left alone.
A SHORT TIME LATER, I found myself tucked into the passenger seat of my Jeep
and an inch-thick file resting like an anchor on my lap while Kayden drove. No
one wanted me staying at the cabin. Hell, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay. Not now. Plus, they needed me out of the way while whoever they worked for came
in and took care of Kelsey.
Walking away and leaving her there hurt. My chest ached. Tears were a hot
pressure behind my eyes, leaking in a slow fall over my cheeks. It felt like I was
abandoning her, leaving her with strangers. Not even Tag’s reassurance he would
stay to watch over her helped. Yet, instead of pushing on the who and why of things, I let him take over.
I leaned my forehead against the warm glass of the window, blind to the passing scenery. As Kayden put distance between us and the cabin, I considered
the brown file in my lap.
Watermarks dotted the cover, smearing over a couple of brown rings similar
to coffee stains, and one corner was missing. Its rough condition proof it had been around awhile, and wasn’t that daunting?
All I had to do was open it and some of my answers would be there for the
taking. Unfortunately, I was in no shape to handle them. Not yet. Not when the
past crowded so close and bled into the present.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I wiped away my tears, and tucked my
grief in a small, hidden corner. Later, after I got justice for Kelsey, my kind of
justice, I’d let it free. Until then, I needed to get my head in the game. Time to
embrace the suck and deal with the shitstorm barreling toward me.
Step one, discovering who called the shots on this operation. Sitting back, I
cleared my throat and turned to Kayden. “Let’s get the most obvious question out of the way. Who are you working for?”
His lips thinned, but his hands remained steady on the wheel. “Why don’t
you read the file first?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because I don’t want you to see me fall apart. Instead of admitting that, I said, “Tell me who you’re working for.”
“PSY-IV.”
Cipher? “Never heard of it.” Which said something, considering how much
the military loved their acronyms. No need for a secret code, since everything had some catchy phrase attached.
“Wouldn’t have expected you to,” Kayden drawled. “It’s one of multiple
teams under the Specialized Criminal Investigations Division.”
At twenty-four, a year into my second enlistment, I had joined MCIA,
Marine Criminal Investigations Agency. They were the ones who arranged my
last joint assignment. This unit sounded suspiciously similar.
“Specialized, uh?” I tapped my fingers against the file. “So, you’re still in. I
didn’t think the military had relaxed its personal appearance requirements.”
“What? You don’t like the ’do?” He deftly sidestepped my question as he ran
a hand through his shaggy hair.
Actually, the longer look suited him. The wholly inappropriate thought had heat climbing my face. In the marines, whenever a capital crime occurred, MCIA
