Chapter 8 #2
He licked the chocolate cone, catching a few stray drips with his tongue before they landed on Nutmeg’s head. “Not bad. Thanks.”
She returned a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "You're thinking about telling me not to go to the party."
Wow. The statement caught him off-guard. And knocked the breath out of him. "You know, I've been told I'm difficult to read. You're exceptionally intuitive." He stared at her for a couple of beats.
She licked her ice cream, eyes fused to his, waiting silently for an answer.
He glanced out at the turquoise rolling waves. But they didn't offer any suggestions. He looked back at her and raised the chocolate ice cream cone.
"Is that what this was for? A bribe to get me to take you to the party?"
She looked offended. He'd meant it as a joke. He raised his other hand.
"I'm messing with you. Sorry." He drew in a deep breath. "You're right. Going to the party could be very helpful. It's not a terrible idea." He prayed she could hear the warning in his voice. "But it is dangerous. And I can't promise you Cassidy will be there."
She started to say something, but he cut her off.
"If we do this, we have to do it my way. You have to do what I ask you to do. This is a dangerous situation. And this isn't your area of expertise."
"I understand, I do. I'll follow your lead."
She looked sincere. But he still had doubts.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
The expression on her face worried him.
"I'll follow your lead," she repeated. "I know this is your area of expertise. We'll do it your way."
He didn't miss that she intentionally avoided using the word trust. He tried not to take it personally. Her trust issues likely had nothing to do with him.
There were many layers to Lena Ashworth. And he needed to tamp down his desire to peel back those layers. Lena's safety may be part of his mission, but nothing more.
She nibbled gracefully at her ice cream cone, which was an impressive feat that he was incapable of, apparently. His dripped all over the place. He took a couple large bites to provide some damage control.
"So how long have you worked for this company, WhiteRock?" she asked. "You said you contracted out. Do you have your own business or do you usually work with them?"
"Not my own business. I've been a bit of a freelancer lately. I was in the military. And then I worked full-time for a couple of different government agencies."
"Why the change to a private company?"
He wasn't sure how much he wanted to share.
But her questions didn't bother him for some reason—a fact that surprised him.
"My last employment didn't end well. Getting a new job was going to be difficult.
But Jason's a good friend. He's been with WhiteRock for several years.
So he convinced the board to contract with me on a mission by mission basis for now. It works for me."
Her brow furrowed.
That hadn't come out well. He wasn't painting himself as someone to be trusted. And he wanted her trust. For more reasons than he wanted to admit.
It wouldn't kill him to offer a few more details.
"I didn't do anything I'm ashamed of."
Her eyes scoured him, searching for any sign of deception. But her voice remained quiet, casual even. "I didn't ask."
"I know, but you're smart, so you're wondering." He ran a hand through his hair. Here goes nothing. "The last agency that let me go was the CIA and yes, they fired me. And yes, that should concern a person, generally."
"But you didn't do anything wrong?"
He shook his head. "Nah. I made my choice.
I knew what the consequences were going to be when I did it, but it was worth it.
Can't give you all the details, but let's just say my boss was insisting I engage in some activities on my last assignment because I was undercover, that I refused to participate in. "
He leveled his gaze at her. "It wouldn't have been right. He was asking me to do something morally wrong and unnecessary. Saying no was painful. But not difficult."
"What do you mean by that?" she asked.
"Painful because he'd been my boss for a long time. A mentor, actually. For a while, I sincerely looked up to him. He's good at what he does. I learned a lot from him."
Melting ice cream migrated toward his hand.
He licked the side of the cone, allowing himself a few more seconds to organize his thoughts.
"From an objective standpoint, I know why he asked me to do the things he asked.
He wanted me to play a convincing role. I was undercover, and he wanted me to fit in with the scum around me. But I had to draw a line."
"That's admirable."
Nash shrugged off the compliment. "What he wanted me to do was too much to ask. I told him we could find another way to get the information we needed. And he drew his own line. Either I did what he asked, or I'd be dismissed."
"Just for standing up for what you knew was right?"
"There was more to it than that, but that's a story I'm not going into." Guilt clawed at his insides. The animosity between him and his boss started two months before the undercover fiasco. He should've quit then. Before things spiraled out of control.
"Like I said, it wasn't a hard decision.
But I'd be lying if I said the situation was pleasant.
I lost my job, and a person I thought was a friend.
But at the end of the day, I have to answer to God for my actions.
So, like I said, my decision was easy. It doesn't look good though, you know, being dismissed from the CIA.
It wasn't helpful for my career. But, Jason and I go way back.
Gave him a call. I knew he'd understand.
He knows we answer to a Higher Authority. "
Trust and admiration bloomed in her unguarded gaze.
Very good. And dangerous.
The professional in him needed her trust. But the part of him that craved her admiration . . . needed the reins pulled tight. And a cold shower.
"You're a good man, Nash."
He focused on his ice cream again, with a mumbled, "I don't know about that."