Page 73 of Duty Compromised
I’d lost myself completely, and for once, my brain hadn’t catalogued every second for later analysis. It had just…been.
But I couldn’t think about that now. Couldn’t let myself get lost in the phantom sensation of his mouth on mine, his body pressed against me in that terrible motel bed. The way he’d made me feel things I didn’t have proper terms for. There’d be time for that later. After we survived this. After I finished the countermeasure.
If we made it out of here alive.
“You ready?” Ty asked.
I wasn’t. Not even close. But I forced myself to nod anyway.
His burner phone buzzed with a text. He showed me the screen, a text from Ben.
In position. Watching the van at the end of the driveway. Two occupants. They’re settled in for a long surveillance shift.
Another buzz. This message from Donovan.
Doing perimeter sweeps. There’s a sedan on the north approach road, about 200 yards from the cabin. Also has eyes on the house. These guys aren’t amateurs.
Ty typed back quickly.
Copy. Going in now.
He switched to his regular phone, sliding the SIM card back into place with quick precision. His thumbs moved across the screen as he typed a message to George:
Arrived at safe house. Everything looks secure. Going to catch some sleep. Will check in later.
He showed me the screen before hitting send. Whether George had sent us here deliberately or someone else was using his phone, they now knew we had arrived.
“Let’s go,” he said.
We climbed out of the truck, and the cold morning air hit me like a slap. I pulled my jacket tighter, genuinely shivering as we grabbed our bags from the back. The equipment cases looked legitimate enough—we’d transferred some fake stuff into them back at the motel. But the real stabilizer components, the ones Ben and Donovan had already secured for me, were waiting somewhere else entirely.
The weight of invisible eyes pressed against my skin. Somewhere out there in the darkness, people were watching us through scopes or cameras, listening to every word we said. My shoulders hunched instinctively, wanting to make myself smaller, less of a target.
But that wasn’t the role I was supposed to play. I was supposed to be relieved. Safe. Finally able to focus on my work.
“This is perfect,” I said, pitching my voice just loud enough to carry in the still air. “I’ll actually be able to focus without worrying about someone breaking down the door.”
“Told you the FBI would come through,” Ty replied, slinging a bag over his shoulder. “George always delivers.”
We walked toward the cabin like we had all the time in the world. My pulse thundered in my ears so loudly I was certain any surveillance team would hear it through their equipment. Every shadow could hide a shooter. Every sound could be footsteps closing in. The space between my shoulder blades tingled with the phantom sensation of being in someone’s crosshairs.
Ty unlocked the front door with the code George had sent and held it open for me. The interior was sparse but clean. A small living area opened into a kitchen, with a hallway leading to what I assumed were bedrooms. It looked exactly like what it was supposed to be: a safe, boring hideaway where nothing bad could happen.
“Finally,” I said, setting down my bag with exaggerated relief. “I can get back to work. The modulation frequencies still need calibration, and I haven’t even started on the secondary encryption layer.”
The words felt strange in my mouth, too loud, too fake. I wasn’t an actor. I was a scientist who spent most of her time in a lab, talking to computers more than people. My idea of a performance was presenting research findings to a board of directors, not pretending my life wasn’t in danger while armed people watched my every move.
Ty must have seen the panic creeping into my eyes because he moved closer, his hand coming up to cup my face. “Hey,” he said softly, and then his mouth was on mine.
The kiss was gentle but grounding, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts and back into the moment. His lips were warm, familiar now in a way that made my chest ache. When he pulled back, the panic had receded enough for me to breathe.
“Better?” he murmured.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Come on,” he said, louder now, back in character. “Let me show you the setup. I think the garage might work best for your equipment—it’s got good ventilation and plenty of space.”
We moved through the cabin, maintaining a steady stream of mundane conversation about workspace requirements and technical specifications. My voice steadied as I fell into the familiar rhythm of discussing quantum stabilization protocols and frequency modulation patterns. This, I could do. This was just science, even if the audience was unusual.
