Salvation by Noelle Adams Page A

more and more. I tried to peek at it from under the blanket without Gideon noticing and saw it was swollen and discolored.
    After a while, he got up to refill our cups. He also brought back a bag of frozen mixed vegetables. I had no idea what it was for until he made me stretch my leg out. Then he put the bag on my swollen ankle.
    “You should have told me you twisted it last night,” he said.
    “I didn’t think about it.”
    I felt kind of awkward with my leg stretched out this way and tried to find a better position. Then Gideon reached out an arm and pulled me toward him so I was leaning against his chest.
    It was comfortable and felt casual—not nearly as vulnerable as our position last night—so I figured it was all right.
    He kept his arm around me as I adjusted the blanket, since the frozen bag on my ankle was making me cold.
    “What were you thinking about last night?” he asked, as if there hadn’t been a pause in conversation.
    I knew what he was asking. He wanted me to explain the state he’d found me in.
    He probably deserved an explanation after the way he’d helped me, but that would mean letting so much pain out of the little compartment I tried to contain it in, and I just couldn’t risk doing that. “I don’t know,” I mumbled, managing to stay in my position against him and still sip my coffee.
    He let out a long breath. I didn’t know if he was just relaxing or was disappointed or what. He didn’t reply immediately.
    I didn’t say anything either. It was nicer just to sit here together, without thinking of bad things. Without thinking of anything, really.
    Then he said, without segue or preface, “I’d been undercover for a couple of months when I walked into one of the apartments those guys hung out in.”
    It took me a minute to orient myself to what he was talking about, the words came so much out of the blue. I adjusted enough to look up at his face, but he was staring across the room, not looking at me.
    He continued, “Sometimes I could distance myself from what happened around me by reminding myself of the purpose, of the good that would come out of it. But sometimes there was no way to get that distance. I’d feel like I was one of them, just like you said. Because I was there. Because I looked and acted like them. Because I spoke their language. My grandmother was Albanian—I don’t know if I mentioned that before. Because they thought I was their friend. It was like I was one of them.”
    I had no idea why he was telling me this, my mind still trying to catch up. But I was really glad he was because I wanted to know this part of his self. “I have no idea how you did it.”
    “There are methods. Ways of dealing with it. They teach you all kinds of techniques. But the lessons don’t always work. Anyway, it was a couple of months into my time with them that I walked into that apartment. We were supposed to be meeting there, but I guess I got there too early. Only the boss was there, and he had a girl with him.” Gideon’s voice was even, steady, but he still wasn’t looking at me.
    I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this, but I knew I couldn’t stop him from telling me. It would be wrong. When the pause stretched on, I prompted, “What...what happened?”
    “Nothing. Nothing, really. The girl was on her knees in front of him when I got there, but they were finished at that point. She just got up, looked at me, and walked out.”
    “So why did it stick with you?”
    “It was the girl. The look on her face. She was so young. Just a teenager. He wasn’t using force, but I could tell she didn’t want him. He was the boss. He took whatever he wanted, and he’d wanted that girl. I could just see it. She hadn’t felt like she could say no. He’d treated her like...like she wasn’t human. And then she looked at me, and I could see so clearly that she thought I was exactly like him. Like I would have used her in just the same way. Like it would never occur to me to treat