Chapter Thirty-Five
Bobbi
The door closes quietly behind Noah, who takes the box of tiles like I asked. If I hadn’t discovered the memory card, I’d think he was taking them out for me and smile. But now I know it’s so he and his agency buddies can pull each tile apart and look for more memory cards—if there are any.
A suffocating silence descends on the house. Although it was quiet after the tablet ran out of juice, it feels like a mausoleum now, the ceiling and walls closing in.
I can’t process all this, especially with the new information from Noah. I don’t even know what to believe anymore. I never suspected Noah was anything but a photographer and adventurer. Guess he’s good at his job.
Just like Dad was good at his.
Thinking of him sends icy slivers into my heart. He deserved to be punished for what he’d done. He was lucky the truth didn’t come out after his death, sparing his name and reputation. Hell, I’m lucky the truth remained buried. If it hadn’t, my life would’ve become a nightmare with reporters coming after me. The government would have wanted to know if I knew or suspected anything. If I’d participated or benefited somehow. Although we weren’t close, the government might think we were faking estrangement. After all, Dad’s distance from me wasn’t out of a desire to protect me. He was just too damn busy selling his motherland out.
Noah didn’t elaborate, but grabbing those dossiers to sell to the highest bidder couldn’t be the first time my father betrayed the country. People simply do not, out of the blue, decide to commit such a serious crime without any deliberation or practice, especially for someone like my father who was nothing if not methodical. He didn’t have money problems, and he despised gambling. Didn’t drink or do drugs as far as I know. He left me a very modest sum, and I wonder if there’s an ill-gotten fortune hidden somewhere. Or maybe the agency knew about it and confiscated it. Either way, I don’t want it.
What about this house?
Did he pay for this with the money he got from selling state secrets? I look around the home I inherited, and the place that has felt like a sanctuary suddenly seems like a filthy hovel. I cover my mouth as nausea roils in my belly. How many lives were lost because of my father’s sins?
And wouldn’t Noah think about that when he sees me? I don’t look much like my father, thank God, but I’m still his daughter. Noah’s face twisted with pain when we talked.
He might’ve lost someone dear to him because of Dad. Or maybe he was thinking of how he got so close to having his identity revealed. That would’ve gotten him killed—and his brothers and their wives and children he adores so much might not have been safe, either.
Is that why he ghosted me? Or was it because he couldn’t see a way for us to be together? He knew his lifestyle and all the dangers it entailed.
My thoughts spin in frustrating circles. I pick up my phone, needing to call Yuna and Ivy to talk, then slowly drop it back on the sofa cushion. I can’t tell anyone. Even if this weren’t a top state secret, I couldn’t. A sudden chill shivers my skin. I’m truly alone, with nobody I can lean on, in this matter.
I change and slip under the sheets in the quiet bedroom, but sleep eludes me. My brain won’t shut down. Everything I’ve learned in the last twenty-four hours churns dangerously.
The next morning, I get up with a head dull and heavy from the lack of sleep. Thank God it’s Sunday so I don’t have to go open the bakery. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, but the headache lingers. A hot shower doesn’t help. I slip on a wrinkled tank top and jeans, then shove my feet into flipflops until I remember the state of my kitchen floor. I put on the first pair of shoes I find in my closet—ankle boots—and walk out of the bedroom.
The house feels empty and wrong without Noah. I open the pantry, then shut it at the sight of bagels. They remind me of him.
I give canned tuna to Se?or Mittens, who looks at the offering with utter contempt. “Sorry, buddy. Caviar Man is gone.”
Se?or Mittens turns his nose up and pads away with a feline sneer. I should care that he doesn’t want to eat, but right now, my mind is too preoccupied with tangled thoughts about Noah and Dad to make room for a cat.
I make myself coffee and sit in the living room. It’s awful to be alone without anybody I can seek advice from. Josie is a therapist, so everything I tell her is confidential if I go to her as a patient, but I just can’t. My dad betrayed the country and Noah. I can’t betray the latter’s secret.
Damn it, Bobbi. What are you going to do?
I remain with my head in my hands for a long while. Then there are knocks at the door.
My joints creak as I get up and wince at the stiffness in my neck and shoulders. The clock on the wall says it’s a little after six. Who could it be? Noah’s people, wanting to question me and see how much I know?
But wouldn’t it be easier for them just to kill me? The dead can’t speak.
As I hesitate, three more knocks punch through my anxiety. I start to reach for my Glock, then stop. What am I going to do? Have a gun fight with government assets trained to kill as efficiently as possible?
But at the same time, I can’t bring myself to open the door without anything to protect myself. My sense of self-preservation rebels against it. I hide a small paring knife in my right boot as a compromise.
When I open the door, Trey is standing there. He grins. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I respond automatically, my voice slightly high-pitched in surprise. We don’t have the kind of neighborly relationship where we visit each other in the evening or on weekends, especially in a crisply ironed button-down shirt and nice slacks. His carefully styled hair is that of a man on a mission to entice a woman for more than just dinner.
“Se?or Mittens came over.” He hefts my cat, who is hissing with disgust. “Guess he wanted to play with Nero. Anyway, just wanted to drop him off because I’m heading out for a date, and I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Ah,” I say stupidly. He’s going on a date. I accept Se?or Mittens from Trey. “Thanks. I had no idea he’d snuck out.”
“Maybe he got lonely while you were working.”
“Could be. I’ve been doing some renovation.”
“If you need help, just let me know.” His smile grows a bit awkward. “I know your fiancé is around, but in case you need another pair of hands.”
“Thank you.” He starts to turn, and I blurt out, “Were you ever lonely?”
He stops and gives me a curious look.
“When you were in Afghanistan, away from your friends and family,” I say, even though I already regret asking him. I just wanted to emotionally sort out the fact that I have nobody to talk about the cause of the suffocating knot in my chest.
“Lonely? Nah. Hard to feel lonely when I had my fellow soldiers and my family back home, who were rooting for me. It was a privilege to serve and help keep the people I love safe.”
“I see.” I manage a smile. “Thanks for your service. Again.”
He nods. “Have a good evening.”
“Good luck with your date.”
He chuckles softly as he limps toward his SUV, waving at Darcy on the other side of the street. She waves back. I hold Se?or Mittens, who swishes his tail and makes a vaguely displeased sound, then slip back into my house before Darcy notices me and comes over. I’m not in the mood for mindless gossip. I sit back down on the sofa with the cat on my lap, scratching his head absentmindedly. It was probably foolish to ask Trey if he was lonely—his identity as an American soldier wasn’t secret. He had people to share his thoughts and concerns and fears and triumphs with.
Then it hits me that Noah doesn’t have anybody. His mother doesn’t seem warm and nurturing. At the party, she was more interested in getting him to take another mission than seeing if he was doing well. His brothers have no idea what he does. He can never tell anybody about what he does. The dossier calls him “prolific.” So he’s good at his job and likely has enemies who would kill him if they knew his identity. Does he ever feel afraid? He talked about the plane crash calmly, like it was nothing, but it must have something to do with his job. The exciting “adventures” I’ve worried he might miss are actually dangerous missions. If I stay in his life, I could be a target for the bad guys.
Do I want that?
No one excites me like Noah. Nobody can make me laugh and feel so beautiful and important. My eyes roam around the living room, then stop at his vision painting. It has none of the dangers or threats a clandestine life would bring. Just all the lovely things I’ve always wanted.
Are they empty promises or a vow to keep me safe?
My initial sense of betrayal at Noah setting up our chance meeting in Mexico fades as what was at stake sinks in. If I’d been in his place, I would’ve done the same. As a matter of fact, I might’ve done more—might’ve let it slip that Otto Bright was a traitor. Put pressure on me until I cracked.
Noah didn’t do any of that. Actually, I was treated with kid gloves. The coolness in his mother’s eyes said she would’ve done whatever was necessary to finish the job, and to hell with any collateral damage.
I stand up and pace. I’ve been thinking in circles since I found the dossiers yesterday morning. I can’t continue to stew without driving myself insane. Besides, it isn’t like me to fret endlessly. I figure out what I want, then make a plan to get it. I refuse to let my father’s past strip me of control of my future.
Iam in charge of my destiny.
My mind made up, I start to stand. My phone pings, and I reach for it with a racing heart. Noah…?
–Victor: I hate to bother you, but my car won’t start, and I don’t know who else to call for help.
He drives an old beat-up white Hyundai Elantra he got for almost nothing from some international student who had to move back home. When I asked him if it was reliable, he said rather proudly that he maintains it himself and that he’s a pretty decent mechanic. It must be serious for him to reach out.
–Me: Sure. Where are you?
He sends me an address, and I look it up. A strip mall in a not so great area of the city. I switch to street view and see a greasy Chinese take-out place, a seedy bar and pawn shop. What’s he doing there? Is he in some kind of trouble?
Confusion and concern rising, I grab my car fob. Something creaks behind me and the fine hair on the back of my neck bristles as chilly disquiet crawls along my spine.
Something cuts through the air as I turn. Pain explodes. Then everything goes black.