Chương 8
Just coordinates and a street address.
Cole pushed himself slightly higher against the hospital bed.
The movement immediately caused pain.
I saw it.
He tried to hide it.
He failed.
“You need to stay down,” Hayes said.
Cole ignored him.
“Is Emily’s apartment secure?”
The question bothered me.
Not because he asked.
Because everyone in the room suddenly looked at each other before answering.
That pause told me everything.
“Is it?” I asked.
Whitmore looked at me.
“We had personnel check the area after you left.”
“That was not my question.”
“No.”
She looked away.
“It is not fully secured.”
I stood.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we do not know who sent the message.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“That is not what I asked.”
The room became quiet.
I looked at each of them.
“What does it mean for my apartment?”
Hayes answered.
“It means someone may still be there.”
The words should have frightened me more than they did.
Instead, something colder happened.
I became angry.
Not the kind of anger that made you shout.
The kind that made your thoughts become very clear.
Someone had entered my home.
Someone had watched me.
Someone had decided I was part of something without giving me a choice.
And now everyone around me was discussing my safety like I was a piece of equipment they needed to move.
“I am going back.”
Whitmore immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“I did not ask permission.”
“You are not trained for this situation.”
I looked at her.
“That is interesting.”
“What?”
“You have spent the last few hours telling me how important it is that I am involved.”
“Yes.”
“But now that I want to do something, suddenly I am not involved.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It is what you mean.”
She opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
Because she knew I was right.
Cole looked at me.
“Emily.”
I turned toward him.
His voice was quieter.
“You cannot go there.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever sent that message wants a reaction.”
“And?”
“And if you go alone, they get one.”
“I am not going alone.”
His expression changed slightly.
Not relief.
Concern.
“You still do not understand.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“So explain it.”
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he looked at the paper on the table.
The warning from Daniel.
“Daniel believed there was someone inside the system.”
I waited.
“He believed that person had access to military records, communications, and personnel information.”
My stomach tightened.
“My information.”
“Yes.”
“And now that person knows I am connected to you.”
“Yes.”
“So what exactly are you telling me?”
Cole looked at me.
“I am telling you that the people who are doing this already know your habits.”
That sentence was worse than a threat.
Because it was specific.
It meant someone had watched.
Someone had learned.
Someone had taken ordinary pieces of my life and turned them into a weakness.
I thought about my morning routine.
The coffee shop I visited when I had time.
The route I drove to work.
The nights I stayed late.
The neighbor who collected my packages when I was away.
Things I never considered secrets.
Because they were not secrets.
They were just my life.
“Who knew I was helping you?” I asked.
Nobody answered immediately.
That was becoming a pattern I hated.
“Who?” I repeated.
Cole looked at Whitmore.
She sighed.
“Only a limited number of people.”
“Name them.”
“That is complicated.”
“No.”
My voice sharpened.
“It is not.”
She looked at me.
I continued.
“Someone broke into my home.”
The room went still.
“I am not asking for classified information.”
I pointed toward the door.
“I am asking who knew enough about my life to put a warning in my kitchen.”
Whitmore looked down.
Then she spoke.
“Your name was included in Colonel Cole’s emergency report.”
“When?”
“After the parking lot incident.”
“So after someone attacked him.”
“Yes.”
“Who had access?”
“Medical personnel.”
“Military personnel.”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“Possibly.”
I laughed once.
It was not humor.
It was disbelief.
“So everyone.”
“No.”
“Enough people.”
Nobody corrected me.
That was worse.
Hayes stood.
Whitmore looked at him.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Your priority is Colonel Cole.”
Hayes looked toward him.
“My priority is making sure the lieutenant who saved him does not walk into a trap.”
Cole looked away.
That reaction was small.
But I saw it.
He respected Hayes.
Maybe trusted him.
That mattered.
The next twenty minutes were a blur of preparation.
Not dramatic.
Not like movies.
No one handed me a weapon and told me to save the world.
Real situations were paperwork, phone calls, instructions, and people arguing quietly in hallways.
A nurse complained that everyone was blocking the doorway.
A doctor reminded Cole that leaving his bed would delay recovery.
Cole ignored that until the doctor threatened to personally call his commanding officer.
That finally worked.
I almost smiled.
It was the first normal interaction I had seen all day.
The world continued even when ours had become strange.
The hospital cafeteria still served breakfast.
Someone still spilled coffee near the elevator.
A child still complained loudly that the waiting room chairs were uncomfortable.
Life refused to stop for anyone’s crisis.
Maybe that was why it felt real.
When we finally left, I rode with Hayes.
Whitmore followed in another vehicle.
I noticed he kept checking mirrors.
Not dramatically.
Not constantly.
Just enough.
“You do that often?” I asked.
“Do what?”
“Check if someone is following.”
“Yes.”
“Does it ever become exhausting?”
He thought about it.
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised me.
“You admit that?”
“Being tired does not make you less responsible.”
I looked out the window.
“That sounds like something Colonel Cole would say.”
Hayes was quiet.
Then he said, “That is why people follow him.”
I looked at him.
“You trust him.”
“Yes.”
“Even after Daniel Reeves?”
His hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel.
May you like
That was the first emotional reaction I had seen from him.
“You know about Daniel now.”
