Chapter 6 #4
He smiled. "Nika is not your enemy, Alexis. I'm unsure about many things. That is not one of them."
"Then we need him. If Nika Kapralov knows even one piece that helps us stop?—"
"And if bringing him closer exposes things you cannot contain?"
"Then we contain what we can."
"That sounds like your father."
Alex's temples twitched.
"That wasn't an insult."
"No?"
"No." Jim's expression softened. "Nick understood something most of us learned too late. Power is not controlled by hiding it. It is controlled by deciding where to stand when it moves and when to relinquish it."
Alex shook her head, considering everything Jim had said. When she spoke again, her voice had softened.
"Jim, please. I've watched this tear my family apart. I'm watching Candace drown in a sea of misinformation. I don't trust many people anymore. Even some of the people closest to me." She swallowed hard. "My circle is shrinking."
Jim's expression changed.
"I know you," Alex said. "I know you don't trust easily. If you truly believe Nika Kapralov may be able to help, I need him."
Jim held her gaze for a moment.
Then another.
The house seemed to settle around them, the quiet pressing in from all sides. Outside, bare branches shifted in the pale winter light. Somewhere below them, old pipes ticked behind the walls, ordinary sounds in an ordinary house that suddenly felt like the edge of something much larger.
"I can get a message to Nika," Jim said finally. "And I can try to convince him this is the best course of action."
"Thank—"
"I will do it on one condition."
Alex stilled. "Which is?"
"You promise to listen to what he has to say about everything."
"I always listen."
Jim's look said otherwise.
Alex sighed. "Fine. I'll listen."
"Including what he has to say about your father."
Alex's eyes closed.
There it was, Jim thought. The wall Nicolaus had built without ever meaning to. Or perhaps the one Alex had built because creating a myth was easier than forgiving a man.
"Why does it matter so much to you?" she asked. "What I think about my father?"
Jim's smile warmed, though sadness tugged at the corners of his eyes.
"Because he was the person I trusted most in this world.
When I went to work for Bill Brackett, I had friends.
People I respected. People I believed would protect what mattered if the cost became too high.
" He paused. "Only two proved worthy of that trust. Your father and Nika. "
Alex said nothing.
"Nick protected my family when doing so could have cost him his life," Jim said. "And when it did cost him his relationship with you."
Alex's head snapped to attention.
"I owe him no less."
"My father has been dead for years, Jim."
"Yes," Jim said. "But some things last beyond the grave."
Alex held his gaze.
"Those are my terms, Alexis."
She held her breath for a moment, then exhaled. "Fine."
Jim nodded once, accepting the answer for what it was. Not surrender—an agreement.
"It's difficult in the life you've chosen not to see the worst in people," he said. "I understand that better than you know. But even those who do terrible things may hold something of value. When you learn that, you may finally understand how to stop their worst inclinations."
"That sounds idealistic."
Jim laughed softly. "Or simply true."
He stood. "No more coffee. What do you say to a game of billiards?"
Alex blinked. "You want to shoot pool now?"
"Why not? Cassie doesn't remember playing with me. She says you taught her everything she knows."
Alex's blush made Jim laugh.
"I won't ask," he said.
"Good."
"No more talk about dead men," Jim said. "Let's see if you can beat a ghost."
"You mean before I resurrect another?"
He winked.
Alex stared at him for a moment, caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement.
Only Jim McCollum could agree to contact a former Russian president believed dead by the world, demand that she reconsider everything she thought she knew about her father, and then offer her a beer and a game of pool.
"Fine," she said. "But when I win, you have to tell me why my father was helping John Merrow create an underground operations center."
"I don't know that answer, Alex."
Her eyes narrowed.
"But I will tell you anything I do know about your father."
Alex blinked.
"All you need to do is ask," Jim said. "That has always been true. My willingness to tell you about Nicolaus has never been the issue."
"What has?"
"Your willingness to believe me."
The reply landed harder than Alex wanted to admit.
Jim opened the refrigerator and grabbed two beers. "So? Are you ready?"
Alex took one from him and followed him toward the basement stairs.
"Does Kapralov play billiards?" she asked.
"Chess. And bandy."
"Like on ice?"
Jim chuckled as he descended the stairs. "Not so much with the chess."
"Ha-ha."
Halfway down, he paused.
"It isn't a bad idea," he said.
"What?"
"Offer him a place to skate."
Alex stopped behind him. "Kapralov is older than?—"
"Me?" Jim laughed.
"I just meant?—"
"I know what you meant." He continued down the stairs, still laughing. "Don't underestimate old men, Alexis. Especially ones who've survived the grave."
In the basement, the air was cooler. The billiard light hummed softly overhead as Jim set his beer on a side table and began racking the balls.
Alex watched him for a moment.
A ghost calling another ghost.
Maybe nothing ever died. She watched Jim rack the billiard balls. It seemed fitting. This would always be a game to some, even when the stakes were life and death.
Jim stepped back and handed her a cue.
"You break," he said.
Alex took it.
For the first time all afternoon, she almost smiled.
"I'd say I'm about to bury you, but?—"
Jim laughed. "Break, Alexis."
Westport, Connecticut
"Man, I thought Cassidy's house was loud," Claire said.
Jameson shrugged. It seemed a different child had run past them every minute for the last twenty. "Five little kids tend to increase the volume."
Claire blinked. "I guess so." She took a sip of her beer. "Was it weird for you?"
"What? I don't have five little kids," Jameson teased.
"Ha-ha. No, but you have, like, fifty grandkids."
"Not quite."
"Almost."
"Eight is a bit shy of fifty."
"Almost nine," Claire said. "And Coop is still under thirteen. He counts, even if he's your kid."
Jameson chuckled. "You'll have three soon."
Claire shuddered, not from displeasure, but disbelief.
"You okay?" Jameson asked.
"Yeah. Just..." Claire looked toward the doorway as another shriek of laughter rose from somewhere in the house. "It's different. That's all."
"I get that."
"Was it?" Claire asked again. "Weird for you?"
Jameson considered the question. "Not the noise. I have two brothers and a boatload of cousins on both sides. They all have kids. Kids and noise are something I'm used to."
"Yeah. I'm used to it with Cass's kids. They all like me, though."
Jameson's smile softened. "Claire, from what I've seen, kids in general like you."
"Mm. El thinks that's the bribery thing. Cass, too."
"The bribery thing?"
"Yeah. You know. Slipping them candy or letting them stay up late. Dylan told me Alex used to put sugar on the kids' cereal in the morning."
Jameson covered her face and laughed.
"Did you do that with the kids?" Claire asked.
"Bribe them?"
Claire nodded.
"Nah. I probably spoil them, though."
Claire nodded again. "I can see that."
Jameson looked at her for a moment. "Claire, you'll be a great mom."
Claire turned to her, pale-faced.
"You will be," Jameson said.
"I'll try to fill in. You know, be a decent parental figure. I figure with El and my mom nearby, I should be able to figure it out."
Jameson smiled.
"You need to ask your mom," Spencer's voice carried into the room.
A second later, Ian and Craig ran up to Claire.
"Hey, buddy," Claire said.
Ian tilted his head. "C'waire?"
"Yeah?"
"I can co'wor?"
"Color?" Claire asked.
Ian nodded. "Wif d'ose." He pointed to the markers in Spencer's hand.
"They're washable," Spencer said. "Mom learned after Maddie drew princesses on her bedroom wall."
Jameson sniggered.
She remembered that late-night call to Candace at the governor's mansion, Marianne apologizing in mortified detail because Maddie had drawn an elaborate scene across her bedroom wall.
Candace had taken it in stride. Walls could be painted. Floors and clogged sinks could be fixed. Broken glass could be replaced.
Jameson had left early the next morning to help with the cleanup. Marianne's expression when she answered the door had amused her almost as much as the mural.
"Did you take pictures?" Jameson had asked.
"Why would I want to remember this?" Marianne asked.
Jameson shrugged. "She might turn out to be the next Picasso. Think of the money you could make."
Jameson pulled herself from the memory and looked back at Claire.
Ian's hands rested on Claire's knees. He looked up at her with the kind of pleading, puppy-dog eyes Jameson had seen thousands of times from all the children in her life—even the grown ones.
"I told Ian to ask his mom," Spencer explained. "We usually color with Craig in the playroom Jay built in the basement."
Claire blinked as if nothing Spencer had said made sense.
Ian patted her knee. "I can co'wor?"
"Sure you can," Claire said. "Just listen to Spencer, okay?"
He nodded excitedly and scampered off with Craig.
Claire stared at the space he'd just occupied.
"Claire?" Jameson called softly.
Claire shook her head, then turned to Jameson. "He came to me."
Jameson smiled.
Claire's expression remained unreadable.
"It's strange when it happens for the first time," Jameson said.
"Do you think I should tell El?"
"That Spencer took the kids to the playroom?" Jameson asked. "No."
"Yeah, but Spencer told Ian to?—"
"To ask his mom. I heard."
Claire rubbed her eyes.
"Claire, Ian sees you as one of his parents. You know that, don't you?"
Claire shook her head.