Hartgrave leaned against a wall, pressing his hands to his eyes. “Most recently, Crawford, Shaw and Kincaid—at least, they wouldn’t have been killed without me. Before that ...”
Oh God, she was going to be sick.
“Before that,” he repeated, looking as ill as she felt, “every single person the Organization tracked down with my invention.”
She gasped, not trusting her ears. “The—theOrganizationtracked down?”
“Yes, be more specific,” Bernie snapped, sounding not the least bit surprised. “How many of these people did you personally kill? As in, at the scene?”
Hartgrave’s answer came out as a croak: “None.”
None.
“Well, I was dazed at the time,” Bernie said, “but I’ve heard from a reliable eyewitness that Kincaid killed Crawford and Shaw, and Willi killed Kincaid. You know”—he tapped his chin in a mock-thoughtful way—“I don’t think you’ve killed anyone.”
“A matter of semantics—”
“I don’t believe that. Even Willi doesn’t. What about you, Em?”
Her eyes were locked on Hartgrave’s. “You ... you ragingidiot. You complete and utter ninny! First you leave things out to make yourself look better, and then you leave things out to make yourself lookworse!”
“Daggett—”
“And you let me jump to conclusions again, damn it!”
“I just—”
“I don’t want to hear it! Tell me one thing, Alexander effing Hartgrave: Do you actually love me? If this was an elaborate scheme to get me to go away, then I promise not to inflict myself on you ever again!”
The moment of silence that followed was probably shy of three seconds, for all that it felt a hundred times longer.
“I love you so much, I was trying to be unselfish for once in my life.” His quiet, urgent words sent a magic-like thrill through her body. “But I don’t think I can continue in the face of such temptation.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh no, it’s not that easy. You’ve put us both through completely unnecessary heartbreak, and I’m only taking you back ononecondition.”
“What—” He cleared his throat. He really did sound awful. “What do you want?”
“Restitution.”
One side of his mouth twitched. “Money?”
“No.” She glared at him. “Information. About you.”
His eyes widened, the momentary flash of amusement gone.
“That’s right,” she said, gesturing. “Your punishment is to tell me everything. About your childhood, your years with the Organization, your escape to Ashburn—everything. Don’t look at me like that! There are big gaping holes in what I know about you, and I don’t see how you thought that was the foundation for a lasting relationship!”
“I didn’t,” Hartgrave muttered. “I thought I’d eventually tell you, and you’d leave me. Assuming we weren’t killed first.”
“Honestly! You’re such a—”
“Yes.”
That brought her up short. “Yes?”
“Yes, I am whatever you were about to call me. And yes, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Well,” she said, taken aback by this quick surrender. “Well—all right, then.”
