25
Seattle, Washington
September 21, 4:00 p.m. PDT
I caught up with Matthew at the bottom of the hill. Wordlessly, he opened his arms, and I walked into them.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
I collapsed against his chest and wept.
We sat in the front seat of my Porsche. Matthew had picked up a local sauvignon blanc, and we passed the chilled bottle back and forth.
He lifted a strand of my hair, let it fall between his fingers. “Was it rough in Singapore?”
I closed my eyes as his hand moved to massage the back of my neck.
“It was,” I said. “Singapore killed Cassandra. It nearly killed me.”
His hand froze. “What?”
I’d spoken without thinking. I moved my neck beneath his palm. “Don’t stop.”
His fingers found the back of my skull and gently rubbed. “Nadia?”
I opened my eyes.
He removed his hand and regarded me with an expression caught between surprise and confusion. “What are you talking about?”
I’d always leaned on Matthew for advice. He was twenty years my senior, a brilliant businessman and strategist, with rumored connections to the inner sanctums of the major powers—the US, China, Russia, France, and the UK. His intelligence had lured me into his bed, but also guaranteed I’d never allow our relationship to deepen. I didn’t want to run in his circles.
If I told him the truth of what was happening now, he would take it on himself to intercede. And that would put him at risk.
“I was being metaphorical,” I said. “The work was hard. Cassandra and I both struggled. That’s all.”
The Porsche’s cabin was becoming overly warm. I turned down the fan. In the quiet, the sound of rain filtered in. Rainwater gushed along the curb.
“Something more happened than Cass dying,” he said. “You’re spooked.”
“I am spooked. Cass took her life, and I insisted on seeing her body. I will live with that. But also, men are watching George Mèng, and they were watching me as well. It rattled me. But I’m home now. And in a matter of weeks, Rob will commission the boat to Mèng. We’ll be out of Singapore.”
Matthew pulled back. Unless I planned to bring him into my confidence—and I didn’t—I was playing with fire. Matthew was a master at reading people. And he hated being lied to as much as I did.
His frown wrinkled his entire face. “Has this build gotten you tangled up with China’s Guóānbù? They’re bad news, Nadia.”
Leave it to Matthew to know about China’s Ministry of Secret Services. But I was pretty good with my own poker face.
“Never heard of them. But if so, it’s over now. I swear, Matthew. I’m okay.”
His face softened. “Whatever you want from me, you know you only need ask. If you want an army of bodyguards, I’ll have them delivered to your door.” He caught my hand and kissed the palm. His lips were warm.
I ran my fingers through his hair.
“Marry me,” he said.
Now I was the one to laugh. But he didn’t join me.
My laughter died. “You’re serious,” I said.
I expected a quip, but he said: “Marry me. I’ll travel the world with you. Wherever your work takes you.”
“Matthew. I care very much for you. But you move in circles that are light-years beyond where I want to be. I love what we have. Why ruin it?”
“Stop there,” he said. The lightness vanished from his face. “Just don’t say no. Not right away. I have terrible timing. You’re mourning your sister. Just know that the offer stands for a year.”
“Only a year?” I teased.
“With an automatic renewal for five.” He leaned across the console and kissed me. “If you need me, and I mean for anything, call me. I’d love nothing better than to be your knight in shining armor.”
“I could use one right now.”
“Yeah?”
I touched the empty wine bottle. My head was floating. “I need a ride to my parents’.”
Later, after the reception at my parents’ home on Bainbridge Island, after Matthew left to board his private plane to return to his conference, I went searching for my father.
The house Cassandra and I had grown up in was a rambling rancher with six bedrooms, a library and den, a gourmet-size kitchen, all surrounded by tall pines. The best features were the wraparound deck and—across the yard—a long stairway down to the dock and the fifty-foot family yacht, Redemption .
I’d stayed away from Bainbridge when I first returned from Singapore, worried about Dai Shujun and Smoking Man. But Guy and Isabeth’s address wasn’t a secret; my absence didn’t keep them safe. I began to come often to have dinner and to sit in the bedroom I’d once shared with Cass. Sitting on my old bed, I gazed at pictures from our childhood and teen years and pretended that the last month hadn’t happened.
This evening, when I couldn’t find Guy, I changed my clothes, gave up on the house, and went out the front door. My father half rose from the porch steps when he heard me coming.
“Hiding?” I asked.
“Nadia. Come sit with me.”
I lowered myself onto the stairs. “You holding up?”
“No. But at least with everyone gone I don’t have to pretend.”
I longed to lean against him, find comfort in his warmth. But that wasn’t Guy’s way.
I zipped my hoodie. “I can’t believe Rob didn’t come back for the service.”
Guy patted my knee. “Remember, he’s doing Cass’s work. Completing her masterpiece. What better way for him to help me and honor her?”
I heard the implied criticism: Rob had to go in and finish what I couldn’t.
But I had no fight in me. “I miss her.”
“Me too.” He nudged his shoulder against mine—Guy’s version of a hug. “Let’s take Redemption out.”
“You sure?”
He grasped the railing and pulled himself to his feet, waving away my help. “If you think I’m too sick to handle a fifty-foot boat, then shoot me now.”
“I’ll get a gun,” I said. But I was smiling as I put my arm around his newly thin shoulders and gave him a brief squeeze. “Let me grab our windbreakers.”
We motored out of the small cove as the clouds lifted and the setting sun’s reflection lit our way across the water. I stood at the helm while Guy sat on a stool next to me. We cruised past the lower part of Whidbey Island on a heading toward Port Townsend. When no dangerous men materialized in speedboats, I relaxed and let the peace of the water seep into my skin.
I shifted the engine’s gears— Redemption purred as I opened the throttle, and we headed north.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Guy said.
I glanced over in surprise. “You’ve never said that to me.”
“Death has a way of encouraging a man to rectify past mistakes.”
“You mean Cass’s death.”
“And my own.”
“Don’t be morbid,” I snapped, having had enough thoughts of death for one day.
But he grinned. “Getting sentimental about your old man?”
“You flatter yourself.”
He laughed.
I looked out again toward the water and the billowing gold of cumulus clouds near the horizon. A brief haze of tears blurred my vision. It was hard watching this man—who had been a giant throughout my life—turn frail. Bowed, his belly gone, the gauntness of his face only partially concealed behind a new beard.
For both our sakes, I changed the subject. Feigning nonchalance, I said, “Why did Pop name this boat Redemption ?”
He shot me a look. “What makes you ask?”
“Seems like something I should know. Maybe tell my kids someday.”
Guy sucked in a deep breath and let it go. “Two months ago, I would have given you a pat answer about how the Brenners redeemed themselves from a life of manual labor and became the kings of the luxury boat business.”
“And now?”
He stared westward, past me, his blue eyes still vivid, the setting sun giving his face a false vitality.
“You are the sole heir to Ocean House,” he said. “Which means you are also the sole heir to the family skeletons.”
I slowed the boat until we bobbed on the swells pushing their way into Puget Sound. I motored toward a small island and dropped anchor in a quiet cove surrounded by high rock walls and wind-twisted pines. I shut off the engine and released the anchor. The lonely cry of a loon echoed around us.
“Then I guess it’s time I knew,” I said.