Chapter 22 #2
Out of my peripheral vision, I catch Isaac beside her shaking his head. “CIA doesn’t operate on U.S. soil.”
I bark out a sardonic laugh at the absurdity of him actually believing that.
The Hawke attorney is wicked smart. Some of the legal maneuvers he and his father have pulled on behalf of the family over the years are pretty epic. But if he really thinks the government doesn’t operate outside the law at times, then he’s not as bright as I thought.
“We’re not supposed to, but counter–intelligence against non-U.S. natives on U.S. soil happens all the time.”
Isaac’s jaw hardens, and he casts a look to his father.
Stone watches me from his seat with skepticism darkening his blue gaze. “If you’re CIA, then why are you using your real name?”
Under any other circumstances, an agent operating in this type of capacity would have an elaborate fake identity and backstory that would be backstopped so well that no one would ever find out who he really is, and Stone is intelligent enough to know that.
“Because I could only get into the position I’m in now because of who I really am.”
Standing here, surrounded by Hawkes, knowing what I’m about to say is going to rock them, I wish like hell I had done things differently. That I had stuck to the plan when I arrived in New Orleans instead of allowing my attraction to Bishop to cloud my judgment.
Because now, the truth is coming out, and she might never forgive me for it.
“Michael McDonald isn’t just one of Satriano’s hitmen.
He builds explosives for anyone who will pay him.
He will take money from any asshole who needs his help.
” I brace myself for the reaction I know will be coming to my next confession.
Something likely to only increase their distrust. “And he’s also the man who trained me when I was in the Rangers. ”
All the air gets sucked out of the room.
Tense silence reins, and Bishop finally reacts, her lips curling down slightly before they go back to being pressed together.
“I am here because I knew he was coming. He’s the one who set that bomb, but it wasn’t because Satriano ordered him to take out a target.”
“What?” Saint shakes his head. “I don’t follow.”
I didn’t either, at first. Couldn’t wrap my head around why that bomb went off or why the Hawkes would be targets for McDonald. When it finally hit me, everything made sense and proved just how dangerous the situation really is.
“McDonald is here for Satriano, and he wants the Hawkes to do the dirty work for him. He wants to draw you into an all-out war with Satriano.”
Caroline throws up her hands. “Why?”
“The most basic human reason—he wants revenge.”
* * *
BISHOP
Liar.
I don’t believe a single word that’s coming out of his mouth.
How can I, when everything he’s told me has been a lie?
The man standing in front of the door to the penthouse with his hands cuffed behind him is a stranger to me.
A complete fucking stranger who I let into our lives.
Who I let become a part of this family.
Who I let become a part of me.
Fuck.
I squeeze my eyes closed, willing my body not to give out and praying my self-control holds a bit longer so I don’t give in to the desire to burst into tears right here and now and never stop crying.
It would be so easy to crumple to the floor like I’ve wanted to since the moment Isaac and Stone brought me back here after rescuing me from behind that old grocery store two blocks from Gage’s place.
So easy to surrender to the crippling pain and guilt that want to drag me down into the black abyss that’s floating around me.
But I can’t right now.
Not when Gage is right there, spewing his fabricated excuses for why he did what he did. For why he broke me.
When I open my eyes again, I find him staring at me despite Dad’s earlier warning. And it’s like looking into the eyes of a monster. Anyone who does the things he did, says the things he said, knowing they were all lies, doesn’t have a soul.
Yet, I can tell from the look Dad gives me that he believes him and that this isn’t over. “I think you better start from the beginning…”
Why does it matter?
Nothing he can say will change what he’s done. Listening to him try to justify it will only make it worse.
Isaac inches closer, settling his hand on my lower back, offering me the only support he can without physically picking me up and carrying me to one of the bedrooms like he had to when we first got here.
He won’t do that now.
Not when he knows how important it is for me to both hear this and to never show Gage what he’s done to me.
Keep it together, girl.
Gage nods to Dad’s request, shifting restlessly in the cuffs that I hope are cutting into his fucking skin painfully.
“You all know I was a Ranger, but what you don’t know is that Michael McDonald was black ops.
A unit you never would have heard of because it doesn’t exist. It’s why you’ve been having such a hard time locating information on him. ”
A hush settles over the room, and every hair on my arms stands on end.
I don’t want to believe anything Gage says anymore, but something about his story feels too real, too personal to be a lie.
“McDonald came in and worked with several people at the 75th on explosive ordinances. He was the best I’ve ever seen.
A true master of his field, and someone very high up wanted to ensure his knowledge was passed down to as many of us as possible.
After he was done, he just vanished, as if he had never been there. ”
Part of me wishes Gage would just vanish.
That I could close my eyes and reopen them to find him gone along with all the memories we created together that I will never be free from.
Almost as if he can sense my thoughts, Gage’s gaze swings my way again, and he swallows thickly.
“When I was getting close to the end of my contract and was about to reup, right around the time I was fighting WCAP, I was approached by the CIA. Given my training and the fact that I can speak five languages, they thought I would be a tremendous asset to them. So instead of reupping, I finished out my commitment, then went to do additional training to become a CIA operative. That’s when they told me the truth, that Michael McDonald had been on their radar since well before his retirement and their approach to me was well thought-out. ”
Dad shifts his stance, still keeping himself between Gage and me—a physical wall when the ones I created hadn’t been enough to protect myself or any of us. “Why?”
“A bomb used in an attack on American interests in Paris had been linked to him, and they thought that maybe I could infiltrate his organization easily because of our history together.” He shakes his head. “But I wasn’t so sure.”
Isaac shifts beside me, clearly intrigued by the story while furious at the man telling it. “Why not?”
“Because Michael knew who I was at my core and that I would never become a mercenary. He knew I wouldn’t help terrorist organizations hurt innocent people, regardless of how much money might be on the table.”
I wish I could believe that.
I wish I had confidence that Gage wouldn’t do anything like what he’s accusing McDonald of, but all of this could be an elaborate story to try to save his ass from the fallout of what I discovered.
Dad doesn’t seem to buy it either, shifting his stance in a way that emphasizes his size. An old move he only uses when he needs to intimidate someone. “So, what happened with McDonald?”
Gage releases a long, slow breath, rolling his shoulders under his leather jacket slightly.
“McDonald never trusted me enough to bring me in. But we stayed in touch. I kept the line of communication open while I worked other jobs for the company. A few years ago, we heard about Satriano’s mysterious resurrection and that he was here in New Orleans…
and that McDonald may have been working with him when Satriano operated under different identities in Europe over the past several decades. ”
Mom examines Gage closely, and I can almost see those reporter instincts of hers kicking in. “If McDonald worked for him for so long, then why does he want revenge on him like you suggested earlier?”
Exactly.
Allegra told us McDonald was a known associate of her father’s. If they worked together enough for his daughter to know the man, then it doesn’t make any sense that McDonald would turn on Satriano.
That type of hatred has to blossom from somewhere.
Drawing in a long breath, Gage shifts his stance again, clearly growing uncomfortable in the cuffs or under our scrutiny—maybe both.
“About a year and a half ago, McDonald was working a job for Satriano in Calabria. Michael had his son along, and things went south. There was an ambush at the location where he was supposed to plant the device. His son died. And McDonald believes Satriano set a trap for them. He blames him for his son’s death.
McDonald went ghost after that, but he’s just been biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to get to Satriano. ”
Stone taps his cane on the floor, drawing my attention away from Gage and to him. “Why did you come to New Orleans?”
To destroy me.
Gage clears his throat, glancing my way as if in response to my thought.
“With Satriano here, that’s where the CIA’s investigation had to lead.
And all the activity in New Orleans with your family in recent years—first Leonardo Satriano’s death, then the explosion at The Grind, Christiano Roselli’s assassination in front of it, the attack on this penthouse, not to mention the fact that Damiano was spotted at numerous Hawke-owned properties, all led us, and the FBI, to wonder if you were somehow involved with him. ”
I bite my tongue to prevent myself from lashing out at the accusation.
Mom doesn’t care. “Us?” She gapes at him. “You thought we were involved with Satriano?”
Absolutely ludicrous.
The suggestion is enough to make my hatred of Gage burn even hotter through my blood.