“Because I’m … scared. About tomorrow. The last time I saw my father, things didn’t go well. Obviously. And truthfully, when he got arrested, part of me was relieved, and I think that makes me a bad person.”
“You’re not a bad person.”
“Aren’t I though? Conflicted feelings toward my father aside, I went from one life of crime to another, except this one gives me permission to lie and steal.”
A pause filled the line. His voice came back resolved, as if he’d had an internal argument and succeeded in convincing himself of something. “You didn’t have a choice in either case.”
“Yeah, but I still did those things—dothem.”
As the words left my mouth, I thought about the truth behind them. I’d have been lying if I didn’t admit part of melikeddoing bad things. Having the DSA’s permission to do them only dulled the thrill a tad. Like a drop of cream in very strong coffee. The compulsion was probably tied to my formative years spent being rewarded for such behavior, first by my father and then by Agent Wallace. My value was bound up in doing dirty deeds for others. It was all I knew; ingrained in myself-worth. Given the choice, I couldn’t say I would break good.
“I think you’d be disappointed by the choices I’d make on my own, Bray,” I said.
Another pause filled the line. This one strained around the edges. I could only imagine what he was thinking.
He cleared his throat and came back with his DSA voice. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’ll do fine tomorrow. This is our only shot at finding the diamond and keeping you safe. A face-to-face withyouwill get us more than if he talked to anyone else.”
I silently agreed with him.
“Will he know I’m coming?”
“No.”
“Good. Better to catch him off guard. Where will it happen?”
“Somewhere off-grid,” he answered. “We can’t take him far, but there are plenty of abandoned shipyards and garages nearby to choose from.”
“Perfect setup for everything to go wrong.”
“I’ll be there, don’t worry.”
“I’m bringing my gun.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
I huffed. “Then why’d you give it to me?”
“For you to feel safe at the house.”
“Bray, this place has a keycode to get into the garage, and I’ve got an armed babysitter sleeping in the next room over. I’m not worried about being safe here.”
“Good. Glad to know my provisions are working.”
“They’d work better if you were here too.” The words slipped out, and I couldn’t take them back. I scrunched into a ball under the impossibly high thread count linens and wanted to disappear. I swore I could feel him blushing over the phone.
“You don’t want me there. Idosnore.”
“Really?”
“No, but I am not the most peaceful sleeper.”
“You didn’t seem to have a problem sleeping on my couch last night.”
“I—” He paused and quietly laughed. “You’re right. That was a fluke. Ever since my injury, I startle pretty easy.”
“Injury.What a heroic choice of word.”
He quietly laughed again. “Look at us: two trauma insomniacs.”
