“How old were you?” She sipped her coffee, and her shaking finally subsided.
“Fourteen. They taught me a lot.” He remembered the days of brutal drills, of shooting on the line, of martial arts training. The nonstop learning, studying languages, politicalmachinations, history, and tactics. No weekends or summers off. But he’d belonged, as he hadn’t in a long time. “I went out solo at eighteen and never stopped.”
She sat there for some time, then asked, “Deacon and Hammer?”
“Just like me.”
She nodded before a hurt look appeared on her face. “So it was all lies?” She paused. “What about Noel Jr.?”
He grimaced. “He’s real.The mess I’m in with him is real. My home in Bainbridge, being with you, all real.” He took her hand, pleased she didn’t pull away, but not happy she stiffened under him. “I wasn’t lying about the rest either. I need a change.”
She snorted, surprising him with that hint of sass. “I’d say you do if your workdays are like what you just did.”
He nodded. “More or less. I get by tellingmyself it’s for the greater good. One less dictator who kills the masses. One less drug runner selling young girls and boys in trade. One less corrupt official contributing to mass murder in war-torn countries. But Addy, that kind of work leaves a stain. And I’m tired.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, and he wondered what she saw. Then she glanced away and stood. “I want to gohome, Noel.”
So he took her. But the quiet ride on the ferry had never felt so long.
