Chapter 7
Morrow lifted one finger, signaling me not to answer yet. He nodded to one of the agents, who stepped forward with a recording device.
“Put it on speaker,” Morrow said.
I accepted the call.
Silence.
Then breathing.
Measured.
Familiar.
“Captain Reed,” said Colonel Elian.
No one moved.
His voice carried the same controlled authority I had heard in operations rooms across the world.
“You’ve had a difficult night.”
I did not answer.
“I’m going to give you one chance,” he continued. “Walk away from the civilian side of this. Stay with your wife. Grieve privately. Let the courts handle Daniel Vale.”
Evelyn’s eyes sharpened.
Morrow’s expression did not change, but every agent in the corridor seemed to become stiller.
I looked at the photograph in Evelyn’s hand.
“You knew,” I said.
A pause.
“Careful.”
“You knew what they were going to do.”
“I knew Daniel Vale had a domestic problem that needed legal resolution.”
“She was pregnant.”
Another pause.
Shorter this time.
“War creates casualties, Captain.”
Something inside me went quiet.
Not empty.
Focused.
“Say that again,” I said.
Elian gave a low sigh.
“You were always talented, Reed. But emotion makes talented men stupid.”
Behind the glass, Tessa slept under pale light.
Our child was gone.
Her family was in chains.
And somewhere on the other end of that call, a man who had worn my trust like a uniform believed he still commanded the room.
“You made one mistake, Colonel,” I said.
“And what is that?”
“You thought I needed to come after you.”
For the first time, his breathing changed.
Just slightly.
I turned my eyes to Morrow.
“He called me.”
Morrow nodded once to the agent recording the line.
Evelyn leaned closer to the phone.
“Colonel Elian,” she said clearly, “this is Evelyn Cross with the state prosecutor’s office. Federal agents are present. This call is being documented.”
Silence.
Then Elian laughed softly.
Not loud.
Not nervous.
Almost amused.
“Evelyn Cross,” he said. “Still chasing monsters under beds?”
Her face lost color.
I looked at her.
She knew him too.
“Elian,” she said.
The way she said his name was not professional.
It was personal.
Old.
Wounded.
“You should have stayed retired,” he told her.
“I never retired.”
“No,” he said. “You hid.”
The call ended.
For three seconds, no one spoke.
Then Morrow turned to Evelyn.
“You want to explain that?”
Evelyn’s hand tightened around her folder.
But before she could answer, alarms erupted from Tessa’s room.
The monitor screamed.
Nurses ran.
A doctor shouted for crash equipment.
I turned and saw Tessa’s body convulse beneath the white sheets.
May you like
“Tessa!”
I lunged for the door, but Morrow caught me around the chest. It took two agents and every ounce of discipline I had not to break free.
