Page 85 of What Remains

He dips his chin, eyes falling to where I’m touching him.

My fingers are just a whisper on his skin. But that touch seems to be louder than when Easton said my name, because it gets Dad’s attention.

“Everything okay?” he asks us, and Easton eases his arm away and backs up like we’ve been caught making out.

“Yeah.” I nod at my nosy father, then spin back around toward my rig.

I’ve spent the last hour or so trying to find the connection between Dad and those Aussie mercenaries since my hotel-guest-list search was a dead end. The results popped up earlier with a flashing NO MATCH on my screen. Part of me was relieved our security was tight enough to prevent any of those jerks from checking into The Sapphire. The other part? Well, I was really hoping my program would come up with a lead, then we’d have someone to interrogate for answers.

When Easton heads to the dining room table and disappears behind his screen, I resume my search.

An hour later, I blink in shock at the fact I finally found something. I read and digest the report, then spin around to share, “I’ve got it.” But the second my eyes lock with Dad’s, the next words become hard to get out. “I, um, know why they⁠—”

I abruptly shut my eyes as heat rises up my neck and into my cheeks. Why the heck does the mere thought of those men’s names send me back to that room?

“You okay?” Dad’s voice sweeps through my suite, drawing closer, and, thankfully, also jerks me back to the safety of the room. When I open my eyes, he’s in front of my desk chair.

Goose bumps crawl across my skin as I death-grip the armrests. Dad takes notice and kneels before me, covering both of my hands with his big, rough ones.

I peer over his shoulder in search of the man who somehow grounds me with his mere presence. Easton’s on his feet now. His head is slightly angled, lips parted, and his dark eyes are narrowed, waiting for me to speak.

I want to be on his lap. Sheltered in his arms. Alone with him and away from all of our problems.

It’s not that I don’t love my dad and feel safe with him. But something changed on that island with Easton, and I don’t know if we can ever go back to how things were with us before.

Easton nods, like he knows I’m waiting for him to give me the green light. That it’s safe to continue talking, because I’m here, not there. Not in that room with that woman and her timer, or that man with his belt buckle undone.

“Um . . .”

I need to share what I found out. Come on, come on. Get this over with.

Eyes back on Dad, I rip off the Band-Aid. “Bodhi’s childhood best friend served. He was on an operation that went sideways in Mogadishu in 2011. American SEALs were on the joint op with the Aussies, and based on the files I just hacked⁠—”

“I was one of those SEALs,” Dad cuts in bitterly before I can finish. “And you know that, don’t you? My name is in those files.” He curses. “So much for clandestine shit being clandestine.”

“Nothing written down is ever really hidden, and anything uploaded is always hackable.”

“What are you two talking about?” Natasha asks, her voice curious, and her gaze lands on me when Dad doesn’t answer her.

“Dad was responsible for getting Bodhi’s best friend booted from the op,” I tell Natasha, “and ultimately from the armed forces.”

CHAPTER 28

Gwen

“That was before I was recruited to run Echo Team,” Dad reveals, dragging his fingers through his hair. “So I guess it makes sense why those files aren’t as locked tight as my current ops are.”

“Well, since you were there,” I begin, “tell us what happened from your perspective.” Better, and probably more comfortable for everyone, to hear it from the source than for me to third-person him by reading an after-action report.

He nods, slowly and hesitantly. “An Aussie special forces operator disobeyed a direct order and killed three innocent locals. I reported him to his superiors and provided evidence.” He lets go of a deep breath, and his face pinches in frustration, like he’s about to take on the full weight of blame for what happened to me yet again.

Natasha sets aside her tablet and rises to her feet to join us. “So, he was sent to prison?”

I peek back at the files, assuming Dad won’t know this part. “Looks like it was swept under the rug after he was discharged. No jail time. But he did die a couple years back while doing mercenary work.”

“That’s why Jezebel, or whoever is running the show, recruited Bodhi,” Dad grits out. “They told him the job would be a way to stick it to me. Get back at the man he blamed for getting his best friend canned. Probably assumes his friend would still be alive and serving if not for me.”

“I told you I didn’t think he knew you knew you. Just of you and was pissed about something.”