NUMB
“Are you listening to me, Abbott?”
Benson’s voice was even more annoying in person. It normally would’ve pissed me off, but at the moment I wasn’t capable of feeling anything but numb. He walked several steps closer to where I sat. I continued to stare at the grains in the hardwood floor.
“Abbott. I’m not fucking around. Did you hear a goddamned thing I just said?”
I lifted empty eyes to his face. “You have a lead on Szekely via your sources in Turkey. Got it.”
“I need you in Istanbul,” he snapped. “There is no room for error. With this fuck-up of a mission, we’ve blown any element of surprise we might’ve had. This op is going to be a long-haul. Deep cover, little contact. No more half-assing it.”
I was silent.
“I need to know your head is in the game, Abbott.”
“Yeah. Got it.”
Benson stared at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I laughed, the sound mirthless and bitter as it filled the air.
What was wrong with me?
What a ridiculous question. What a ludicrous answer.
I killed the love of my life.
Killed her.
It wasn’t my bullet, but I might as well have pulled the trigger.
Now she was dead.
Or soon-to-be.
She’d never wake up.
Never laugh again. Never smile. Never see the world through caramel eyes and rose-colored glasses.
Because of me.
“Abbott,” Benson growled. “There is no room for error, here. Can you do this or not?”
I could do it — lose myself again.
I was an expert at it.
The only thing I couldn’t do was sit around here and watch her die. I couldn’t live in a world where I knew Faith Morrissey didn’t exist.
“When?” I asked, my voice remote.
“Tomorrow or the next day.”
I thought about that for a moment. “No. Now.”
“Excuse me?”
I cleared my throat and rose to my feet. “I’ll leave now.”
Benson’s eyebrows went up. “Are you sure?”
I nodded.
I wouldn’t last another minute in this city. She was everywhere.
On every bridge, at every street corner. Saturating the air. Seizing my thoughts. Seeping into my bones.
Faith was Budapest. Budapest was Faith.
And I was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.
My very presence in her life was a cancer, a life-draining force. If she had even a shot at survival, I had to go.
The sooner I left, the further I fled, the better off she’d be.
And, if she died…
The last shred of good in me would go to the grave alongside her.
The man I’d strived to be whenever I was near her…
He’d be dead, too.