Chapter 33

Chelsea was obviously in the wrong line the day they distributed guts. Because like a yellow-bellied coward, the sound of her cell phone ringing filled her with relief.

She had known this…confession would be the hardest thing she’d ever done. But Dagan’s earnestness, his bravery and honesty were making it all so much worse. He was killing her with kindness one sweet word at a time.

Pulling her cell from her back pocket, she watched him watching her. His stormy eyes did a number on her already-shattered heart. Maybe because there was resignation there. And she recognized that it wasn’t anything new. Dagan Zoelner could be confident and cocky. He could be provocative and infuriating, but underneath all that, deep in the hot, beating heart of him, was always resignation. It was as if he thought his past shadowed him like a cloud he couldn’t escape.

Well, I’m going to give him a way out soon enough, she thought. She had shot a hole in her own boat all those years ago, and now she was finally sinking. But first, she would take this reprieve. Chicken liver that she was…

“Momma,” she answered without salutation. “This isn’t a good time. Can I—”

“I don’t think so, Chelsea Lynn!” her mother shouted in her ear. Grace Duvall so rarely raised her voice that Chelsea was shocked into silence. “Your face is all over the news over there! They’re sayin’ you stole something from your boss, and now you’re a…a…wanted woman!”

The hysteria and fear in her mother’s voice had Chelsea screwing her eyes closed and pinching the bridge of her nose. Her mother had downloaded the BBC news app the day Chelsea moved to England and had taken it upon herself to follow the British headlines. How could Chelsea have forgotten?

Shit on a shingle!

“It’s not what you think, Momma. I promise you that.”

“I’ll tell you what I think, Chelsea Lynn. I think your daddy and I didn’t raise no thief. I think all these years I’ve kept my Lord-lovin’ mouth shut about your job ’cause I knew the only reason you wouldn’t be straight with me was if you couldn’t. I think your telling me you quit and uprooted to London to be some scrawny billionaire’s glorified secretary just to make a little extra cash—cash I swear on your daddy’s grave I don’t need—was a lie. I think you’re still workin’ for the…uh…government.”

Chelsea had never come out and told her mother she worked for the CIA. Not only was it company policy to keep such matters on the DL, but it was also for Grace Duvall’s own good. Her mother couldn’t give information she didn’t have to a foreign power or to one of America’s vast collection of enemies. Still, Chelsea’s momma was one smart cookie. She had added two and two to get four a long time ago. Yet, the truth had remained unspoken between them. Chelsea’s cover with the Bureau of Land Management was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla they had allowed to stay in the room.

“Chelsea, baby, what has the…” Her mother let the sentence dangle. She took a deep breath and then finished more quietly with “What has the CIA gotten you involved with?”

And there it was. Spoken aloud for the first time.

“It’s a mistake,” Chelsea assured her mother as calmly as she could, trying to inject certainty into her tone. A touch difficult considering that right then the only thing she was truly certain of was that she was minutes away from hurting a good man, the best man. “Everything will be cleared up soon. I promise you that when I get home, I’ll explain it all.”

Her mother dragged in a ragged breath, and Chelsea realized her tough-talk, take-no-guff momma was on the verge of crying. Chelsea wouldn’t have thought she was capable of withstanding more pain.

“Momma, don’t cry. Everything will be all right.”

“You have someone there with you, child?” her mother asked. “I hate thinkin’ of you over there all alone. Please tell me you have someone helpin’ you through this.”

Chelsea glanced at Dagan. If there had been any doubt he’d heard both sides of the conversation, that was squashed by the sympathy in his eyes. She wanted to rip her hair out. She wanted to scream. He had no business offering the likes of her sympathy. Yet there it was, all the same. Offered freely because he was Dagan. Because despite his my-way-or-the-highway, high-handed ways, he was the sweetest, most selfless man she had ever known.

“Give me the phone.” He gently pulled the cell from her hand. “Let me talk to her.”

Should she have stopped him?

Probably.

Given all he didn’t know, it was wrong of her to depend on him for anything, even for what comfort he could offer her mother. But the truth of the matter was that if it was wrong, Chelsea didn’t want to be right. When it came to Grace Duvall, she would do anything.

Just like always.

“Ms. Duvall?” Dagan said. “My name is Dagan Zoelner. I’ve known your daughter for many years now, and if there’s one thing about her, it’s that she doesn’t need help from anyone. She’s the smartest, bravest, most capable woman I know.”

Chelsea wanted to die right then and there. If she were in her grave, six feet under and food for the worms, his sweet words wouldn’t be able to hurt her.

“But if it’s any consolation,” he continued, “I’m here with her. And I promise you I’ll help get her home to you just as soon as possible.”

“Dagan Zoelner?” Chelsea heard her mother ask. “You’re the one she calls Z?”

Dagan shot Chelsea a look, eyebrow raised. That eyebrow said, You told your mom about me?

Yup. She sure had. One night over a bottle of wine she had spoken of her heartbreak, of a man she had wronged—she’d left out the specifics—and her fear that she’d never love another as much as she loved him.

Her mother had advised her to come clean, to confess. It’s good for the soul, her mom had said. And even if he can’t forgive you, perhaps you’ll start to forgive yourself.

That was, what? Two years ago? And here she was, still un-confessed.

“Yes ma’am. That’s me,” Dagan said.

“My girl speaks highly of you.” Her mother’s voice was tinny sounding through the connection. “I’m so glad you’re there with her. And Dagan?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Once you get my girl home, why don’t you stop on by and see me. I want to meet the man who’s stolen my Chelsea’s heart.”

Oh, Momma, Chelsea thought. Never had that coffin and two yards of dirt looked better.

When she glanced at Dagan, she saw the skin on his cheeks go so pale it looked almost waxy. His voice was strangled-sounding when he said, “Yes, ma’am,” and passed Chelsea the phone.

“Momma?” she said into the receiver.

“I like him, Chelsea Lynn. Man’s got a good, strong voice. And he obviously thinks the world of you.” Only because Chelsea had yet to take her mother’s advice and reveal the Big Bad Secret. “Bring him ’round once you’re home, you hear? I’m tired of tiptoeing around the perimeter of your life.”

“I love you, Momma. But I need to go now.”

I need to pull up my big-girl panties and finally come clean like you told me to.

“I love you too. And remember what your daddy always said: keep a weather eye out.”

“And hang tough,” they both finished in unison. “I will. I promise,” Chelsea added. With that, her mother said good-bye and the phone went dead.

Chelsea thumbed off the cell and shoved it into her back pocket. Her reprieve was over. Time to face the music.

Blood-thunder. That was the sound in her ears as she took a deep breath. “Z, I—”

“Is it true?” He cut her off. He was doing his eerily still shtick.

“Is what true?” she asked, but she already knew. Her mother had let the cat out of the bag. There was no way to shove the little shit back in.

“Have I stolen your heart?”

She could have lied to him, she supposed. But there were already too many lies between them. So she gave him the truth, as plain and as unvarnished as she could make it. “You didn’t need to steal it. I willingly gave it to you a long time ago.”