"I never ruin anything,” Ronan insisted.
Jasper barked out his laugh. "You once blew up the microwave."
"It was an experimental burrito,” Ronan defended.
"It was frozen, and you didn’t read the instructions,” Jasper said.
"It fought back, and it was stronger than I was.” Another laugh escaped Sophia, and Jasper watched her carefully. The nightmares wouldn't vanish overnight, and neither would the fear. But for the first time, she wasn't simply surviving the hours; she was beginning to live inside them.
Jasper's phone vibrated. It was the secure STARR line. He stepped away from the others before answering. "Kane."
The Director didn't waste time calling him. "We identified the man from the hospital."
Jasper's expression hardened. "Malcolm Ashcroft?"
"That's the name he uses,” the Director said.
"Uses?" Jasper asked.
"It's an alias,” he said.
Jasper's pulse quickened. "Who is he then?"
"We matched his DNA." Jasper glanced back toward Sophia, who was quietly laughing as Ronan dramatically defended his cooking skills.
"Tell me,” Jasper demanded.
The Director's voice turned grim. "Malcolm Ashcroft isn't Keller's partner."
Jasper frowned. "Then who is he?"
"He's Sophia Manzo's biological father." The world seemed to stop. Jasper slowly looked back toward the woman standing on the dock. The woman who had spent three years believing she knew exactly who had stolen her life. She had no idea the truth was even worse because the man hunting her wasn't just connected to her nightmares; he had helped create them.
Ronan
Ronan had spent most of his career lying. It came with the territory. Undercover assignments, false identities, and fake passports ruled his existence. His entire life was built on stories convincing enough to get him killed if he forgot one detail.
He could usually spot a lie before someone finished telling it, which was why he knew Jasper was keeping something to himself. The big Ranger had been quiet ever since he ended the call with Director Mason—too quiet. Jasper wasn't the brooding type; he was the thinking type. There was a difference. Ronan leaned against the kitchen counter while pretending to search the refrigerator.
"You're making that face again," Ronan said.
Jasper glanced up from the folder in front of him. "I don't make faces."
"You absolutely do,” Ronan grumbled.
"I have one face, and it stays the same all the time,” Jasper insisted.
“No, you don’t. You’re making the one that says you've learned something terrible, and you're trying to figure out how to tell the rest of us."
Jasper closed the folder. "Later."
"So I was right,” Ronan said triumphantly. Jasper didn't answer, but that was answer enough for him.
Across the room, Sophia stood in front of the bookshelves. She wasn't really looking at the books. She was studying the room, being hypervigilant. Ronan knew the signs because he'd seen them in rescued hostages before. The body escaped captivity long before the mind did.
She pulled a novel from the shelf, turned it over, and set it back on the shelf. She picked up another and looked at it. She was doing anything to keep her hands busy and avoid thinking.
He wandered over. "You like mysteries?"
