“I’ll tell you what I think, Chelsea Lynn. I think your daddy and I didn’t raise no thief. I think all these years I’ve kept my Lord-lovin’ mouth shut about your job ’cause I knew the only reason you wouldn’t be straight with me was if youcouldn’t. I think your telling me you quit and uprooted to London to be some scrawny billionaire’s glorified secretary just to make a little extra cash—cash I swear on your daddy’s grave I don’t need—was a lie. I think you’re still workin’ for the…uh…government.”
Chelsea had never come out and told her mother she worked for the CIA. Not only was it company policy to keep such matters on the DL, but it was also for Grace Duvall’s own good. Her mother couldn’t give information she didn’t have to a foreign power or to one of America’s vast collection of enemies. Still, Chelsea’s momma was one smart cookie. She had added two and two to get four a long time ago. Yet, the truth had remained unspoken between them. Chelsea’s cover with the Bureau of Land Management was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla they had allowed to stay in the room.
“Chelsea, baby, what has the…” Her mother let the sentence dangle. She took a deep breath and then finished more quietly with “What has the CIA gotten you involved with?”
And there it was. Spoken aloud for the first time.
“It’s a mistake,” Chelsea assured her mother as calmly as she could, trying to inject certainty into her tone. A touch difficult considering that right then the only thing she was truly certain of was that she was minutes away from hurting a good man, thebestman. “Everything will be cleared up soon. I promise you that when I get home, I’ll explain it all.”
Her mother dragged in a ragged breath, and Chelsea realized her tough-talk, take-no-guff momma was on the verge of crying. Chelsea wouldn’t have thought she was capable of withstanding more pain.
“Momma, don’t cry. Everything will be all right.”
“You have someone there with you, child?” her mother asked. “I hate thinkin’ of you over there all alone. Please tell me you have someone helpin’ you through this.”
Chelsea glanced at Dagan. If there had been any doubt he’d heard both sides of the conversation, that was squashed by the sympathy in his eyes. She wanted to rip her hair out. She wanted to scream. He had no business offering the likes ofhersympathy. Yet there it was, all the same. Offered freely because he was Dagan. Because despite his my-way-or-the-highway, high-handed ways, he was the sweetest, most selfless man she had ever known.
“Give me the phone.” He gently pulled the cell from her hand. “Let me talk to her.”
Should she have stopped him?
Probably.
Given all he didn’t know, it was wrong of her to depend on him for anything, even for what comfort he could offer her mother. But the truth of the matter was that if it was wrong, Chelsea didn’t want to be right. When it came to Grace Duvall, she would do anything.
Just like always.
“Ms. Duvall?” Dagan said. “My name is Dagan Zoelner. I’ve known your daughter for many years now, and if there’s one thing about her, it’s that she doesn’t need help from anyone. She’s the smartest, bravest, most capable woman I know.”
Chelsea wanted to die right then and there. If she were in her grave, six feet under and food for the worms, his sweet words wouldn’t be able to hurt her.
“But if it’s any consolation,” he continued, “I’m here with her. And I promise you I’ll help get her home to you just as soon as possible.”
“Dagan Zoelner?” Chelsea heard her mother ask. “You’re the one she calls Z?”
Dagan shot Chelsea a look, eyebrow raised. That eyebrow said,You told your mom about me?
Yup. She sure had. One night over a bottle of wine she had spoken of her heartbreak, of a man she had wronged—she’d left out the specifics—and her fear that she’d never love another as much as she loved him.
Her mother had advised her to come clean, to confess.It’s good for the soul, her mom had said.And even if he can’t forgive you, perhaps you’ll start to forgive yourself.
That was, what? Two years ago? And here she was, still un-confessed.
“Yes ma’am. That’s me,” Dagan said.
“My girl speaks highly of you.” Her mother’s voice was tinny sounding through the connection. “I’m so glad you’re there with her. And Dagan?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Once you get my girl home, why don’t you stop on by and see me. I want to meet the man who’s stolen my Chelsea’s heart.”
Oh, Momma, Chelsea thought. Never had that coffin and two yards of dirt looked better.
When she glanced at Dagan, she saw the skin on his cheeks go so pale it looked almost waxy. His voice was strangled-sounding when he said, “Yes, ma’am,” and passed Chelsea the phone.
“Momma?” she said into the receiver.
“I like him, Chelsea Lynn. Man’s got a good, strong voice. And he obviously thinks the world of you.” Only because Chelsea had yet to take her mother’s advice and reveal the Big Bad Secret. “Bring him ’round once you’re home, you hear? I’m tired of tiptoeing around the perimeter of your life.”
