Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Frankie
T ime is a funny thing. I’ve been back in Virginia for over a week, but it feels like months have passed. Being sequestered in a government facility for one hell of a debrief tends to have that effect, I suppose. Now my jail sentence is coming to an end.
King has been nothing but kind, and I regret my cold demeanor toward him on the ship. I also regret that he was forced to drug me, which gave me a nasty headache for hours after waking, but at least my good sense has begun to return.
And now I realize that Maverick was right.
As I stepped into my pantsuit and smoothed the white undershirt a few hours ago, I cloaked myself in the familiar armor that reminds me who I am, and I am a federal agent.
King has been helping me remember that. When I arrived at my room, all the cases I’ve worked to a successful outcome were laid on the bed.
Filtering through the paperwork was a swift slap to the face, but King’s words were a balm to the wound.
“We all have a place in the food chain. Some of us were meant to focus on the prey. Some were meant to focus on the predator.”
We are the shepherds. The average citizens are the livestock we must protect.
Those who would kill the livestock are the wolves, but those who kill the wolves?
The killers we let slip through our fingers are the livestock guardians, and they are the people who I will miss more than I have any right to.
But now I understand why we let some of them go.
King has explained a lot in that tiny room over the course of the last few days.
Everything I learned about the plan was correct.
Ten agents had been sent to their deaths so that their respective departments could sweep out the trash.
When King saw that my name had been added to the list, he initially planned to remove me.
That’s when he found out why I’d been sent, and by whom, and he decided it was best to let me go.
King and I never had many interactions before this assignment, but he was someone I’d always admired.
My view of King changed on the ship, and he became someone I hated, but my view of him shifted once more with each meal we shared in my room.
Both versions were incorrect in my mind, and the real King is someone I neither admire nor hate, but I respect him.
The admiration will return, I’m sure. Especially since I’ve decided to take the promotion.
It wasn’t an easy decision, but Maverick was correct in more ways than one. My fast attachment to him clouded my mind, but he helped clear the fog in the end. His cruelty was a kindness. I see that now. It doesn’t lessen the hurt, but time heals all wounds, right?
I’m currently preparing to heal a wound right now.
I sit at a vanity in my tiny jail cell—a locked bedroom in a secret government facility—applying makeup as King stands behind me and tries to give me the last pieces of the puzzle in his grasp.
Well, the pieces he’s willing to part with.
He still skirts certain questions, telling me my mother will need to provide those answers.
“When I did a bit more digging, I discovered your decidedly dark lineage. Have you ever heard of the Butcher of Greenthorn?”
I lower the mascara and glare at him in the mirror. “The British serial killer in the seventies who slaughtered three families? That’s my fucking father?”
“What about the Witch of Windsor?”
My eyebrows pull together. “Wait, that’s a woman. Are you saying I’m adopted?”
King tips his head back and laughs. “I’m saying your father is such a notorious killer that he has many names.
He’s prolific in ways you can’t imagine.
But that’s why I chose to send you on the cruise.
I allowed you to go so that I could move you up in my particular division.
It was important for me to know you could work with killers.
But I also had to know if you had the same. ..sickness as your father.”
I nibble my lip and look at the floor. “If that was the test, I’ll be honest and tell you I failed pretty miserably. I...killed Castle.”
“And enjoyed it?”
A pain grips my heart as my ugliness is laid bare. “Yeah.”
“What did you enjoy about it?” He takes a seat in a side chair, looking like a therapist settling in to pick my brain apart. “ Why was it enjoyable?”
“Because he was a piece of shit,” I mutter. “He hurt people. He tried to hurt me, but he didn’t get far. Maverick bashed the door in and?—”
My throat closes off as the memory grips me in a chokehold. The fear doesn’t prevail, though. I’m stifled by the memory of Maverick’s beautiful face and the rage reflected in his green eyes. I’m silenced by the anguish of the feelings I still have for him.
Was it really all pretend?
“Maverick stopped him,” I finish.
King nods. “Well, there’s your answer. You killed for a pretty good reason. It’s the same reason for most of my kills.”
“Most?”
An alarm blares from King’s phone, and he raises the device to shut it off. “It’s time,” he says. “Just remember what we discussed. No matter how you feel when you learn the truth, you do not have authorization to take a kill. Do you understand?”
I smirk and roll my eyes. “Whatever she has to say, I doubt I’ll want to kill her, King. She’s my mother.”
I pull the black sedan into a parking spot toward the back of Deluca’s.
King thought it best I not drive my flashy red sports car, though he wouldn’t say why.
My mother should be expecting me, so it’s not as if my arrival will surprise her.
Before I left for the cruise, we settled on a time and a place.
My hand moves to the pistol on my hip, but it isn’t there.
Another one of King’s conditions. It seems his trust in my willpower has slipped, but he has nothing to fear.
Nothing my mother says will make me want to kill her.
She’s all I’ve ever had, and while she isn’t the most feeling person, I know she feels the same about me.
A hostess greets me in the front room of the large manor that’s been transitioned into an Italian restaurant. My mother and I eat here often enough that I recognize her, but she seems shocked to see me.
“Table for two in the Peacock Room?” I say with a smile.
She smiles back and grabs a menu before leading me down the parquet hallways until we reach a large wooden door.
Pushing it open, she reveals a lavish room that feels more familiar to me than my bedroom at home.
Royal-blue carpets cover the floor, and a massive painting of a peacock looms above a blue marble fireplace.
It’s too warm for a fire now, but in winter, it provides a romantic glow.
My mother isn’t seated at the small table at the center of the room, but a single nearly empty wineglass whispers of her presence. She must have gone to the bathroom.
I thank the hostess and pluck the menu from her fingers before taking a seat. I get another shock when I spot the appetizer on the side table. It’s a massive plate of fried zucchini blossoms. I hate those, and my mother knows it.
An uneasy feeling slides over me as I give my wine order to the waiter who appears seconds later. Despite setting this up before ever leaving the mainland, it appears my mother isn’t expecting me.
When the waiter returns with my wine, he asks if I’d like to order anything while I wait. My appetite has taken a sudden downward turn, so I decline. Anxiety takes up too much space in my stomach for me to hold anything else. If I try, I’ll likely expel it from one end or the other.
The door finally creaks open after several tense minutes, and my mother appears.
She’s too busy fussing with some stain on her camel-colored blouse to notice my presence, but when she finally looks up, I couldn’t have prepared myself for the shock on her face.
She looks as if she’s seen a ghost. How fitting.
“I take it you weren’t expecting me?” I try to temper my voice, but it comes out shaky. After clearing my throat, I try again, and I’m pleased when I sound more sure of myself. “We set the date in advance, and I never miss a date at Deluca’s.”
She schools her face, reining in the brief slip of emotion that is so unlike her. “I wasn’t sure you’d return at all, but I’m glad you have. How was your trip?”
No smiles are forced on her end. She strides to the table and sits as if nothing is amiss.
“The trip was eventful. What I can’t figure out is who sent me, though. King said it wasn’t him.”
“King said it wasn’t him, huh? I’d like to meet that smug piece of shit and give him a swift kick in the ass.”
“He said it wasn’t his place to answer every question. He said I should ask you.”
My mother scoops up her wineglass and downs the remains. “What does it matter now? You survived and you completed your mission.”
“So why do you sound so disappointed?” My stomach lurches as the question fires from my mouth. I can’t help it. King tried to warn me, and Jim even hinted that my mother is someone I’m not that familiar with, but experiencing it now is a shock to my system.
How long have I lived with this stranger? Why haven’t I noticed her coldness before now? It has nothing to do with a lack of affection and everything to do with a lack of give a fuck. I’ve made excuses for this woman’s unfeeling demeanor my entire life, and now I see her for what she truly is.
She glances around, looking anywhere but at me. “Where is the waiter? I need more wine.”
“Mom, who sent me on the cruise?”
“I told you, none of this matters. I’m tired of the questions.”
“Who sent me?”
She finally looks at me. “I did. I sent you. There. Are you happy?”
My world tries to tilt off of its axis, but I grip the table and hold steady. If I want answers, I’ll need to keep my composure. “King said I was bait. Who were you trying to bait out? And why couldn’t you tell me?”