Chapter Fifty-One
I’m supposed to kill him.
He should arrest me.
The girls will go to Graham’s, maybe my parents’. Or worse, they’ll be yanked into foster care until everything is settled. Eliza would be pissed; Evie would simply cry. My heart squeezes.
I’ll have to let them take me in, or maybe—maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll make a run for it. It’s possible this is what Ian was trying to save me from. In trying to keep myself from losing everything, I’ve made it worse—I’ve given Brian the key to taking everything away.
“You said you only kill bad people,” he says. “You’ve never killed anyone good?”
I have to think about that a moment. “No. Never.”
“And you…can control this urge? To kill?”
I consider the shitty job I’ve done of that as of late. Of course, that was when my entire world was crumbling around me. Normally, it’s not a problem.
“Yes,” I say, and it’s mostly true.
“You’ve never thought about hurting…us?”
He means the girls.
“Of course not,” I snap, annoyed he would ask and also aware that it’s a fair question.
A bird calls somewhere out in the distance, silencing us both.
My glass is empty, and a craving for coffee hits me.
Or maybe it’s a need for something comforting, something familiar, when my husband and I are sorting out just how much of strangers we are to each other.
I almost ask if he wants some. But somehow, I can’t summon the words, can’t interrupt this moment for something so mundane as caffeine.
“Brian?” It feels like we’ve sat quietly for so long that, at any moment, a strip of light will appear in the night sky, dawn emerging, pulling us out of the darkness and back into the light. But it’s still nighttime.
“It’s funny,” he says, “how certain things make sense now.”
His tone catches me off guard. Incredulous, but not mad.
“What do you mean?”
Brian sets his glass down and sits forward with a slight wince, holding a hand to his shoulder.
He turns my way and shakes his head. “How you’re out all night.
How you come back and never tell me anything about what you’re doing.
You know, I actually thought—I thought you might be having an affair. ”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
His faint smile turns into a grin—a grin! He urges his chair closer. “God, this is funny. I wish I had a good dad joke for it.”
“Is it? Funny?”
“In a way,” he says, “I’m kind of relieved.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You are?”
“I mean…” He leans in. “In the FBI, we have certain rules, sure. But sometimes, especially working undercover, I do some shady shit. I always felt like…” He tilts his head, thinks for a second.
“I’m not good enough for you. Because you’re so good.
So…unaware of the bad things in the world.
I worried I wasn’t doing right by you. That I wasn’t giving you everything you deserved.
And I’m not saying I think less of you now.
Not at all. More like…” He meets my eyes, and to my utter shock and disbelief—for real, I almost pull back—there’s warmth in them.
“What?”
“I can’t help thinking maybe, in a twisted way, it feels like we were meant for each other.”
My mouth opens, closes. What are words? I don’t know.
Did he just say meant for each other?
“Brian, I kill people. You catch people who kill people. You send them to prison—or worse.”
“I know, but—” Brian’s eyes widen. “But we’re part of the same world. And we have been this whole time.”
“We’ve been lying to each other from day one.”
“Because we didn’t know!” He leans in again, staring at me. “Nadia, think about it. We could help each other.”
The hope building in my gut disintegrates in a second. “That’s why you’re happy about this? Because I can help you catch people like me?”
“No—not—not like that. I just mean…we can really talk to each other now. About work. I’m not hiding who I am, and neither are you.”
I try to imagine a life where I come home from a hit and actually tell him about it. It feels perplexing, like trying to shove a round meant for a .357 in a 9mm. Like it doesn’t fit, won’t work. In fact, it might blow up in your face.
But we’re not guns, made of steel. We’re people.
I exhale. I need to remember that this is actually a good thing. He’s not snatching up his phone to call the authorities. He’s not attempting to read me my rights as he arrests me. He’s suggesting that this could be positive. That this could work.
“You’re saying you don’t hate me? You don’t think I’m awful?”
Brian pauses, gaze going fuzzy as he appears to truly consider my question.
“Do you think I am?” he asks.
“Well, no, but—you’re the good guy.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re the bad guy.”
“Doesn’t it though?”
Brian stands, offers me his hands, and when I place my fingertips on his, he urges me to my feet. My body tenses, ready for anything. But all he does is pull me close and murmur, “If I’m being honest, knowing that my wife is some badass assassin who can take care of herself? It’s kind of hot.”