But does that really mean anything? Jonah is the revered head of a sprawling, dizzyingly complex organization made up of an army of devoted followers ready to offer up their lives at his pleasure. They would offer up the lives of others without hesitation. And Anson was once one of those followers.
I'm still not entirely convinced he turned away from Jonah as much as he has claimed in the year following his arrest. Everything he did to me was for Jonah's attention. Anson said he felt Jonah had lost his grip. He wanted to prove himself smarter, more capable, and more powerful by tormenting me and bringing me down. I think he was desperate for Jonah's approval. His beloved leader didn't fawn on him the way he used to, and Anson wanted to reclaim that high.
In the end, it landed both men in tiny cells that are just the beginning of a long series of similar cells that will define their existence until their corpses can be tossed out with the trash. Or, that's the intention. I can't forget just how wide-reaching and complex their network is. They are connected to a staggering number of people from all walks of life. Both wield tremendous influence, especially Jonah. Just being in custody doesn't necessarily stop them from anything. Jonah can still easily contact people on the outside and give his commands. Anson may not have that type of sway over other members of the hierarchy, but he does have intense intelligence that could allow him to create all kinds of mayhem.
It has been a year with no sign of retaliation, but the comfort and reassurance that once brought me has faded. The more time that ticks by, the more the anticipation grows. Especially in places like this, I'm waiting for something to happen. Even more than the tearing feeling of the anticipation is the heaviness in how I look at myself. I hate feeling uncomfortable or afraid, waiting for them to strike.
I just want to get on with my life.
Chapter Ten
One year ago…
"Are you going to be alright?" Van asked.
Emma tossed her notebook and pen onto the table and set her bag on the floor beneath it. She shot a look at the other agent as she unbuttoned the front of her jacket and sat down.
"Yes," she answered.
"It's just that… this is different."
"Why is that?" she asked.
Van was getting uncomfortable. His broad shoulders flexed and moved backward like he was trying to make his chest look bigger. He bent his neck back and forth in little, subtle movements to keep away the creeping unease of her resistance. It had been a while since the two of them had worked together. The last time they were in direct contact was before her undercover assignment in Feathered Nest.
He was critical of the assignment, going to little effort to cover his disdain and opinion that obviously she wasn't capable of handling the work on her own. He made sure she knew his opinion, too. To hear him tell it, she was barely doing any work at all. From his perspective, she was just buttering up the situation. When it got down to it, and there was actual work to be done, that's when the boys from the Bureau would be called in.
The outcome of that assignment quieted him but didn't convince him of anything else. The disbelief and lack of confidence in her just turned into brooding that never went away. They hadn't worked on the same team since.
In a way, it was still hurtful to her. Van had been one of the first agents she met when she started working, and they got along. It wasn't until she got acknowledgements for her work and started getting more of the complex and important assignments that the cracks in his respect for her started to show.
He had always said they had her back, but she came to realize that didn't mean from him what it meant from others. From Van, having her back didn’t mean they were behind her and were going to support her. Instead, he meant the guys were there to pick up her slack when she couldn't handle the job.
She never had to call in that favor.
"I know you've done this before. I mean, you've sat down with other criminals. But this one is… personal."
"You mean like Jake was personal?" she asked. Van stiffened. "I'm touched by your compassion," she said flatly, "but I can handle this."
He stormed out of the room, slamming the door. It rattled the doorframe, but not Emma. That reaction was nothing new. There was still a twinge of pain though. She’d once thought of Van as a friend, but it was far from the first time she encountered men, agents and otherwise, who didn't believe she could do her job without their help. The Bureau was still massively male-dominated, and she’d had to claw and fight her way through school and training just to be seen as valid and gain the respect of her peers. It didn't bother her that much. All it really did was make her more determined. It drove her harder and made her better.
She thought about what Van had said. The word ‘criminal’ didn't sit right with her. That's what he was, obviously, but it felt flimsy. A gossamer word that settled onto the surface of what he had done but didn't bind it up the way it deserved. That same word could be applied to a kid who slipped a bottle of soda into his jacket pocket before walking out of a convenience store or a woman who left her baby in the car while she ran into the grocery store. The same word that could be used for a drunk driver who blew through a red light and smashed into another car in an intersection, or a corporate executive skimming profits off the top. All committed crimes. All were, technically, criminals. Yet the
