Page 6 of Securing Her Secrets
The panic begins to rise, sharp and suffocating… until I think of Miller.
The image of him, standing just outside this door, shifts the landscape of my fear. My pulse, which had been racing only seconds ago, begins to slow. His presence is a physical weight, an anchor dropped into the churning sea of my thoughts.
I don't know how I ended up here, in the middle of a nightmare, but the terrifying reality of our situation is eclipsed by the certainty of him. Knowing he is right on the other side of that door, lethal and focused and utterly mine, acts like a shield against my fears. Peace, warm and absolute, wraps around me like a blanket, pulling me down into a sleep that is finally, mercifully, deep.
5
MILLER
I’m awake before the sun even thinks about hitting the horizon. Habit, mostly, but also because my body is vibrating with a restless energy I can’t seem to get rid of. The cot I folded myself into last night in the office nook is small and uncomfortable, yet leagues ahead of some of the places I’ve slept while overseas. I’ve bedded down in desert caves and muddy ditches, covered in moss and leaves for warmth. Compared to that, this is a luxury suite.
I pull my phone out and patch into the Aegis main line. Easton answers after one ring. He’s always up, probably already on his third cup of coffee so strong I can almost taste the bitter liquid nearly thick enough to drink. The man runs on caffeine, adrenaline, and the driving need to secure justice in an unjust world.
“Status report,” Easton grunts.
“Extraction was clean. We’re locked down at the safe house,” I reply, my voice hushed so as not to wake Rya. I give him the technical update on the perimeter sensors and the encrypted link I’ve established.
In the background, I hear the office door open and the heavy tread of Atlas’s boots. “Is that the love-sick puppy?” Atlas’s voicecarries through the speaker, dripping with amusement. “Tell Miller he’s as bad as Kai.”
“You just did,” Easton says, rolling his eyes at Atlas.
I hear a click and then Atlas’ voice booms through my phone. He must have put the call on speaker. “Listen, buddy,” he says, his voice genuine with an edge of amusement. “I get it. You’re all in for this chick.”
“Her name is Rya,” I correct, my voice harsh and annoyed.
“My point exactly,” he retorts. I sigh heavily and scrub a hand down my face. “Just saying, don’t let it cloud your judgment. I’ve seen it happen all too many times.”
“Really?” Easton asks before I get a chance.
“Well, I’ve seen it with my dad and his litany of ex-wives.”
“That says more about your father than any of his wives, don’t you think?” I counter.
“It’s a two-way street, you know,” comes Atlas’ defensive reply. “It’s called feminism and equality. Women can be as messed up as men.”
“I’m not sure that’s what feminism is,” Easton grumbles, making me chuckle.
“Whatever. My point stands. Don’t let a woman change you, Miller.”
“What if I need to change? What if it’s for the better?”
Atlas sighs. “You’re already in too deep, huh? Just be good to her and yourself, okay?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” I deadpan.
Atlas is a good guy, and certainly the most light-hearted one of the bunch. I suppose the bar is pretty low on that one, however. Still, he has his rough spots and demons like anyone. Sometimes I wonder exactly what he’s been through in his life to give him the defenses he has, but I’ve never asked. Beneath his smiles lies a haunted, hollow darkness I don’t think he’s readyto face yet. I wonder if the right woman would be able to break through to him.
“This conversation is going nowhere,” Easton finally interrupts. “Miller, stay focused and report at our next check-in time. Atlas…” Our fearless leader pauses, and I can just see him shaking his head, trying to think of a task to give him to make him leave. “Go work on the next name on the list. And for Christ’s sake, don’t fall in love with her.”
I hang up, appreciating the unexpected conversation with Atlas. When this is all over, I need to make a point to get to know him better. Right now, however, I have more important things to focus on, like Rya.
The safe house is small enough that I hear when Rya starts rustling awake. I try not to picture the curvy goddess wrapped in bedsheets with her beautiful hair splayed out over the pillows.
She appears in the doorway a few moments later, looking soft and sleep-muddled. She’s wearing a gray t-shirt and sweatpants that are clearly from the safe house stock and designed for someone much larger. They make her look so tiny and adorable, my chest tightens. Rya could make a potato sack look like a designer gown.
I hop up, intending to make her breakfast, but then I freeze. I can’t cook. My idea of a gourmet meal is an MRE that doesn’t require a heater. I’ve survived on protein shakes and caffeine for years.
Rya breezes past me with a small, knowing smile. “Move over, Miller. I’ve got this.”
