There’s something covering my face. Pressing. It’s a pillow and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. I try to turn my head, but he’s too strong. My limbs flail uselessly. I can’t breathe. My lungs burn for air.

“Athena,”  Harris’s voice pulls me from the darkness. “Athena!”

I suck in a deep breath and open my eyes.

“Are you okay?” Harris’s normally jovial eyes are filled with concern. “You had a bad dream.”

“I couldn’t breathe.” The dream had seemed so lifelike that my lungs still ached.

“That’s probably because Munchkin decided your head made a good pillow.”

For the first time I see the large white cat beside me. “Munchkin?”

“He was the runt of the litter.”

“He’s part horse.”

The large ball of fur must sense that we’re discussing him. He rolls onto this back and Harris responds by rubbing his belly. “I think he’s mostly dog.”

Munchkin is purring. I reach for him and run my fingers over his soft fur. “I always wanted a pet. A dog or a cat.”

For a few minutes we’re silent, both of us rubbing Munchkin’s belly. It’s crazy how different my life has been the last few weeks compared to what it was for the last ten years. Sitting on a strange bed, in a strange house, petting a strange cat, doesn’t feel all that strange for some reason. I like it, but, then again, I look over to Harris. I shouldn’t like it.

Sure he appears nice enough, but they all do in the beginning. I can’t forget that even though this is a nice-looking house and there aren’t bars and gates, it’s still a prison. I can’t just decide to leave and walk out the door.

And no matter how good-looking he is, how nice, and how much he smiles, Caden Harris is still my jailer.

I pull away from Munchkin. “What did you want to talk about? I’m rested and not hungry. I’ll shower after.”

If Harris notes a change in my attitude, it doesn’t show. He says, “Okay, let’s go into the living room,” and scoops the monster cat off the bed. I follow him.

Like the other parts of the house I’ve seen, the living room is decorated in American bachelor fashion: big screen TV, leather sofa and recliners, and a desk in the corner with more electronic devices than most office supply stores have.

When he sits down on one end of the sofa and faces me, all traces of humor have left his expression.

“I made a deal with Mike to get you out of there. I can’t tell you everything, but what I do tell you is true. Do you trust me?”

I almost say ‘yes’. It’s the answer he’s looking for, the one he wants. But I can’t do it.

“No,” I finally reply.

“I can’t say I blame you,” he says. “I’m not sure I’d trust me either.”

“What kind of a deal did you make with Mike?”

“I was able to bring you here because I told him I’d see to it that you were prepared for your next assignment.”

“Which is?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that right now.”

“This is why I can’t trust you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but there are things I can’t tell you right now.”

The leather of the sofa is cool against my fingers. It feels good against my heated flesh. “This isn't over, is it?”

“Not by a long shot, I’m afraid. I did get his permission to stay at home for the foreseeable future.”

Which meant he would always be around. I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind to simply leave the house when he went into work. Another useless plan shot to hell.

“The other thing,” he starts, and I already dread what the other thing is. “Mike’s letting me stay here and not be at the office with him because he’s set up video conferences to monitor your progress with me.”

What the ever-loving fuck? “Say that again.”

“He’s going to monitor your progress via webcam and let me work from home. I’ll let you know when to expect them so you won’t be caught off guard.”

“Mike won’t be here?” I ask

“Not unless he thinks I’m a miserable failure based on what he sees on the video.”

I inhale deeply and ask the question weighing heavy on my mind. “What happens to me after he’s satisfied with my progress?”

“Athena, look at me.” His blue eyes beseech me, and when I look into them, I see the truth I saw long years ago when we first met. He’s not like the others. “I need you to trust me on this. I don’t know the timing and I don’t know exactly when Mike will want you for your next assignment, but for right now, you’re safe.”

“I’m trapped here. That’ s not safe. I can’t leave when I want or go where I want. I can’t even—”

“Do you want to live?”

His question knocks the wind out of me. “Yes.”

“Then I need you to do the hardest thing you’ve ever done. I need you to trust me.”

He may as well have asked for the moon.  That’s just about as likely to happen.

***

I feel even more human after my shower: clean, refreshed, and with a full belly, plus I’m not as achy as I was before. I hurry down the stairs and see that Harris is outside on his back deck. I pour myself a glass of water in the kitchen and join him.

He looks up at my arrival. “Feel better?”

“Much,” I say, taking a seat in the chair beside him. “I did some thinking.”

He doesn’t reply but waits for me to continue.

“I thought about what you said earlier. I’m still not happy about being here, but you’ve never done anything to hurt me, so I’m going to trust you.”

“Thank you, but you don't have to make it sound like a fate worse than death.”

“I’m not. I know death would be worse.” I glance sideways at him. “With you, death is only a possibility, not a certainty. That makes it marginally better.”

He looks at me in shock.

“I’m kidding.” I say. “I think.”

He chuckles to himself. “You’re an amazing woman, did you know that, Athena?”

No one has ever called me that before and I’m momentarily stunned. “No,” I whisper.

“You have a quiet strength about you.”

“I’m not so quiet.”

He ignores my comment. “And you’re a survivor. Look at everything you’ve been through.”

I can’t help the snort that comes out of my mouth. “I’m no such thing. You have to remember, I wasn’t forced into this profession. I choose it.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sounds to me like your choice was do it or die. That’s not picking a career path; that’s survival.”

"The only thing I'm surviving is life."

"Life isn't meant to be survived, it's meant to be delighted in."

"Is that what you do?" I asked. "You delight in life? Seriously? Working for Mike?”

A haunted expression crosses his face, and I know no matter what he says, he isn’t always delighting in life. Sometimes, he’s just surviving it as well.

“Then maybe," I say. "Maybe I'm just surviving my bad decisions."

“Athena.”

I slowly turn my head and look into his captivating blue eyes. All earlier signs of playfulness are gone, replaced by an unwavering seriousness, but still somehow underscored by his usual gentleness.

“We call it ‘the past’ for a reason,” he says. “Let it go.”

“It’s not a button you can just press. It’s there. In my head. It’s me.” I run my fingers through my own hair. “I see it when I look in the mirror.  I hear it at night when it’s quiet. I feel it. Always.”

“And it’ll always be there. Our past is part of who we are, but it doesn’t control our future. It doesn’t dictate who we become.”

He’s right, and my head understands, but how did one go about convincing the heart?

“If you’d let me go, I could start over easy,” I say.

He shakes his head. “That’s the thing about pasts: You can’t run from them. You have to accept them as part of you and move on.”

“You act like you you’re talking from experience,” I say. “What could you possibly know about pasts? What deep dark secrets have you accepted?”