Blood In The Water (BOOK 2) ON HOLD

-2-

-RACHEL-

The interrogation room is a stark, minimalist space, embodying an atmosphere that is both oppressive and clinical. The walls are painted an unremarkable shade of gray, devoid of decorations, save for a one-way mirror that occupies a significant portion of one wall. The chill of the room is palpable, a cold that seems to seep into one's bones, exacerbated by the harsh buzz of fluorescent lights overhead that sap away any warmth or comfort the space might offer.

In this inhospitable environment, I've been sitting here for hours, with my hands resting on the metallic surface of a plain table that anchors the center of the room. It's flanked by two steel chairs; mine is occupied, and the other awaits the agent. The chair's design offers no solace or relaxation, the back straight as an arrow, demanding perfect posture, and the seat itself is hard, chilling to the touch.

It's a common tactic, one I've grown used to in the past six months. The CIA was furious and horrified to learn that Eric was MIA, and they refused to believe otherwise until a body was found. CENTCOM combed through the temple many times since we've escaped.

When the CIA wanted to join the search, Layla assured me that they had removed any trace of vampiric activity, and the official cover story was of a biochemical origin, causing some of our soldiers and the Iraqi soldiers to tear each other apart. I find it odd that no one has been able to find him...

As his wife, in the eyes of the law and the U.S. government, I've been subjected to more interrogation than the rest of my team, save for Nick. I didn't want to hide him anymore. Not only that, I wasn't going to allow the CIA to use our relationship as a weapon. Unfortunately, that has made me a suspect, even though there isn't any evidence to go on.

The female agent entering the room personifies intimidation. Her attire is sharp, a pristine black suit that seems to swallow any trace of empathy or kindness. Her hair is pulled back into a severe bun that does not entertain a single strand out of place. Her eyes, when they meet mine, are piercing, as if equipped to strip away the layers of one's soul.

She's new, I see. They haven't been able to get me to crack. I can't let them know about the vampires. They also didn't appreciate the reports we've filed about the military allowing AJ to serve with a severe neurological condition or the lengths they had gone through to protect her former CO.

"Bad publicity" in the aftermath of the war, and a missing agent has left a bad taste in their mouths. They need a win, but they won't get one. I don't know what the hell happened to Eric. I wish I knew. Clarice told me that Eric had hoped to reconcile. His work on Caelus was his hope to end the war, work on our marriage, and find Saddam.

While I knew that the marriage was over, and I was committed to Nick, it didn't mean that I didn't care about Eric. I can't pretend to know how I would have reacted if he presented me with a choice and I've spoken to Nick about that. But all I can do is live in the moment and search for him without alerting the government to what lurked below the surface.

On the table between us, a sterile digital recorder blinks steadily, the room's silence punctuated by the low hum of its operation. There are no papers to rustle, no photographs to slide across the table; the interrogation is uncluttered by the usual trappings of bureaucratic procedure. It is just the agent, me, and the weighty silence that is occasionally broken by the agent's questions, delivered with surgical precision.

"We understand that the Caelus program is what led you and your team to the temple below that farm in the Zagros mountains," the agent states, changing tactics.