Chapter 44
One week later
They said their farewells at the same small airport where Ingrid had boarded a plane three weeks earlier. This time, though, she would not be leaving. While the Argus team climbed aboard the aircraft, Rodrigo lingered at the foot of the stairs, not quite ready to say goodbye to her.
“That job will always be there for you,” he said. “Think about it, Ingrid. You and I were good together. We’re still good together.”
“And this time, it almost killed my husband.”
He laughed. “It will give Lloyd a nice story to tell.”
“But he can’t, can he? Tell anyone what really happened.”
“No. The government will come up with some banal explanation for the public. A story about a mentally disturbed woman named Hannah Murray who murdered a young man from Belarus. And then she broke into Blackberry Farm, where she threatened a houseguest, and was killed.” He shrugged. “The truth will stay among us.”
That was something their profession required: silence. They had so many stories to tell, so many secrets they were privy to, but all would go with them to the grave.
“You know, I could use someone in Budapest,” he said. “Someone I can trust. You really won’t reconsider?”
“It’s tempting, but no.”
He surveyed the trees that surrounded the airfield. Most of the leaves had been shed, and the brilliance of autumn had already faded to winter’s drabness. In another month or so, the first snow would fall, smothering any last remnants of color. “You really prefer living in this place?”
“My friends are here.”
“Weren’t we friends?”
“We still are.”
“More than friends, if I recall,” he murmured, and bent toward her.
Before she could turn away, he kissed her, hard.
That kiss brought it all back to her in a flash: Paris.
The fizz of champagne on their tongues. Their nights in bed together, their limbs entangled between sheets.
But that was before she’d chosen Lloyd, when a different future, one with Rodrigo, was possible.
It was still possible.
She pulled away from him, the taste of him still on her lips. Then she straightened and said, evenly: “Goodbye, Rodrigo.”
“Really? Goodbye?” He smiled. “Perhaps.” He turned and climbed the steps into the waiting plane, but at the doorway he looked back. That was her last glimpse of him, his arm raised in a jaunty wave, his black-and-silver hair riffling in the wind. Then he was gone.
Perhaps.
She lingered long enough to watch the Argus plane taxi down the runway and pivot to begin its takeoff roll.
As it lifted into the sky, she wondered if Rodrigo had already moved on, if his attention was no longer focused on her, but on his exploits ahead.
For Rodrigo Estrada, there would always be exploits ahead.
Or was he still watching her through his window, hungry for one last look?
As she faded from view, did he feel regret, or long for what might have been between them?
Perhaps.
She turned and walked back to her car. By now, Lloyd would have two martini glasses chilling in the freezer.
A cozy evening lay ahead, like so many evenings before.
A fire in the hearth, to ward off the autumn chill.
And after dinner, a cuddle on the sofa. All of it was there, waiting for her.
She stepped into her car and started the engine.
As the buzz of Rodrigo’s plane faded into the distance, Ingrid drove home.
She did not look back.