximum-security prison. The sooner, the better.
“I’ll be waiting,” Mercer said.
Dylan ended the call and headed back into the bedroom. He slipped into the bed. He pulled Rachel toward him, cradling her against his chest.
His fingers slid over her back, over the old, carving scar that marked her. Jack had sliced her with his knife three years ago. The man had almost killed her hours before.
She whispered Dylan’s name in her sleep.
He stiffened. Rachel.
Dylan knew it was wrong, but he didn’t care about the other lives on the line. Or at least, he didn’t care as much.
The life that mattered to him? It was her life. And he’d fight to the death in order to keep her safe.
* * *
RACHEL TOOK A deep breath and stared through the observation glass. Jack was on the other side of that glass. Handcuffed and with his ankles also secured in restraints. An armed guard stood behind him.
“He’s been like that all night,” Noelle said. “And the man shows no signs of any fatigue.”
“If he was a ranger,” Rachel said, turning to glance at her, “he wouldn’t, would he?”
She’d been briefed on Kenneth Cross just a few moments before. Mercer didn’t want her going into that interrogation room without as much intel as she could possibly get.
Her monster had a real name now. A real history.
Kenneth Cross. Thirty-five. He’d grown up on a ranch in Montana. His mother had died when he was seven, and his father had passed away in an accident on Kenneth’s eighteenth birthday.
Kenneth had joined the army after that, risen quickly through the ranks.
He’d been a ranger when he died, under the command of William Harris. He’d supposedly been killed in a bombing while serving in the Middle East.
Only he sure didn’t look like a ghost to Rachel.
“He’ll try and control you when you enter that room,” Noelle warned her. Noelle’s eyes were worried. “You should be prepared for him to say anything. He obviously has some sort of plan in mind, or he wouldn’t have insisted on you coming in there.”
It wouldn’t be the first time a prisoner had tried to manipulate the EOD. Just months before, they’d faced a dangerous terrorist, Anton Devast. Devast had thought that he could manipulate the EOD.
He’d been wrong. He’d died.
Noelle’s gaze darted to Dylan. “You have to stay in control.”