“Why did you decide to work in the FBI?” I ask instead of answering him.
He sighs, adjusts how he’s sitting, winces as the seat belt brushes against the gauzy bandage Linda applied. “I wanted to right the wrongs in the world. Try to, at least.” He inhales, looks off into the distance, and adds, “There are too many victims in this world. Too many people hurt by the actions of others.”
I try to decipher his words, or rather, the meaning behind them. But I suppose that sounds like him. Always trying to make the world a better place.
“So all the travel you do—it’s for them?”
He gives one precise nod. “Yes. Tracking various…persons of interest.”
I swallow. “And who’s the woman?”
“The woman?”
“She changed in the car from a suit to a cocktail dress when you were in Austin.”
He looks over, wide-eyed. “You were following me?”
I can’t help the tiny smile that comes to my lips. The way he stares at me like he’s just realized he’s not the only one who hascertain skills, as if what happened in the storage unit hadn’t fully convinced him.
But regardless of him being FBI, I have my limits, my boundaries of what I will tolerate. And him sleeping with another woman isn’t one of them. “Who is she?” I repeat.
He huffs out a dismayed breath. “A coworker,” he says. “We work certain assignments together.”
“Are you sleeping with her?”
“Of course not.” His indignant tone makes me believe him.
“And who was the woman you wandered off with at the party in San Diego?”
Now he stares at me, stunned into silence. “Have you been following me everywhere, Nadia?”
I shake my head. “Answer my questions. Then you can ask your own.”
“She was an informant. I’m assuming you saw me tuck her into a car—it was to get her somewhere safe. That’s all. I would never…” His voice tapers off into silence, perhaps not wanting to put words to my suspicions.
“And that night—did you have someone in your hotel room with you?” Or was Ian lying?
“Of course not.” He sounds offended, and suddenly, I can see it—Ian spinning the bit of truth I witnessed into a whole story I’d of course buy, because I’d already seen Brian leave with the college woman. The effect? Me, upset. Me, willing to kill him. Which was exactly what Ian wanted.
Brian sounds like he’s being honest. And that’s the most important piece—that he wasn’t trafficking people. Also, he wasn’t cheating on me. I let the first thread of relief wind through me. Maybe, somehow, things will be okay. I don’t know if he’ll accept me, but maybe there issomesort of path forward…
“One more question. The people you introduced me to as your parents.”
“FBI agents, acting like my parents.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you. But I had no choice.” He pauses, thinks for a moment. “Wait, is that why you shot at me? Because you thought I was sleeping around? With those women?”
I almost laugh. “I didn’t shoot at you on purpose. I thought you were him. Ian. At first. When you came out into the hall. And then—things just got a little out of control.”
“Things got out of control?” he repeats, as though he can’t believe that’s my description of us nearly killing each other.
I glance sideways at him. “It was a little bit fun. Right?”
He raises one brow, a ghost of a grin floating over his lips. “You’re fucked-up.”
“So are you.”
Five minutes later, we pull up to a dark, silent house. The sun has long gone down, and it’s past eleven by the time we ease in the door. Bear greets us, wiggling, licking Brian’s leg, likely sensing he’s injured. I expect Piper to storm in from the living room, but when I find her, she’s passed out on the couch.
Having worked out a tentative peace between us, Brian follows me as I drift from one room to another—placing a blanket over Piper, checking on the girls, adjusting Evie’s pillow. He kisses the girls good night, but mostly, his eyes rest heavy on me—wondering who the hell I am.
