“No,” he says roughly. “No, it’s not.” He exhales, a sound that’s almost a laugh but isn’t. “You want to know the truth? In our country, maybe in yours too, the military preys on people. Of course, there are soldiers who knew what they were getting into, and I’m not saying the military isn’t needed either. That would be naïve. But usually, its kids who need money for college, who want to escape whatever town is suffocating them, whatever family is hurting them, who genuinely believe they’re going to make a difference. They sell you purpose. Brotherhood. A chance to be part of something bigger.” His voice hardens. “I bought all of it. I was eighteen and angry and desperate for something to believe in after my mother died. They gave me a flag and a mission, and I didn’t ask enough questions until it was too late. I wanted to protect the people in my country, but that wasn’t what I was doing.”
He’s quiet for a moment.
“But Vanguard, becoming this…hero, it felt like a lifeline. A way to take everything I’d done, everything I’d been turned into, and make it mean something. To actually protect people instead of…” He stops. “Whether that’s redemption or just a better lie I’m telling myself, I still don’t know.”
I should be writing this down, but I’m struck by his openness and sincerity, the way he’s laying it all out.
“You see yourself as a light the darkness produced, then?”
“I see myself as just a guy who wants to make the world a better place.”
I almost laugh at that, but I can see he’s still sincere. There really is a side of him that’s golly-gee, all-American as apple pie.
“I know that sounds hokey,” he adds, noting my expression. “But it’s the truth. Hope it’s enough truth to satisfy you.”
“We’ll see,” I tell him, trying to not be charmed. “I’m still planning to write whatever story I find here. I still intend to expose the real you, whoever that is.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” He tilts his head, studying me again with that unnerving intensity in his blue eyes. “You know, you’re not what I expected, Ms. Baxter.”
I try not to let that go to my head. “Please. It’s Mia.” I take a beat, biting my lip out of habit. “And what did you expect?”
“Someone easier to dismiss, frankly. Someone who’d be satisfied with the press release answers. I thought maybe the woman I met in London was just a façade.”
“Mmm, no,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’m rarely satisfied with anything.”
His gaze seems to darken for a moment. “That makes two of us.”
The door opens, and Tyler appears with a tray of coffee for us, a look on his face that suggests Rachel sent him to interrupt whatever was happening in here. Rachel and Jason file in behind him, tablets at the ready, professional smiles firmly back in place.
The brief but private moment we shared shatters. We’re journalist and subject again, handler-approved, on the record.
And maybe that’s all it ever was and ever will be, but still…something’s changed. I can feel it in the way he looks at me now—not like a problem to be managed, but like a person worth paying attention to.
Which is dangerous.
For both of us.
But especially for me.
We continue for another hour with safe questions and safe answers, making Rachel’s blood pressure gradually return to normal. Vanguard tells me about his favorite part of the job (saving children, obviously, though saving pets is a close second), and his hopes for the future (world peace and Global Dynamix’s continued success, naturally). It’s all very polished and on-brand.
But every now and then, his eyes meet mine, and there’s a flash of something underneath. The real him, peeking through the mask. The man I’m going to do my bloody best to get to know.
When we finally wrap up, Rachel is practically vibrating with relief at the rest having gone smoothly. “Thank you so much for your time, Ms. Baxter. We’ll be in touch about scheduling the follow-up sessions.”
“Looking forward to it.” I gather my things, tuck away my recorder in my beat-up leather handbag. “Thank you, Vanguard. This has been an illuminating start.”
“How about tomorrow?” he asks.
“Pardon?” I pause to look at him.
“Tomorrow. We can continue. You said it’s just a start, didn’t you? There’s a diner in Brooklyn I like. I swear, they make the best milkshakes in the city. No handlers. There will probably be a few looky loos, but it’s just a conversation. Just us.”
Rachel steps forward. “Vanguard, I really don’t think?—”
“I’m not asking you, Rachel. Or Julia, for that matter.” His voice is pleasant but final. “I’m asking her.”
He’s asking me for milkshakes? The most wholesome activity on Earth?
