Chapter 8 #2
She released a weary breath, glancing over at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know about any note because the truth is, I didn’t write one.”
A grunt, then he was back. Full body against hers, again.
Every muscle hard. Unyielding. He jammed his hand into his pocket, then held up his fist, shaking a crumpled piece of paper at her.
“Stop lying to me. I still have the damn thing. Couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.
A reminder never to fall like that, again. ”
He shoved it at her, stepping back enough she could smooth it out. Read it. It was smudged, the edges frayed, with some of the writing nothing more than faded strokes. But she could still make out the words.
God, Brett, I just learned that your father’s Daniel Sievers!
How could you keep that from me all this time?
Didn’t you think I needed to know? That I’d want to hear it from you and not have it tossed in my face during a briefing?
I can’t be with a man who built our relationship on lies.
Who obviously doesn’t trust me. Who’s got the same blood as that monster.
It’s over. We’re done.
Ellis
Each word hit her hard until it took every ounce of strength, all her damn training, to raise her gaze to his—look him in the eyes. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. That’s what stared back at her.
She tried to take a shaky breath—failed. “Shit.”
“Shit? That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“I didn’t write this.”
Narrowed eyes. Firm mouth. Muscles primed for a fight. “It’s your handwriting.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Ellis—”
“It’s a close match. I’ll grant you that. Pretty freaking spectacular. But it’s not my handwriting because I didn’t write it. McCormick did.”
“Who?”
“My boss. Roger McCormick. He’s one of the unit directors for the CIA’s Special Activities Division. He wrote the note or had someone do it for him. This wasn’t me.”
“You said you’d stop lying.”
“I’m not lying. Let me guess? You got this, what, a week or so after we talked last?
Around the time we were going to meet in Paris?
About a month after that clusterfuck of a mission your unit went on in Somalia?
The last one I gathered intel for? Where some of those NCS bastards nearly got you and all of Alpha squad killed? ”
A twitch of his left eye, which meant, she’d nailed it. “And that matters, why?”
“Because the day I supposedly sent this to you, I was a few thousand miles away in a rat-infested cell in some CIA black ops site being told I could either join up or spend the rest of my very short life right there.”
His breathing increased, but he didn’t talk. Just stared at her.
“Damn it, Brett, it’s signed Ellis. I always signed everything to you with El. You were the only one who ever called me that. It was special.”
“You were ripping out my heart. Crushing every dream we’d ever made together. Our future. I thought the lack of my nickname was apropos.”
“Or maybe, the asshole who wrote this didn’t know about it.
Because he didn’t have access to the personal letters I’d sent you.
So, he signed it the way I did for any other form of correspondence.
But while we’re at it… Thanks so damn much for questioning it.
For even a moment’s pause to consider that maybe, just maybe, something was seriously wrong.
That maybe you should come looking for me. ”
More than a twitch, now, though it probably had to do with the fact she was yelling. A few tears leaking out of her eyes as she shook that damn note right back at him.
He took a step. Just one. As if he couldn’t get any other signal through to his legs. “You told me to fuck off. What was I supposed to think?”
“That I’d never do that to you? That I didn’t give a shit who your father was?”
“Ellis—”
“I already knew!”
He froze. Breath held, gaze locked on her. Some of the color drained from his face as his expression fell. “What did you say?”
“About your father. I already knew who he was. What he’d done. I knew from the start.”
His mouth gaped opened, closed, then opened, again. He looked as if he wanted to talk but couldn’t get any of the words out.
“Seriously, Brett? I was Military Intelligence. It was my job to gather covert information. To vet every damn soldier in the units I worked with to ensure they had the appropriate security clearance for every mission. Conduct the necessary interviews and searches if they needed a higher one. Of course, I knew who your father was. I just never cared.”
He swallowed. Hard. Several times before exhaling. “But…you never said anything. Why didn’t you say something?”
“It’s called tact. I’d heard some of the men had been bastards about it.
Kept asking if you if that’s why you’d joined.
So you could murder people just like your old man.
I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready.
When you’d dealt with whatever demons were still riding you.
It’s not like I had any kind of benchmark to meet with respect to family.
My father left us, and my mother was a crack addict who died when I was ten.
If my grandparents hadn’t taken me in, I would have ended up on the streets. ”
He was shaking his head, muttering something she couldn’t make out before he clenched everything. His mouth. His fists. His muscles. “No, that note said—”
“All that talk about brotherhood. About never leaving a man behind. Who would have guessed it didn’t extend beyond your team. That I didn’t deserve the same courtesy. Kind of makes it poetic that you’re all so eager to help out, now. Five years too late.”
She was shaking. Barely staying on her feet, but after all this time, she couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t manage to seal it up, like before.
“I held out for nearly a month in that hellhole. Chained to the wall. Stripped of any form of dignity. Waiting for someone, anyone, to challenge him. To demand to know where the hell I was. Why I’d suddenly vanished.
But no one did. McCormick made up some bullshit joint operations unit assignment.
Got me transferred. Sent out some texts.
A few emails. That note. And that was it.
All it took to erase my existence. To sever every tie I’d ever made.
That’s when I knew—no one was ever going to come looking for me.
That I either agreed to their terms, or I was dead. ”
She matched his single step forward. “You’d promised me you’d always have my back. So, maybe you should be the one answering the question… Where the hell were you?”