Page 14 of No Words
MOLLY
I wake to the rhythmic sound of typing. The soft blanket covering me wasn’t here when I fell asleep on Cole’s leather sofa. He must have covered me during the night, which means he’s been watching me even while I slept. For someone who seems to keep people at arm’s length, he’s infuriatingly good at these small, quiet kindnesses, the kind that slip under your defenses before you can shore them up.
My watch reads 6:17 AM. Early, but the gray light suggests the sun has been up for at least an hour. I push myself upright, scanning the open-plan living area. No sign of Cole.
The tapping continues, drawing me toward the small alcove near the kitchen. I find him there, his broad shoulders hunched over a laptop, headphones covering one ear while the other remains free, always alert, always listening for threats. Three empty coffee mugs surround him, suggesting he hasn’t slept at all. I wonder if he even knows what it feels like to stand still inside.
“Morning.” It comes out more of a squeak, my voice still rough with sleep.
Cole doesn’t startle. Nothing seems to surprise him, but his shoulders tense slightly before he turns. His eyes, normally the color of a storm-tossed sea, look darker today, shadowed with something that makes my stomach uneasy.
“How long have you been up?” I ask, moving closer.
“All night,” he exhales, pulling off his headphones and pointing to the screen. “FBI channels, police bands, some unofficial channels.”
Tension rolls off him in waves. I lean over his shoulder, careful not to touch him despite the magnetic pull I feel toward his body. The screen flickers with encrypted text, symbols, and numbers that might as well be hieroglyphics, but his expression tells me everything I need to know.
“Something’s wrong,” I say. Not a question.
“Alessio is getting desperate.” He pulls up a news site on a second monitor. “Someone found two more witnesses from your case dead last night.”
He clicks through the restricted crime scene photos, making me gasp. A man and a woman slumped in their dining room chairs, execution style. The Franklins. They were going to testify about the money laundering.
“These are confidential FBI files.” I keep my voice steady. “How did you access them?”
“That’s not the important question.” Cole scrolls to another image that turns my stomach. They put an ace of spades in each victim’s mouth. “This is Borsellini’s signature. He’s tying up loose ends before the trial.”
“And I’m the biggest loose end of all.”
Cole nods once, his expression grim. “There’s more. I’ve been monitoring internal FBI communications. At least two agents assigned to witness protection have been jeopardized.”
My colleagues, the system I’ve dedicated my life to, can’t protect me. They may even hunt me.
“Show me,” I demand, needing to see proof.
He hesitates, then types a command that brings up an encrypted message thread. The timestamps are from three hours ago; the participants are identified only by code names. But the content is unmistakable. My location passed to an external contact, discussion of “retrieval fee,” coordinates that would have led directly to the FBI safe house where I would have been staying.
“Jesus,” I breathe, sinking into the chair beside him. “They were going to hand me over.”
“Not all of them, but enough.” He closes the screen. “Official protection is worthless now.”
I run my hands through my tangled hair, trying to process this betrayal. “How deep does Borsellini’s reach go?”
“Deep enough that you weren’t safe in federal custody.” Cole’s eyes lock with mine. “Your case files. Tell me exactly what they contain.”
The abrupt change of subject takes me by surprise, but I understand his need to assess the threat. “Everything. Eighteen months of investigation. Financial records that link the Borsellini family to operations in twelve countries. Witness testimonies against Giovanni, Alessio, and forty-seven associates.”
“And your testimony?”
“I can place Alessio at the murder scene. Front-row seat to him executing an informant and two civilian witnesses.” I swallow hard, remembering the cold brutality with which he’d pulled the trigger. “Without me, the case against him weakens significantly.”
Cole nods, processing this information. “So they need you eliminated before trial.”
“Yes.”
He stands suddenly, six-foot-six of coiled tension, and walks to the window. “This cabin is owned by a shell corporation linked to another shell corporation. Untraceable.”
“Unless they followed us here,” I point out.
