Luckily, Ian has weapon stashes in most major cities across the country, and unless he’s changed the passcode in the last day, I should have access to the one he stores smack-dab in the middle of the Midwest—which happens to be where we’re headed. I’ve explained it to Brian by simply telling him that people like me share weapon stores in certain locations throughout the country—which, technically, isn’t a lie. I could see his mental note-taking though, wishing he could tell a superior or use this information to catch other killers.
Stepping onto the plane with Brian is akin to stepping into the twilight zone—a place I’d never thought I’d be, one that doesn’t really make sense.Assassin and FBI agent, working together…dun-dun-dun. It sounds like a bad movie. Or, I consider with a small smile, a spicy romance novel. I steal a glance sideways athim as we find our seats and buckle in. Something about boardingtogetherthis time feels symbolic, like we’re moving forward into a new chapter of our marriage.
I wish this trip were something more romantic, even if this does have its own excitement. Leaving the kids with Graham, escaping just the two of us for a relaxing long weekend…
“We should do therapy,” I say, surprising myself. But I don’t retract my statement.
“Huh?” He tilts his head at me.
“We’re, like, getting to know each other all over again. Starting over. We should do therapy. And maybe plan a real weekend away.”
His eyes, full of alarm, slowly relax into something almost warm, almost happy. “Okay. If you want to, I’d be down.” He squeezes my hand, and then his eyes light up as he leans close. “Why did the couch go to therapy?”
“Seriously? You have a joke about this?”
He grins. “Because it had too many issues to just sit on!”
“They’re getting worse as you get older.”
He laughs, and I settle back in my seat, thinking so long as I can keep Brian alive and my family together, everything is going to work out after all. And the best part about it is that he knows the real me—and loves me, despite that.
—
We land justafter six in the evening.
Settled into our rental—a green Ford Escape—we’re on the highway, headed east toward Columbia, within half an hour. It’s a long, flat drive, at least until we’re thirty minutes from our destination, and that’s when the land changes. It’s still mostly flat, but Missouri has terrain far more varied than people give it credit for—including caves. Billboards advertise them, right alongsidethe signs pleading for people to save their souls and find Jesus. By the time we roll into town, we’ve watched a fiery orange sunset, topped off the gas tank, and grabbed dinner at IHOP, and I can barely keep my eyes open after being awake for almost forty hours.
Still, as we exit the highway and pull past the Columbia Mall, I direct Brian to the standalone pizza shop I’ve pulled reconnaissance on exactly once before. Knowing who my handler was, what he looked like, and where I could find him should things ever go awry was simply a good business decision and a step toward self-preservation. Looks like I made the right choice.
“This is it?” Brian parks the SUV.
“Yep.” I unbuckle. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait—I can come with you.”
I look at him. “You’re the mark. You can’t come with me.”
“Nadia—” Brian leans forward, worry in his eyes, and again, it takes me a second to realize he’s worried forme. Worriedabout me. And a tiny part of my heart likes that—no, loves it. I love knowing that as I’m walking into a pizza joint, my husband wants to make sure I’m safe.
“Brian, listen.” I give him a patient smile, lean in, press a kiss to his lips. “I’m not going to do anything right now other than see if he’s here, okay? If he’s not, we’ll go to his house. If he is, we’ll wait for his shift to end.”
Brian meets my gaze, presses his lips together. “Okay. Fine.” He says it like he doesn’t like it but knows better than to try to stop me.
I step inside the restaurant and glance around the place. It looks like an old, rebranded Pizza Hut—the red, white, and black color scheme, the ugly lamps hanging over red-checkered tables. There’s even a salad bar at one end.
“Excuse me.” I stop the first employee to pass by—a young woman in a red baseball cap.
“Yes?”
“Is John here tonight?”
Her eyes get big. “He missed his shift. Are you his girlfriend?”
“He’s not here?” I clarify, not because that isn’t already obvious to me, but because I want her to keep talking.
“We called, but…his phone went straight to voicemail.” She scrunches up her nose. “I can take a message if you want me to.”
“Thanks.” My heart pounds in my chest as I exit and sprint to the car.
