“WHAT ARE YOU doing?” she asked after minutes of silence. His presence was intimidating at over six feet tall and with more muscles than a small army. His slightly overgrown auburn hair, ending in an almost curl, was slicked back, his face shadowed in day or two old scruff. The emerald green eyes were as beautiful as they were frightening.

“Driving.” His smug response and expressionless demeanor had her on edge, wondering if she made the right choice.

“Wh-what about your car?”

“It’s being picked up.” His eyes never left the road; his jaw was clenched and tense.

“By who.” She was genuinely curious. If she was being abducted, she would have to try and get away at some point, and knowing who all the players were would benefit her later. All of the late-night crime shows she watched, waiting for her husband to come home, were paying off. Irony at its best.

If looks could kill, he was the reaper. Unamused, and highly agitated by her questions, he finally turned to her with a sharp tone, “Don’t worry about it.”

Why wouldn’t he look at her? It was like it pained him to do so, and it was out of pure irritation that he finally did with his last response. His disposition was cold and oddly focused. He was thinking, plotting, and that had her worried. She had perceived him as a man of few words in the two or so years she had known him, but she never knew him to be so short and insolent – it was ticking her off.

“What’s going on? Where are we going?” There are several levels of emotion people go through when they are exposed to traumatic events. Lydia was past shock and fear, heading right into angry and ballsy. “Why won’t you look at me? Too much for you because you’re going to kill me, too?”

Enough was enough. Her sassy and demanding spoiled attitude raked his last nerve. Pulling into a dark, empty parking lot, he stopped the car and turned to her.

“Are you done now? Can I talk?” he asked.

“No. No, I’m not. What the hell is going on? Where are you taking me, and why the hell did you think you weren’t going to make it out of the Police Station alive?” With her back to the car door, she crossed her arms and shot him her best intimidating glare as a challenge.

“Because the police station is the worst place you could’ve gone! Esteban own’s that place. Lucky for you, we put on a pretty good show, and they aren’t likely to run to him – especially since they let you go. That’s a fucking death wish.” He paused a moment, took a deep breath and was ready for the big reveal. “I’m undercover – an agent for a branch of the government you’ve never heard of and nobody recognizes – we don’t exist. You may have just blown the case and ruined two years of work.”

“Un…undercover? Why? You live in my home, work for my husband. Who exactly are you building a case against?” There it was again - her crime shows and more irony. Two years gathering evidence, undercover with agents that didn’t exist as far as the rest of the world was concerned? She knew this was big – bigger than big – and didn’t want to believe a word of it. More of the missing pieces were about to fall into place – the reason her husband was always gone. She already didn’t like what she was hearing.

“Drugs, trafficking, arms dealing, money laundering, and murder. You know, like the one you just stumbled upon while on a nosey escapade dressed like an expensive hooker?” She didn’t need to fear him, and he would make that clear, but she didn’t need to like him either. Keeping her at arm’s length and afraid of her husband would make his job easier.

Grabbing her chest in a breathy huff assured him that he had called the dislike part, and it was in full swing. “Excuse me? What is with you and that, asshole cop? This is a very expensive, very couture dress that I bought for my husband who stood me up for a date with murder! You should know that expensive hookers don’t wear designer anything; they’re just cheap knock off’s.”

“Well, how is that very couture dress workin’ for ya? I’d say the cheap knock of has a better chance at getting lucky, and making a dime or two while at it. I mean if you had to dress that way to begin with, just to get your husband’s attention…”

Frenzied indignation fueled her with enough courage to raise her open hand to him, but he caught her wrist before the slap landed. “That…would be a bad idea.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’re spoiled.”

Tears welled, making her eyes glassy, noticeable even in the dark. He didn’t do the crying girl thing, certainly didn’t do emotions, and here he was with one about to spill over. Shit.

“Look, Lydia. We don’t have to like each other, but we have to work together. Truce? At least for now?”

“I just don’t understand.” It seemed she was past the anger stage and heading straight to rock bottom sadness. “I just…I just wanted to save my marriage. Your case…it’s Esteban.”

Not a question but a statement. How could she not put two and two together after what she saw? Her world was crashing down around her, and she didn’t even know the half of it. She was just a case to him. That’s all she could be, but somehow, he felt a little bad for her. He was human after all, and she and her baby boy had been a part of his life for some time now – there was bound to be some feelings involved.

“It’s actually good that you don’t understand. It means you don’t know anything about his dealings. He is a murderer, deeply involved in sex trafficking, dealing arms, drugs, you name it. Lydia, we have been watching him longer than you’ve known him. I’m not the first agent undercover…I’m just the only one still here. He is the worst of the worst, and the sooner you wrap your mind around that, the sooner we move on with our lives.”

In a weak pleading voice, full of sorrow and very little confidence, she tried to make it all go away. Change the truth that was staring her in the face. “My hu-husband is in real estate – he’s a developer.”

“Damn it, Lydee.” He used her nickname, hoping it would get her attention, and he could get through to her. Frustrated, he turned from her, running his hand through his hair before he turned to her again, tossing his thumb behind him. “Did that look like real estate back there? Dead bodies, torture, grown men pissing themselves?”

There wasn’t an easy way to say it other than just to say it – and he did – even if it hurt her to hear. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he did need her to hurt for entirely different reasons. She needed to be ready for what was to come, stay strong, and not falter. Her life depended on it. His life depended on it. Jason took this case, knowing full well what was on the line and the danger he faced, but she didn’t. She was an innocent victim in all of this. A victim who needed to want to fight back to stay alive and help him close his case.

“You are now in full protective custody. You are a primary material witness in a federal case against Esteban Ricardo Valdez. You can, and will, help put him away and save lives by doing so. The only way we do that is to get out of here and not look back. Understand?”

“Get out of here?” Her posture stiffened at that idea. There was one missing piece, her infant son. “I can’t go without Jax. I’m not leaving my baby with that man.”

An overwhelming heat rushed him when he laid a hand on hers, attempting to calm her. Her cold rigid response was the icy backlash he needed to stay on track and not give that sensation a second thought. “We are going to get him now, but you have to trust me and do exactly as I say. Can you do that? Can you trust me?”

She nodded, “Yes, then what?”

“Then we run.”

Jason pulled back onto the road, watching his mirrors, taking odd turns, until he was certain they weren’t being followed or on police radar. Finally pulling into the mansion, he parked out front and followed her inside as her bodyguard, hopeful she could stick to the plan he had just laid out.

With her cellphone to her ear, Lydia went on a loud rant as she made her way through the house. Anyone in earshot was sure to believe that it was her sister on the other end of the dead phone with this performance of a lifetime. She went on to say that she just needed a few days to get her head right. She made a point to say Jason was driving her and Jax to the airport and would be traveling with them. It all sounded legitimate. She finished by saying she would return and talk to Esteban, but she was just too hurt right now because he stood her up for dinner again. Jason had to applaud her – every eye in the place was on her, taking in every detail.

The real seller was when she brought up the new dress, just for him, and how it went to waste because she could never wear it again. Bad memories and mojo cursed it. Completely superficial, and completely Lydia. The tantrum was real, and her tears genuine because she truly was wounded by Esteban’s actions, just not those the staff was being made privy to.

Just before entering her bedroom, she brought her fake call to an end, and then the real work began. Jason turned on the T.V. and the sink in the bathroom to drown out their voices just in case the room was bugged.

He grabbed her shoulders and took her in; she was weak, defeated, and exhausted. “You did good. It’s working. We need to work fast now and get the hell out of here. You grab Jax and just what he needs for the night. I’ll grab a bag for you.”

“For me? You are not packing for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because…you aren’t riffling through, you know.”

“Sorry, I don’t know, and we don’t have time for this shit.”

“My underwear, Jason. Okay? My underwear!”

“Christ, Lydia. It’s just underwear! I’ve seen underwear before!”

“Well…not my underwear. I won’t be able to wear them, knowing you have seen them. It’s weird!”

He tossed an overnight bag her way. “Will you please pack your underwear then?”

Bag in hand, she rushed to her closet, and he could hear drawers opening and closing quickly. He went to the doorway, ready to get the show on the road, and interrupted her looking around at all that was hanging in there, lost in thought.

“You can’t take any of it. I’m sorry. Are you done with…ya know?”

With a tearful nod, she handed the bag back to him and went to her son’s adjoining room to gather his things. Jason finished her packing, which left her sick to her stomach, afraid she was going to be wearing mismatched designers and seasons for however long this was supposed to last.

In only a handful of minutes, he was behind her in the baby’s nursery, carefully buckling the little guy into his car seat, so as not to wake him.

“Do you have everything?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to take, how long we’ll be gone; will it be hot or cold?” she cried.

“Just what he needs for the next 24 hours. Diapers, food, and a change of clothes.”

“Why only…”

“Trust me – remember?” He gently stroked the baby’s forehead when he started to fuss, calming him back into a peaceful slumber. Something that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Then we’re…ready.”

They were almost to the finish line. Jason had thrown their small bags into a large suitcase to support the ruse. In order to get the hell out of dodge, however, Lydia had a final performance – a note. The staff wandering the property that time of night was mostly made up of muscle and only a single night maid who was currently distracted by the muscle.

Lydia left a note in Esteban’s office saying she was hurt, leaving for a few days, and they could talk when she returned. She told him not to worry, that she had the baby, and Jason was escorting them. They had to sell it and sell it good if they were going to get away with this. Lydia had to write the three words that used to come so easily but now riled her stomach with the simple thought. She needed him to believe her, and these were the three words to seal the deal. I love you.