Page 87 of Borrowed Pain
His head lolled. "I trapped her. Loving me trapped her."
His eyes found mine one last time. "Patricia," he breathed, and then he was gone.
I sat beside Rook's body, listening to the distant hum of machinery and the slap of waves against pier pilings. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Somewhere in the distance, a ship's horn bellowed across Elliott Bay, mournful and deep.
Document everything.Lucia's voice echoed in my memory, steady and clinical.Process the scene before you process the loss.
I forced my hands steady enough to pull out my phone. The camera flash strobed against the containers, turning Rook's face stark white against the shadows. Each photograph felt like a betrayal, reducing a brilliant man to evidence markers and timestamps.
My earpiece crackled. "Rowan, status report. You've been dark for twelve minutes."
Dorian's voice dragged me back to operational reality. I pressed the transmitter button. "Primary asset is down. Repeat, primary asset is down."
Silence stretched across the comm channel before Dorian responded. "Medical?"
"Negative. The asset is deceased. Self-administered toxin. I need immediate extraction protocols."
"Copy. Federal team is three minutes out."
I pocketed the phone and stared down at Rook's still form. Three years of hiding, two years of loving a woman he couldn't protect, and it ended here in the gravel between shipping containers.
Headlights swept across the container walls. Two black SUVs materialized from the maze. Doors slammed in quick succession, and Agent Andrews emerged from the lead vehicle with three others flanking him in tactical formation.
"Mr. Ashcroft." Andrews approached with cautious professionalism. "We received your extraction request."
"Too late." I stood, knees popping from the cold. "He was already dying when I arrived."
Andrews crouched beside Rook, checking for pulse with practiced efficiency. His fingers found nothing. "Cause of death?"
"Toxin, self-administered. He said it would be untraceable after six hours." I stepped back, giving them room to work. "Suicide to avoid capture."
"Did he provide any intelligence before expiring?"
The clinical word scraped against my nerves. Expiring. Like Rook was a parking meter instead of a human being.
"Some," I said. "I'll need to debrief with appropriate channels."
Andrews's eyes narrowed. "Appropriate channels being?"
"People with clearance levels I can verify." I stared back without flinching. "This operation involves federal crimes, interstate conspiracy, and witness protection concerns. I'm not briefing field agents in a container yard."
One of Andrews's team members finished photographing the scene and approached with an evidence kit. "Sir, we should process this location thoroughly. Potential federal crime scene."
"Agreed." Andrews stood, brushing gravel from his knees. "Mr. Ashcroft, you'll need to provide a detailed statement. Tonight."
"Tomorrow," I countered. "After I've had time to organize materials and consult with appropriate counsel."
After a long pause, Andrews nodded.
"Twenty-four hours. Don't make us come looking for you."
I walked away from them. My legs were unsteady. Behind me, federal agents processed evidence and took photographs, reducing tragedy to paperwork with bureaucratic efficiency.
My drive back to the warehouse passed in a blur of red taillights and rain-slicked streets. I kept the radio off, needing the silence to process what had happened. If I'd arrived earlier and been smarter somehow, maybe Rook would be alive.
My phone buzzed against the passenger seat halfway back. I didn't dare check it on the wet streets, not with my hands shaking. When I finally parked in front of the warehouse, I turned the screen over.
Miles:How did it go? Is Rook safe?
