Aaron Hardy found a small waiting room void of people. He sat in a cloth chair in the far corner. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. He remained in that position for several minutes. The room was quiet, except for the second-hand on the wall clock above him. Each time the second-hand moved, it made a sound—tick…tick…tick. The noise would have been maddening for most people. Hardy focused on the consistency and matched his breathing to the beat. He was thinking of many people and things—Special Agent Cruz’s health and his relationship with her, Miss Sinclair’s safety, Jameson, his job and Gutierrez, the s.o.b. responsible for all of this. His mind was unable to concentrate on a specific one.
With his fingertips, he rubbed his eyes before transitioning to his temples. He needed to call Jameson. Right now, his nerves were raw and he was concerned about what he might say to him. On some level, Hardy held Jameson responsible for Cruz’s condition; however, on a deeper level, he knew his emotions were getting the better of him. She was a federal agent. She was performing her duty. Gutierrez was ultimately liable. He was the one who started this, forcing Charity to go into protective custody. His men carried out the attack on the safe houses. Yes, Gutierrez was the one on whom Hardy wanted to unleash his anger.
His thoughts went back to Cruz and the look in her eyes before she lost consciousness. She did not trust him anymore. At the very least, she was losing faith in him. That was almost too much to bear. His phone vibrated a few minutes later. He leaned back in the chair and stuck his hand inside his pocket. He knew it was Jameson before he saw the phone’s screen. He gave himself a mental pep talk and finished by saying aloud, “Keep it together, Hardy.” He put the phone to his ear. “Hardy.”