28. Mya
28
“Thank you for the clothes and your hospitality. We don’t want to endanger you by being here, though,” I said once Oliver made the introductions to our gracious hosts, Vanessa and Malcolm.
“You can stay here as long as you need to.” Vanessa smiled, and she reminded me a bit of Kerry Washington, who played Olivia Pope on Scandal. Vanessa was just as beautiful and had the same kind eyes and radiant smile as the actress.
Not a shocker given my line of work and personality, but I was a huge fan of that show. I’d even adopted Olivia Pope’s popcorn with red wine for dinner on many late-night working occasions. These last four months I’d practically lived off that diet.
“Like my wife said,” Malcolm began, offering a polite nod instead of the hug Vanessa had, “you two are welcome here. You’ll be safe.” He twirled his finger in the air like Oliver often did, signaling to the sky. “We have great security. And I’m assuming Oliver told you, but there don’t appear to be any immediate threats in the area. Those other men at the runway were handled.”
Right. One guy left alive for questioning. We definitely needed an update from Easton and Teddy, and to have that call with the rest of the team soon.
“Was this once an inn or B and B?” I knew it was an odd question to ask, considering we’d spent the day being hunted by The Collective’s goons and then jumped from a plane. And it definitely shouldn’t have been something on my mind after that free fall and knock to the head jarred loose that strange childhood memory. But we were waiting for Oliver’s dad to walk into the living room, and I wasn’t great with quiet. I usually felt the need to fill it with questions. Habits and all. Plus, I could use a break in conversation from the heavy.
“It was. You’re in one of the honeymoon suites.” Vanessa smiled. “Of course, it could still be, but Malcolm doesn’t actually let guests stay here. He’s paranoid, but I think it’d be fun to host couples.”
“I’m not paranoid.” Malcolm folded his arms and grunted. “Cautious is all.”
Vanessa elbowed him. “Mmmmhmmm.”
A moment later, Scrappy came flying my way, his paws skidding across the hardwoods as he slammed right into me.
“Down, boy,” Sam called out as he joined us, a pretty blonde at his side.
She was late fifties, maybe. Not quite Beth Dutton from Yellowstone, another show I loved, but pretty close. And fiction or not, that’d be weird since Oliver’s dad reminded me of her on-camera dad. But Cindy gave off similar badass vibes as Beth.
I need to stop comparing people to fictional characters, that’s more of an Oliver thing to do. Like Mr. Bloodsport. No, I didn’t want to think about Hugo Soren. We were in this mess, in part, because of him. Well, more than likely.
Sam crossed the room and gave Oliver a quick one-arm hug, careful of Oliver’s bad shoulder. A hesitant expression crossed his face, as if searching for a cue from Oliver about how to greet me.
I kneeled by Scrappy to pet him, and Oliver discreetly looked at me, then back at his dad, shaking his head, letting him know not to hug me.
I probably could’ve handled it, but I appreciated him continuing to look out for me like that. I mean, had Oliver cured me of my touch aversion after our unexpected bathtub moment? Or did it only apply to his hands on me?
I was curious to find out, but not ready to test it yet. Maybe when we part ways?
“Where’s your plane?” Oliver asked as Vanessa gestured us farther into her living room. The fireplace crackled, providing a comforting layer of warmth and home.
“The sheriff’s handling it. I had to land on an old back road. Thankfully, no cars were around.” Sam sat on one of the two loveseats facing the fireplace, pulling Cindy down next to him. Scrappy plopped down right on top of his shoes.
I sat by Oliver on the other couch. It offered a beautiful view of the lake outside the two-story window. Oliver surprised me by clasping our hands together, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. The gesture gave me hope everything would be okay. With him. With us.
“So, have you talked to your team? Do we know more about what’s going on and how we’re going to take down these sons of bitches once and for all?” Sam cut to it instead of giving us a few softball questions to deal with first.
Oliver leaned forward, resting his free hand on his thigh. “There’s no we. You’re not getting any more involved than you already are.” He glared at Malcolm next as if he needed that warning, too.
Cindy squeezed Sam’s arm over his jean jacket, like she was trying to pull her guy back before he went off on Oliver. It didn’t seem to work, because Sam copied Oliver’s posture, chest forward and eyes locked on to his son’s. “Like hell I’m not helping. These pricks came to our town, chased you down, shot at you and my plane, and?—”
“They didn’t shoot your plane,” Oliver interrupted, and Sam dismissively flicked his wrist, grumbling.
Well, aside from a few stray shots when you made a run for it, they didn’t.
“Coffee, anyone?” Vanessa said, reading the tension in the room, probably deciding the guys needed some privacy for this conversation.
Cindy was on her feet next, already on her way from the room, offering, “I’ll help with that.”
“Me, too.” Malcolm quickly retreated.
Were they expecting me to take the hint and follow them, too? I had no plans to go anywhere, I was too deep in this mess.
“And they would’ve shot at my plane if?—”
“If I wasn’t on it,” I whispered, interrupting Sam when a new theory hit me as to why else those six men didn’t take out the Cessna while I was in it.
“Wait, what?” Oliver freed his hand from mine, twisting on the couch, waiting for me to explain.
“They didn’t shoot at our truck. They didn’t take down the plane while I was in it.” I closed my eyes, pushing at my forehead as I worked to put the puzzle together. “They stopped giving a damn about making it look like an accident once they opened fire on you at the runway.” I swallowed, my heart rate flying. “So, at that point, why not just take out the plane, ensure we couldn’t get away. Kill me.”
“My son and the others were keeping them a little busy.” Sam pointed out what I’d assumed to be the reason back at the runway, but what if there was more to the story?
“Yes.” I opened my eyes to give him my attention. “But what if those men were ordered to keep me alive?” My palms became sweaty as another oh-shit thought struck me. I stood abruptly and Scrappy scrambled to all fours on alert. “Steve.”
“Steve,” Oliver echoed, waiting for me to continue my line of thought. “What about him?”
My arm banded across my midsection as I located one more puzzle piece and secured it in place. There were still a few more missing, but . . .
“I went to New York for two days for the Fourth of July. Sydney, her husband, and their kids were with me as well. Steve came along for extra protection. It was his first time going anywhere with me. Someone from Falcon, or Mason, had escorted me on the two previous trips to see my parents.” My skin broke out into goose bumps as more pieces clicked. “The day we were leaving, Gwen called to let me know she found you in Zurich.”
“What are you saying?” Oliver’s tone dropped lower, but he knew exactly where I was going with this.
“Aside from Easton and Teddy, the only people outside Falcon who knew Steve was working with us?—”
“Were your parents.” Sam had completed the thought I didn’t ever want to say. But now the idea was out there in the world, and we had to examine the possibility.
“There has to be another way The Collective learned about Steve. They probably had eyes on you when you visited with your parents, and they—” Oliver abandoned his words, realizing the problems with what he was suggesting.
The Collective would’ve followed us back to the safe house and found our location if that was the case. All of Falcon would’ve either been screwed, or alerted by the hacker we’d been compromised. And since that didn’t happen . . .
Also, it wasn’t like I’d met up with my parents at Dad’s condo in the city, or Mom’s new post-divorce house in Westchester. “We went to an off-the-grid location in Long Island, followed proper protocol to ensure we weren’t tailed there or back to our safe house in Maine.”
“What exactly are you saying, Mya?” Oliver’s face was tight, lines of worry darting across his forehead as he stared at me, waiting for me to spell it out for him.
“I think my parents are part of The Collective.”