Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
Stanford, California
"I thought you liked going out to play pool."
"I like it fine."
"So, what's the problem?"
Cassidy McCollum stared at her boyfriend.
"Seriously, Cassie, don't be such a pain in the ass."
"Who are you trying to impress, Chris?"
"What does that mean?" Christopher O'Brien asked.
"I thought it was a pretty straightforward question—even for you."
"I don't need to impress anyone."
Cassidy stared at him. This conversation seemed to be going nowhere. Lately, all her conversations with Christopher O'Brien seemed to hit dead ends. He had plans. He made plans for them. She was expected to follow. It had grown tiresome and annoying.
"I'm not going with you tonight," Cassidy said.
"Yes, you are."
"No, Chris, I'm not. I have things to do."
"Things to do? You don't have any classes tomorrow."
"I have to complete my paperwork for the study abroad program," Cassidy said.
He shook his head. "I thought we agreed."
"You thought we agreed? About what? Going out with your friends or the paperwork I need to finish?"
"Don't be cute, Cassie. We talked about this. You can't be serious about going to France."
Cassidy blinked. She'd made it abundantly clear that she intended to study in France.
First, he had whined about the distance and the toll it would take on their relationship.
When that didn't work, he tried arguing that it wouldn't be fair to Rose.
How could Cassidy leave her mom like that?
Travel across an ocean when she was the only close family Rose had?
When that didn't work, he lost his temper.
Cassidy had simply ended the conversation and said goodnight.
She sensed the path to a conclusion would not be so simple this time.
"I am serious," she said.
"You're being selfish."
Cassidy took a slow breath. "No. I'm making a decision."
"For both of us."
"No. For me."
Christopher laughed once, bitterly. "That's convenient."
"It's honest."
"Honest?" He stepped closer. "You want honest? Fine. You don't care what this does to me."
"That isn't true."
"Then stay."
Cassidy looked up at him. "No."
The word was calm. Too calm, perhaps. She heard that herself. She heard the steadiness in her voice, the clean edge of a door closing.
His expression changed. Not completely. Not enough that anyone else might have noticed, but Cassidy noticed. She always noticed small shifts in people's expressions and posture.
"Chris," she said quietly.
"Don't talk to me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're better than me."
"I'm not."
"You always do this," he bit.
"I'm not doing anything."
"Yes, you are." His voice rose. "You sit there with that calm look on your face like nothing touches you, like the rest of us are unreasonable for expecting something from you."
Cassidy's pulse quickened.
She didn't move like she usually did—didn't back away or back down.
"I'm not going to argue with you," she said.
"Of course not. Because Cassidy McCollum doesn't argue. Cassidy McCollum just decides everyone else is wrong."
"That's enough."
"No, it isn't."
"Christopher. Stop."
He reached for the papers on her desk.
Cassidy stepped between him and the forms. "Don't."
His hand closed around her wrist. Not hard enough to bruise. Hard enough that she understood it was a warning.
"Let go of me," she said.
For one second, he looked almost surprised to find his hand there.
Then surprise turned to anger.
"You're not going," he said.
Cassidy pulled her wrist free. "I am."
He moved before she understood what he intended.
The slap cracked across her face, sharp and loud in the small room.
Cassidy stumbled back, one hand flying to her cheek.
Everything stopped.
Christopher's face went white.
Cassidy stared at him, stunned into a silence so complete she could hear the hum of the desk lamp, the distant sound of voices in the hall, and her own breath catching somewhere between pain and disbelief.
"Cassie," he whispered.
She held her cheek.
He took a step toward her. "Oh, God. Cassie, I'm sorry. I didn't?—"
"Get. Out."
"Please. I didn't mean?—"
"Get out," she said again.
Her voice was clear and steady. Steadier than he'd ever heard. That seemed to frighten him more than if she had screamed.
"Cassie, please. I'm sorry. I swear to God, I didn't mean to do that."
She lowered her hand slowly. Her cheek burned. Her eyes stung, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a single tear.
"You need to leave," she said.
He looked like he wanted to argue. For once, he seemed to understand that arguing would only make whatever had just happened worse.
"I love you," he said.
Cassidy said nothing.
"I'm sorry."
She still said nothing.
Christopher backed toward the door. His hand shook when he reached for the knob. "Can I call you later?"
"No."
He flinched.
"Tomorrow?"
"No."
"Cassie—"
"Go."
He opened the door, then paused as if waiting for her to change her mind. She didn't. She stood in the center of the room with one hand at her side and the other curled into a fist so tight her nails pressed into her palm.
Finally, he stepped into the hall.
The door closed behind him.
Cassidy crossed the room and turned the lock.
The sound of the signature click unwound everything she'd held back.
She pressed both hands to her mouth, but the sound came anyway—a broken, helpless sob. Her knees weakened. She sank onto the edge of the bed, then folded forward, one hand against her cheek, the other gripping the blanket.
Shock came first. Then hurt. Then anger.
She still didn't scream.
He had hit her. Christopher had hit her.
The thought arrived again and again, each time more real than the last.
She cried until her chest ached. Until there was nothing graceful or composed left in her. Until the room blurred and sharpened and blurred again.
Then, slowly, Cassidy sat upright.
She wiped her face with both hands. Her cheek still burned. She could still feel his grip lingering on her wrist.
She looked at the desk. The forms were still there.
France.
The word seemed impossible and necessary all at once.
Cassidy stood, crossed the room, sat at her desk, and pulled the paperwork closer.
For a long moment, she only stared at the blank line waiting for her signature.
Then she picked up her pen.
Her hand shook.
She signed anyway.
Westport, Connecticut
Eleana regarded Claire from the doorway.
Claire had arrived home late, clearly distracted by something.
Dylan had decided to stay at his grandparents' house for the night.
She'd decided not to press. Not right away.
Claire always checked in on Ian and Eva.
Tonight, she'd grabbed her laptop, made a pot of coffee, and gone directly to work. No stopping. No talking. Nothing.
"Claire?"
Claire looked up. "Hey."
"You okay?"
Claire mentally scolded herself. She pushed aside the laptop and smiled as best she could. "Not really."
"Do you feel like talking about it?"
Claire sighed.
"Babe?"
"I don't want you to worry."
Eleana nodded. "I know you worry about me. I'm okay. The baby is okay, Claire. You don't need to protect me from everything."
"I know."
"Then talk to me."
"No one can reach Jane."
Eleana blinked.
"Yeah, I know," Claire said.
"Is that why you were at your mom's?"
Claire nodded. "Jim knows Jane's history with the CIA better than any of us. And he knows Donald Waters. I'm sorry I didn't explain. I just... I'd hoped I'd have something more to tell you."
Eleana smiled. "It's okay. What can I do?"
"Nothing. Jim is looking into things as much as he can."
"You don't sound hopeful."
Claire shrugged. "She served as Sphinx, El. Jane had access to information about all of us. Every agent in the CIA. And most who worked in the Collaborative."
"We both know those files are scattered and incomplete."
"Mm."
"You don't think so?" Eleana questioned.
"They're scattered—obscured. I'm not sure there isn't a complete accounting somewhere."
Eleana went to Claire.
Claire pushed out her chair slightly so Eleana could sit on her lap.
"Claire..."
"Jesus, El. What is she thinking?"
"I don't know."
"She's the most beloved First Lady in the country. People look for her, El. Christ! She could compromise everything. All of us!"
Eleana nodded. "Yes. She's also human and hurt."
"Sure. I'll buy that. Jane Merrow isn't a wallflower, El. And she's not only a former First Lady. She's a spy. Higher up the food chain than you, me, and Alex put together."
"You're worried something happened to her."
"Yeah. I am."
"What does your... What does Jim think?"
Claire chuckled. "My father said it doesn't seem like her. Not to him. That if she's off the grid, there is a good reason. Either she's trying to protect us somehow, or?—"
"Or?"
"Or someone is using her to compromise us." Claire sighed. "Fuck!"
"Claire."
"We need to find her before this blows up."
"I agree. So? Where do we start?"
"We don't start anywhere."
"Claire, I am hardly fit to rappel into danger. I can help."
"That's not what I mean."
Eleana's gaze narrowed.
"I mean we have to be careful how close we get to this. Not only because it might expose us—it could compromise her. If Jane is working on something, something we might need to know, then us pursuing her plays right into their hands."
"But you don't think that's what's happening, do you?"
"I don't know," Claire replied. "Alex thinks she might be looking for her father."
"You don't agree?"
"No."
"Why not?" Eleana asked.
"Because, El. My father could easily reach Donald Waters. All Jane needed to do was call my father. She didn't."
Eleana sighed. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm supposed to talk to Alex in an hour. Compare notes."
"And?"
"She's managed to calm Stephanie and Alexandra. For now. That won't last. It can't last."
Eleana nodded.
"I have an idea. I just... You know Alex. She's reluctant sometimes to bring in anyone from the outside."
"So are you."
"Yeah. Usually, I am. To be fair, I'd prefer none of us deal with the bullshit anymore."
Eleana smiled.
Claire groaned. "I'm serious."
"I know you are."