I realize I’m blushing, but there’s no way to combat it. I clear my throat. “I’ll keep an ear out for anything that might be out of the ordinary. Do you want me to wear a wire?”

“No.” Cohen shakes his head. “We don’t have the manpower to listen back through, and even if we did, you’re more likely to pick up on stuff than someone is over a recording. You spend most of your time with her and in that building.”

It’s not an accusation. It’s pure fact. They assigned me to keep watch over Monroe, and that’s what I’m doing. The only reason for the guilt threatening to choke me is my own conscience. Monroe has gone to my head in a way I never could have anticipated. “Do you think they’re planning something? Even with the hostages involved?”

“We can’t afford to assume anything.” Cohen’s expression doesn’t change. There’s no indication of the rattled man I spoke to earlier. It’s comforting, in a way. At least this is back to normal.

I’m going to have to face the consequences for the move I pulled last night with Monroe and Broderick. There’s no way around it. I still can’t quite believe I went there. I’m still so fucking angry. It doesn’t make sense. Broderick might be acting like a jerk and being high-handed, but he’s always been overprotective of me. And, frankly, Monroe just offered to murder an entire town for me. I don’t understand why her words, while shocking, didn’t fill me with any anger at all. Broderick, on the other hand, makes me want to shove him out a window these days.

It's Sabine Valley. It has to be, because the only other option is that our friendship is ruined beyond repair, and I can’t handle the thought of that being true.

“Shiloh?” Maddox shifts. “You good? You seem…off.”

As much as I want to lie to him, Maddox has known me so long, he’ll see right through the deception. I sigh. “It’s personal.”

He narrows his eyes. The man is too smart by half, and if he seems like the kinder, gentler half of Cohen, it’s only surface-deep. He’s just as ruthless and just as willing to make the unpopular, hard calls if it serves the mission. “Is it—”

The door opens behind me before he can finish. I tense, half expecting Broderick to come barreling through and start spouting high-handed nonsense again, but it’s Ezekiel. He’s wearing slacks, a tank top, and suspenders. And…nothing else. On anyone else, that would be a complete outfit. For Ezekiel, with his fondness for three-piece suits, he’s practically naked. Even his red hair is mussed, and his full beard looks haggard.

He gives a mocking salute. “You called, Cohen.”