As I hesitate, three more knocks punch through my anxiety. I start to reach for my Glock, then stop. What am I going to do? Have a gun fight with government assets trained to kill as efficiently as possible?
But at the same time, I can’t bring myself to open the door without anything to protect myself. My sense of self-preservation rebels against it. I hide a small paring knife in my right boot as a compromise.
When I open the door, Trey is standing there. He grins. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I respond automatically, my voice slightly high-pitched in surprise. We don’t have the kind of neighborly relationship where we visit each other in the evening or on weekends, especially in a crisply ironed button-down shirt and nice slacks. His carefully styled hair is that of a man on a mission to entice a woman for more than just dinner.
“Señor Mittens came over.” He hefts my cat, who is hissing with disgust. “Guess he wanted to play with Nero. Anyway, just wanted to drop him off because I’m heading out for a date, and I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Ah,” I say stupidly. He’s going on a date. I accept Señor Mittens from Trey. “Thanks. I had no idea he’d snuck out.”
“Maybe he got lonely while you were working.”
“Could be. I’ve been doing some renovation.”
“If you need help, just let me know.” His smile grows a bit awkward. “I know your fiancé is around, but in case you need another pair of hands.”
“Thank you.” He starts to turn, and I blurt out, “Were you ever lonely?”
He stops and gives me a curious look.
“When you were in Afghanistan, away from your friends and family,” I say, even though I already regret asking him. I just wanted to emotionally sort out the fact that I have nobody to talk about the cause of the suffocating knot in my chest.
“Lonely? Nah. Hard to feel lonely when I had my fellow soldiers and my family back home, who were rooting for me. It was a privilege to serve and help keep the people I love safe.”
“I see.” I manage a smile. “Thanks for your service. Again.”
He nods. “Have a good evening.”
“Good luck with your date.”
He chuckles softly as he limps toward his SUV, waving at Darcy on the other side of the street. She waves back. I hold Señor Mittens, who swishes his tail and makes a vaguely displeased sound, then slip back into my house before Darcy notices me and comes over. I’m not in the mood for mindless gossip. I sit back down on the sofa with the cat on my lap, scratching his head absentmindedly. It was probably foolish to ask Trey if he was lonely—his identity as an American soldier wasn’t secret. He had people to share his thoughts and concerns and fears and triumphs with.
Then it hits me that Noah doesn’t have anybody. His mother doesn’t seem warm and nurturing. At the party, she was more interested in getting him to take another mission than seeing if he was doing well. His brothers have no idea what he does. He can never tell anybody about what he does. The dossier calls him “prolific.” So he’s good at his job and likely has enemies who would kill him if they knew his identity. Does he ever feel afraid? He talked about the plane crash calmly, like it was nothing, but it must have something to do with his job. The exciting “adventures” I’ve worried he might miss are actually dangerous missions. If I stay in his life, I could be a target for the bad guys.
Do I want that?
No one excites me like Noah. Nobody can make me laugh and feel so beautiful and important. My eyes roam around the living room, then stop at his vision painting. It has none of the dangers or threats a clandestine life would bring. Just all the lovely things I’ve always wanted.
Are they empty promises or a vow to keep me safe?
My initial sense of betrayal at Noah setting up our chance meeting in Mexico fades as what was at stake sinks in. If I’d been in his place, I would’ve done the same. As a matter of fact, I might’ve done more—might’ve let it slip that Otto Bright was a traitor. Put pressure on me until I cracked.
Noah didn’t do any of that. Actually, I was treated with kid gloves. The coolness in his mother’s eyes said she would’ve done whatever was necessary to finish the job, and to hell with any collateral damage.
I stand up and pace. I’ve been thinking in circles since I found the dossiers yesterday morning. I can’t continue to stew without driving myself insane. Besides, it isn’t like me to fret endlessly. I figure out what I want, then make a plan to get it. I refuse to let my father’s past strip me of control of my future.
Iam in charge of my destiny.
My mind made up, I start to stand. My phone pings, and I reach for it with a racing heart.Noah…?
–Victor: I hate to bother you, but my car won’t start, and I don’t know who else to call for help.
He drives an old beat-up white Hyundai Elantra he got for almost nothing from some international student who had to move back home. When I asked him if it was reliable, he said rather proudly that he maintains it himself and that he’s a pretty decent mechanic. It must be serious for him to reach out.
–Me: Sure. Where are you?
He sends me an address, and I look it up. A strip mall in a not so great area of the city. I switch to street view and see a greasy Chinese take-out place, a seedy bar and pawn shop.What’s he doing there?Is he in some kind of trouble?
