Chapter 33 Louise
LOUISE
“Tell me about the fake identities. About Astor Stone.”
Ryder scoffed. “Astor Stone is the devil’s spawn. I worked for him before I went to prison.”
“Astor Stone, Inc. isn’t an investigation company.”
“Incorrect. It is an investigation company.”
“But they don’t just follow around cheating spouses or investigate insurance fraud. What exactly does Astor Stone investigate?”
He grabbed the broom and began sweeping up the broken glass and remnants of the phone. “Foreign affairs.”
“Okay. What did you do for him?”
“I was an agent. I took orders and implemented those orders.”
“Those orders took you overseas?”
“Yes.”
“Using fake identities?”
“Yes.”
“What’s overseas?”
“My targets.”
“Elaborate.”
“It’s confidential.”
“Not anymore. And the entire town will know if you don’t come clean with me right now. I’m not kidding, Ryder.”
“I’m not either.”
“Talk.”
He propped the broom against the wall. “Dammit, Louise, you come into my house, into my space, and turn everything upside down.”
“Didn’t seem like you minded thirty seconds ago.”
He took a deep breath, grabbed a dustpan, and swept the glass and phone shards into it. He spoke as he worked.
“Astor Stone is contracted by the US government to run black ops for them. It’s all under the guise of a private investigation firm. Stone receives his orders from the DOD, and filters the orders down to his agents, who implement the ops.”
“Kinda like James Bond.”
“Exactly—but secret.”
“Now I know why the beefy rednecks were laughing at me.”
He stopped cold. “They laughed at you?”
“No, not really. I just felt out of place. I could tell what I was asking of them wasn’t something they typically did.”
“We take occasional local jobs to make it seem legit, but not many. Only a handful of people in the world know what Astor and his agents do. We operate on foreign soil, cross restricted borders, work with whoever we need to in order to get our mission completed.”
“Meaning bad guys? Terrorists?”
“Yes. We do whatever we need to do to get the job done. Period.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“It is. If any one of us were exposed, if the world knew the US was behind half the things we did, it would cause a catastrophic international incident. World War Three. Not that any of us would be alive to see it.”
“How many agents does he have?”
“Currently, three active agents here in the US. You met them all when you went to the building, I’m sure.”
“Three agents?” I arched a brow. “I expected you to say twenty or something.”
“More overseas, but not many. A lot of egos to control.”
“How long did you work for him?”
“Years.”
“Did you have a cover job?”
“Nope. No time. Working for Astor is constant. I was never home.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I loved it. Astor recruited me right out of college. Like you said, it was very James Bond, and I couldn’t ignore the lure of it.
Paid damn well too. Six-figure bonuses on successful missions.
I joined them, signed my life away, and went through two years of training that I wouldn’t wish on another human being.
It only made me want it more. I was twenty-two when I took on my first op. Turns out I was a damn good agent.”
“Good at killing people?”
“Yes,” he said coolly.
“I’m surprised you’re telling me all this. Why?”
“Common courtesy to the woman who’s trapped in my house, right?”
“Seriously, Ryder.”
“Fine. Two reasons. One, I don’t care to have to explain this to the cops if you try to call them again. Two, even if you do, Astor will kill you if you talk. I’m warning you, and I’m not lying. He’d stage it as a car accident… you know, something believable.” He deadpanned.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not that bad of a driver.”
“Tell that to your axle.”
“What’s with the cash?”
“Go money.”
“In case you have to leave the country?”
He nodded. “What Astor does for the government is completely off the books. If any of us were picked up during an op, Astor would deny any knowledge of our existence and throw us under the bus in two seconds flat. Kind of like what he’d do to you.
But unlike you, I’d be one step ahead of him.
I’d disappear and never resurface. A million bucks can help make that happen. ”
“Hence the secret room.”
“Not so secret anymore,” he muttered.
“So you did this for a while, and then everything stopped when you went to prison for killing Ortiz?”
A dark cloud swept over Ryder’s face, and he looked away. A long minute passed as I waited on pins and needles for the story. But what I got was—
“Your turn, Louise.”
“My turn what?”
“Your turn to answer questions. Why do you drink so much?”
I blinked. “That’s kind of personal.”
“And going through my things isn’t?”
Touché. I looked down at the mug in my hands. “I don’t know. I guess it helps me to relax.”
“You ever try exercise?”
“You ever try not being an asshole?”
“That wasn’t a passive-aggressive way of saying you need to lose weight. Because you don’t.”
I snorted. “I thought you said you didn’t lie.”
“I don’t.”
“I’m not going to say thank you because it doesn’t feel like a compliment, but to answer your question, no, I don’t exercise. And by the way, who the hell works out to relax?”
“Lots of people. Exercise releases endorphins that make you feel better physically, mentally, emotionally. It gives you clearer focus.”
I stared at the antler mug.
“You seem wound up,” he continued. “Like a jack-in-the-box. Like you’re searching for something, but you don’t know what, and it makes you crazy.”
“You seem like a neurotic, control-freak, germaphobe, coldblooded agoraphobic.”
“I’m not coldblooded.”
“Besides, you drink. You have an entire room dedicated to booze.”
“I only drink when I’m at home.”
“Oh…” I blinked, a little piece of the puzzle clicking into place. “Are you still on parole?”
“Yes. Six more months.”
My eyes rounded. “I didn’t realize. Okay, now I see why you didn’t want me to call the cops.”
“You don’t get it, Louise. One misstep—one single misstep—and I’m back in a cage.
” He swallowed hard and focused on a spot on the slate floor.
“When you’re an ex con, cops will pin anything on you.
You’re a mark, a target, an easy arrest. You’re always looked at as the bad guy.
One mistake, one ‘being in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ one misstep, and I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison. ”
For a moment, Ryder’s expression went blank, and he left the room. Not physically, but mentally. Emotionally. Memories pulled him in back in time—dark memories.
Something in my heart broke for him. There was such pain behind his eyes, and I knew, then and there, that whatever led him to kill Leon Ortiz must have been something horrific. I decided not to ask again, not to push.
Ryder was right. It wasn’t my business. Ultimately, the reason made no difference because justice was served, and he paid the price. Ten years of his life.
Ten years.
I thought of what I was doing ten years ago and everything that had happened in between.
The thought of spending it in a cage made my stomach roll.
There’s no telling what he’d seen, what he’d had to endure.
Ryder might have secrets, and he might be as emotionally available as a rock, but he had his reasons.
And I’d leave it up to him to tell me why.
I set my mug on the counter. “I’ll cook dinner tonight.”
He didn’t look up, didn’t move. Just kept staring at the same spot on the floor, lost in memories that I knew I didn’t want to know.
I wasn’t even sure if he’d heard me.
“Ryder. Sit down. I’ll cook.”
When I touched his arm, he flinched and jerked away, blinking. Without a word, he set down his water, stalked out the front door, and slammed it behind him.
I had dinner alone that night.