Page 7 of No Words
Cole’s methodical unpacking never falters. “This cabin is one of many we have. People who operate in shadows deeper than the FBI ever acknowledges can use the safe-houses we have when needed.” He glances up, his expression unreadable. “People I’ve known for a long time.”
I trace my fingers along the wooden countertop as I walk over to the living area, trying to process what he’s not saying. “How long have you been planning something like this? These contingencies don’t just happen overnight.”
“Long enough to know the Borsellini’s have people everywhere.” His voice darkens, taking on an edge I haven’t heard before. “Their network runs deeper than anyone at the FBI wants to admit. Judges, cops, federal agents, even directors of agencies. The corruption isn’t isolated; it’s systemic.”
My mind immediately starts building connections. If corruption reaches that high, it explains the case delays, the missing evidence, the witnesses who suddenly became uncooperative.
“I know because I was part of it once. Not willingly, but complicit through silence. I watched excellent agents get transferred or fired for asking the wrong questions. I saw cases buried because they implicated the wrong people.” My hands clench involuntarily. “It took losing someone I cared about to make me realize the system wasn’t broken - it was working exactly as designed.”
“You sound like a conspiracy theorist,” I say, though my certainty wavers. After what happened tonight, nothing seems impossible. But even as I dismiss his words, I’m cataloguing the evidence. His knowledge of FBI protocols, the timing of his arrival, the specific details about Borsellini’s methods. The pieces fit too well to be a coincidence.
The prosecutor in me wants to demand evidence, build a case, follow proper channels. But that prosecutor’s methods nearly got me killed tonight. Maybe the world was always this corrupt, and I was just too naïve to see it from inside my courtroom bubble.
“It’s not a theory when you’ve seen it firsthand.” Cole pulls out a handgun, checking it over systematically. “Alessio Borsellini has killed three witnesses in the past month, not including what you saw tonight. Plus one federal marshal and a prosecutor’s family when she wouldn’t drop charges. Each one was under protection. He found them anyway.”
My stomach drops. “How do you know that?”
“Because I have sources the FBI doesn’t.” Cole steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body in the cold cabin. “People who owe me favors. People who know things the FBI doesn’t, or won’t acknowledge.”
“And these people, they’re what? Criminals? Informants?” I back up until my spine collides with the cabin wall. “Who exactly am I trusting with my life right now, Agent Bennett?”
Something flashes in his eyes. “Not Agent. Just Cole.” He plants one hand on the wall beside my head, leaning in. “And you’re not trusting the FBI with your life. You’re trusting me.”
His proximity makes it hard to breathe. Heat builds between us, dangerous and electric. My skin prickles with awareness I shouldn’t feel.
“Why?” I force myself to meet his gaze. “Why go to these lengths to protect me? What makes this case so important?”
“Because the Borsellini’s don’t just control drug trafficking and extortion rings. They control people; cops, judges, federal agents.” His tone dips lower. “They’ve been corrupting the system for generations. Your case could finally bring them down, but only if you live to testify.”
“And you think I can trust you because...?”
“Because I’m the only one who took you off their grid.” His voice drops lower, more personal. “Because right now, in this cabin, you’re a ghost.”
I try to steady my breathing, to focus on clearing my head and not the way his proximity affects me. “So what’s the plan? How long do we stay here?”
“Until I can establish secure transport to a more permanent location.” Cole finally steps back, giving me room to breathe. “Could be days. Could be weeks.”
“Weeks?” The word comes out more like a strangled shriek. “I can’t just disappear for weeks. I have a life, responsibilities?—“
“You have nothing if you’re dead.” His bluntness stuns me into silence. “Alessio doesn’t stop. He doesn’t negotiate. He eliminates problems, and right now, you’re his biggest problem.”
I push past him, needing space, needing air. The cabin feeling instantly too small. “This is insane. I need to call my supervisor, explain the situation?—”
Cole’s hand catches my wrist, his grip strong yet gentle. “The moment you contact anyone, you give away this location. You compromise us both.”
The touch of his hand sends an unexpected jolt through my system. I should pull away. I should be outraged at his force. But I find myself frozen, acutely aware of the calluses on his palm, the strength in his fingers.
“Let go of me.” My voice comes out huskier than intended.
He doesn’t. Instead, he steps closer, and the atmosphere in the cabin shifts. “You need to understand something, Molly. Out here, there are no rules except survival. Nothing except staying alive. Everything you knew, everything you relied on, it’s gone. Right now, there’s only this cabin, and us.”
The way he says ‘us’ sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with fear.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, hating the vulnerability in my voice. “I’m a prosecutor who builds cases and follows procedures. I don’t... hide in cabins with rogue agents.”
Six months ago, I would have arrested someone like Cole. Now I’m trusting him with my life, craving his touch. The ethical boundaries I’ve lived by are crumbling, and the terrifying part is how right it feels. What I would have called kidnapping yesterday, I’m calling rescue today. The prosecutor who trusted the system to protect witnesses, is learning how naïve she was.
Something softens in his expression. “You learn. You adapt.” His thumb traces a small circle on the inside of my wrist, where my pulse hammers traitorously. “And you trust your instincts.”
