14
I sat straight up in bed, my throat raw from screaming from the nightmare. I was bathed in a cold sweat, and tears were leaking from my eyes.
Throwing back the sheet, I stood on shaking legs. In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face. Leaning against the sink, I tried to breathe. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the fire that had consumed Mom.
Never before had I remembered the details of the accident, and now I knew why. I’d been a child—albeit precocious and smart—but still just a child. The last few moments with my mom, seeing the heartbreak and pain of betrayal on her face . . . it had been too much for me. I’d blocked everything.
I’d seen him. I’d heard him. He wasn’t human. He’d looked right into her eyes, and into the eyes of her child, and coldly sentenced them to die.
Any hesitation I’d experienced last night was gone, burned away in the fire of my memories.
I showered on autopilot, my emotions pushed aside as I formulated my plan. I didn’t just want to kill Danvers—I wanted to punish him, make him feel pain.
By the time I sat down at my computer with my Red Bull, I was ready to go. I hit a key on my keyboard to activate network traffic logging. My firewalls were logging, too, but it never hurt to have too much data.
I pulled up the website listed for Danvers in the database. I snorted in derision at what popped up on the screen. A pet-photography business. The screen was filled with fluffy kittens and puppies with lolling tongues and wagging tails. There were several galleries to view (I didn’t bother), but if someone tried to book studio time, they were informed that the calendar was currently full and they were not accepting appointments.
The menu had a log-in for previous customers to enter their passcode to view their pets’ photos. That’s where I typed the key. I hit “Enter” and waited.
The kitten on the home page flashed, and the website morphed, like Umbridge’s cats on her office wall, hissing and snarling when Harry entered. An empty box appeared in the middle of the screen with a blinking cursor.
Leave your message. Check back later for a response.
Okay, here went nothing.
I typed in a number. It was a long number. It was the exact amount—to the penny—that my mother’s life had been worth to Danvers. The entire contents of his account that now resided in my Cayman account. Then I hit “Submit.”
I wondered how long it would take to get a reply, but no sooner did the thought cross my mind than the screen blinked.
That’s a lot of money.
My pulse sped up. It was him. Blood money.
The cursor blinked, then the reply. Who is this?
You left me and my mother to die seventeen years ago. The cursor blinked for several moments before there was a reply.
So this is your revenge? Stealing money?
Consider it back payment for child support.
What are you talking about? Who are you?
I’m your daughter.
The cursor blinked and I waited. This response took the longest.
You expect me to believe that?
Why would I lie? I already have your money.
She would have told me.
You didn’t give her the chance.
So what do you want? It’s a little late for going to the Daddy/Daughter dance.
I stared at the screen for a minute, confused. Oh. Sarcasm. I want to meet.
Why?
I hadn’t expected that question. The answer seemed obvious to me. Because you’re my biological father. Duh. I didn’t add that I also wanted to kill him.
You still haven’t told me your name.
China. China Mack.
The cursor blinked so long, I was afraid he wasn’t going to answer.
Okay.
And he was gone. No other word about when or where.
Now that it was over, the adrenaline faded, leaving me feeling shaky. I’d just had a conversation with the man who’d killed my mom and left us for dead. The same man who’d inspired such love and devotion in her. I’d kill him, but first I had questions.
It didn’t take long before notices started coming in from the alerts I’d set up on every airline in the country. He booked a flight from LAX to New Orleans within hours. I calculated that he’d be here by tomorrow night.
Now to prepare the welcoming committee.
It was early the next evening, and I was watching multiple video feeds on my computer. By now, I was sure Danvers had my full name, address, and photograph. He’d probably also dug up my entire education and employer history, right up until I’d gone to work at Vigilance. After that, the trail would go cold.
I had little faith that he’d knock before entering, and I wasn’t disappointed. I could hear the door open—these old houses were creaky like that—though I didn’t hear footsteps. I held my breath, waiting. A moment later, he stepped into the room.
He looked different from the old service photo that had been in his CIA file, but the description my mother had given was still apt. Gray eyes, square jaw, thick brown hair now touched with gray at the temples. He wasn’t tall—topping out at perhaps five feet ten or eleven—but he was wide, his chest was deep, and every inch was muscle. Lines were etched around his eyes, as though he’d spent too many years squinting into the sun.
He’d aged well.
I waited, letting him speak first.
“You wanted to meet me. Here I am.”
I remotely activated the program I’d written and watched the video feed on my laptop as the China-bot I’d left in my apartment turned around to face Danvers. She looked real and so like me, it sent a shiver down my back. Thomas had done an excellent job.
“Hello,” the China-bot said pleasantly. “I am your welcoming committee. China couldn’t be here, but she invites you to find her. She’s having dinner at a restaurant I believe you know.” China-bot tilted her head to the side. “I do hope you remember. Your last dinner with her mother was there.”
Danvers was stone-faced, watching her.
“But first,” she continued, “you have to survive me.” She smiled sweetly and pushed her glasses up her nose (I’d added that little gesture). “I self-destruct in five . . . four . . .”
Danvers reacted instantly, making a running leap for the window. His arm hit the glass hard, shattering it as he flew through.
“One.” China-bot’s placid voice was a stark contrast to the violent explosion that followed, and my feed cut off. The blast would’ve taken out the bedroom of my tiny rental house, and there went my damage deposit.
I took a swig of my Red Bull and toggled my video feed. China-bot #2 was next on deck.
It took thirty minutes for Danvers to arrive at the restaurant, except it was no longer open. It had gone out of business a couple of years ago. The interior still had scattered tables and chairs, coated with dust. The windows were boarded up, and the sign was faded. China-bot #2 was patiently waiting. An inaccurate assessment, given that robots were incapable of patience or impatience.
He was more careful this time, approaching the robot warily. I keyed up her program.
“You made it.” China-bot #2 smiled. “Lucky you. Do you remember this place? Kim did. She remembered a lot. She wrote it down, too, and left it for me. It would be a tender, tragic love story, if it didn’t include betrayal and murder.”
“I gotta say, this is an odd way to meet my daughter,” he said. “You going to try to kill me again?”
I typed, and China-bot spoke my words. “It’s the least you deserve.”
“I could just walk away.”
“I still have your money.”
“You think I give a shit?”
That made me pause. If he didn’t want the money back, why was he here?
“Your robot malfunction?” he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.
I decided to ignore the money comment. I had questions to ask. “I want to know why,” China-bot said. “Why would you betray my mother? She loved you.”
He laughed outright. “You honestly believe that?”
I was completely taken aback. “What are you talking about? Yes, of course I do.”
“Well, she didn’t. I didn’t betray her. She betrayed me.”
The idea was so absurd, it took me a moment to respond. “You’re absolutely, utterly wrong. I’ve spoken to her handler. He told me how you tortured and killed Chen.”
“Yeah. So? He deserved it.”
His casual nonchalance chilled me to the bone.
“I remember, you know. I remember you walking away and leaving us to burn.”
For the first time, I saw him flinch. “I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
“What did you think would happen? You ran us off the road. My mother burned to death.”
“Stop.” His voice was sharp. A loud staccato in the silence.
“Why? Is the thought of the mother of your child burning to death bothersome to you?”
He did something unusual then. In a move so fast I barely saw it, he’d dropped a knife into his palm and thrown it at China-bot.
It was a good throw and hit the robot right in the larynx. Or where the larynx would be if it was an actual person.
Well, I guess I knew who I’d gotten that particular skill from.
“It’s not a person,” China-bot said, though now she looked creepy because her lips weren’t moving, and there was a knife sticking out of her neck. No blood.
Danvers turned and spied the tiny camera I’d set up close to the ceiling. He walked toward it until he filled my frame.
“I don’t know how many robots you have waiting for me,” he said, “but I’m done with this shit. Time to meet Daddy, China.” Reaching up, he yanked the camera off the wall, and my picture went dark.
I wasn’t going to panic. He had no idea where I was holed up. And even if he did, he wouldn’t know which room. The Ritz didn’t just give out their guests’ room numbers.
Still, I was looking over my shoulder as I filled my bucket of ice. It had been an hour since the confrontation with Danvers. I’d checked his website, but he hadn’t been back online. I was still contemplating how I was going to track him down again as I went back into my room. My Red Bulls needed ice.
I popped open another can and started pouring, glancing up into the mirror above the desk.
Danvers was right behind me.
I spun around, throwing my Red Bull can at him.
He batted it away with one hand. “Seriously?”
“How did you find me?”
“You’re in room 704,” he said. “You thought I’d remember the restaurant but not the room number?” He looked me up and down, taking in my jeans, my I AIM TO MISBEHAVE T-shirt, my glasses, and ponytail. I pushed my glasses up my nose and shifted my weight from one bare foot to the other. “So you’re the real thing. The robots were taller.”
“Because worrying about what you think is at the top of my list,” I shot back.
“Feisty. I like it.”
“Oh. Yay.” I narrowed my eyes. “You just going to stand there and stare?”
He didn’t answer. He was studying my face intently. I wanted to look away, but I made my gaze remain steady. I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me.
“You look like her.” His voice was rough.
I didn’t answer.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
I didn’t know if he was talking to himself or me. “She thought you wouldn’t let her go, if you knew,” I said. “She thought what you two had was real. She was desperately in love with you.”
He started to shake his head.
“Yes,” I insisted, horrified to realize my eyes were filling with tears, and my voice was getting louder. “She loved you and you betrayed her! You murdered her! She would have done anything for you. How could you do that?”
I flew at him, heedless of what a dumb idea it was, and hit him. I’d never hit anyone with my fist before, and the crack of my knuckles against his jaw sent searing pain through my hand. I ignored the searing pain and shoved him. He stumbled back a few steps.
“You will rot in hell,” I seethed. “You were everything to her. I will never forget the look on her face when she realized you weren’t going to help us. Do you remember? Do you?” My voice echoed around the room, and I was blinded by rage and pain. “You’re the reason I don’t have a mother!”
I attacked him again, slapping and punching any part of him that I could reach. Tears were dripping down my face. Every ounce of pain inside me sought to punish him, to hurt him back. Death was too easy. I wanted him to hurt.
He didn’t fight back. Just stood there and took it. Until I ran out of steam. I collapsed onto the side of the bed, sobbing. I struggled to get control, sucking in gasping breaths until the tears subsided. The whole time, Danvers did nothing but stand there.
Finally, I could talk again. “How could you do it?” I asked. My voice was quiet after the shouting earlier. My throat was raw. “Just tell me.” I didn’t look at him. I stared at the floor.
“She wasn’t who you thought she was,” he said. “I don’t know what she told you, but she played me. She made choices I never could have, and in the end, she paid the price. The life of a CIA agent isn’t rainbows and unicorn farts.”
I looked at him. “Whatever you think she did, you’re wrong. I was young, but I knew my mother.”
“Really? Well, let me tell you something. I had an asset in the PRC. A billionaire businessman who had a lot of officials on his payroll. You have no idea what I went through to protect that asset, the intelligence he gave us.” His voice was tight as he spoke. “I had to send good men to their deaths. I had to look the other way. But then I found out that I wasn’t the only one looking the other way.”
“What do you mean?”
“My asset. He liked little boys and girls. You know what they have too much of in China? People. Lives are cheap. I found out an underground child-trafficking ring was supplying my asset, and that the traffickers were protected by the CIA. Because keeping the information flowing was worth more than the lives of hundreds of Chinese kids.”
The bitterness and anger in his voice was unmistakable.
“What does any of that have to do with you killing my mom?”
“Chen’s uncle ran the trafficking ring,” he said. “Your mother knew about it and did nothing. The CIA did nothing. So I stepped in.”
I shook my head. “No. No way. There is no way my mom would’ve done that. How do you know she knew about Chen’s uncle?”
“She was protecting him. Of course she knew.”
“You didn’t,” I retorted. “It’s the CIA. Isn’t it more likely that she was kept in the dark for the same reason you were? Did you even ask her?”
His silence said it all.
“So you killed her for nothing? You miserable bastard.”
“I wasn’t trying to kill her,” he burst out. “I wanted to take her out of play so I could get to Chen. That was all.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I didn’t know the truck would explode. And people were coming. I thought she had help.” His face was the color of paper.
“Well, I guess if you didn’t know, that makes it all okay.” Bitterness and sarcasm. I’d finally gotten the hang of the latter.
“I thought she’d played me,” he continued. “A honey trap to confirm the identity of my asset. He was captured shortly after I told her who he was. He was tortured, then sent to a work camp.”
“My mother never played you.” I got up and dug into my backpack. I slapped the journal against his chest. “Here. Read it. Then tell me if you still think she was a fucking honey trap, you moron.”
He stood there, staring at it in his hand as if it were some strange, alien object. Finally, he opened the pages.
I headed for my Red Bull, wishing I had something stronger. To realize that my mom had died for a misunderstanding—that her lover hadn’t trusted that her feelings were real—was heartbreaking. Thinking himself betrayed, he’d behaved in kind. Like a reverse Romeo and Juliet.
It was just so damn sad. And made me so fucking angry.
I pounded my Red Bull while he read. At one point, he sat down. Well, his knees sort of buckled, and there was a chair behind him, so he ended up sitting. When he was finished, he closed the book and stared into space.
I didn’t say anything, just gave him some time to process. Finally, I spoke. “She didn’t play you.”
“I knew when you told me your name,” he said flatly. “I just didn’t want to believe it.”
“Yeah, she named me after where you two met.”
His gaze swung to mine. “And she named you after me. My middle name. Mackenzie.”
That was new information. I took another swig of my Red Bull, but it was empty.
“So now what do we do?” I asked.
“Weren’t you going to kill me?”
I shrugged. “There’s no point now. Your own insecurities killed her. Killing you would just be putting you out of your misery. Though don’t think I’m not tempted.” My anger was abating, an inch at a time. I’d read the journal, too. I couldn’t kill him. Mom would never have wanted me to. She’d lived the life of a CIA agent. If she’d known why he’d done what he’d done, she probably would have understood.
“But it’d make you feel better.”
I studied him. He was still pale, his face blank. But his eyes . . . his eyes were dead. Regret was a terrible thing, knowing you couldn’t take back something you’d done. Living with his regret was more punishment than death would be.
“I don’t think it would, actually,” I said.
“Tell me about her. What was she like? As a mother?” There was an edge of desperate longing in the question that hurt to hear.
“She was an amazing mom,” I answered. “She understood me, the way no one else did. I’m . . . different.”
“I read your file. Asperger’s?”
“Borderline. Mom was the one who helped me interpret and understand the world. They say that ninety-five percent of what you say is body language, and the remaining five percent are the actual words. I only understand that five percent. What other people take for granted in communicating is incredibly difficult for me to interpret. And half the time, I’m wrong. Over half, actually.”
“But you’re smart,” he said. “I imagine you’ve taught yourself quite a bit over the years.”
“I get along okay. Mom used to point out when I took things people said too literally. Humor and sarcasm are the hardest. She was funny. She made me laugh because I understood her humor.” I paused, remembering. “She was proud of me, of how smart I was. She never made me feel as though I was the weird one. With her, I was normal. When she . . . was gone . . . I felt so alone.”
Danvers was quiet for a while, thinking, I supposed. “This job . . . it turns you into the worst version of yourself. You become paranoid, sure that everyone is against you. You have to deal with the dregs of humanity, until you become so cynical and jaded . . . you end up betraying the very person who saved you.”
He stood and walked to the window, his back to me as he looked out at the city. “When I met Kim, it felt as though God was finally smiling down on me. What else could explain a woman like her falling for someone like me? It was too good to be true, or so I believed at the time. How could anything—anyone—be so perfect? The times we had together were the happiest I’d ever been in my life. Happier than I’d ever even hoped to be.”
His words were painful to hear. After reading the journal, I’d felt like I knew him through my mom’s eyes. Now, listening to him speak of her, my anger melted away. I felt nothing but heartbreak at how something so beautiful had ended so tragically.
“I did beg her, you know,” he continued, matter-of-fact. “I’d have done anything to be with her. When you find that kind of magic, losing it feels like ripping out your soul. Maybe that’s why it was easier to believe that it had all been a lie, rather than facing the fact that she’d chosen someone else over me.”
“She didn’t choose someone else,” I corrected him. “She chose her children. That’s not the same thing. You loved who she was. If she’d abandoned her children, she wouldn’t have been that person.”
He turned to face me. “Logic has nothing to do with love. You can tell me she did the right thing—the moral thing—until you’re blue in the face. It doesn’t matter. The result was still the same. Someone else got her. Not me. Someone else got to have dinner with her every night, watch her eyes sparkle when she laughed. Sleep next to her in the same bed and kiss her in the morning. I was selfish. I didn’t give a shit about her kids. I just wanted her.”
It was enough to make my eyes start burning again. I blinked back the welling tears and cleared my throat. “I know my mom was happiest with you. For what it’s worth, I wish things had turned out differently, too. And I have something for you to watch.”
I keyed up Mom’s video that I’d converted and stored on my laptop, then played it for Danvers. His eyes were glued to the screen, his gaze avid as he watched my mom speak. His jaw was clenched into tight bands, and his throat worked as he swallowed. I had the impression he wasn’t a man who cried—ever—but was fighting that urge now.
When it was finished playing, I packed up the laptop and Mom’s journal into my backpack. “Thank you,” I said, “for coming. I needed an explanation. And closure. Perhaps you did, too.”
“You haven’t redeemed me,” he said roughly. “If anything, you’ve condemned me.”
“What do you mean?”
His gaze was stark. “Keep the money. I never spent a dime of it. Just didn’t want it to end up in Chinese hands.”
I blanched. “I don’t want the money. What would I do with that much money?”
He shrugged. “I don’t care. Consider it your inheritance. I can’t bring Kim back, and I know you can never forgive me. But at least you can be comfortable. Travel the world if you want. Just stay out of North Korea, okay?”
Suddenly, I realized what he was not saying. “What are you going to do?”
“Atone.”
Damn it. That’s all I needed. Him killing himself. “No. That is not going to happen. You’re the only parent I have left.”
That took him aback and he didn’t reply. Then my cell buzzed. I glanced at the screen.
“You’re calling instead of breaking and entering? That’s a switch.”
“Smart-ass. I like it,” Kade drawled. “And good work, by the way. We’ve got your twenty, and a team is headed your way to collect Danvers. We have a proposition for him.”
I jumped to my feet. “What? What do you mean? You never said anything about that. I told you I was going to take care of it.”
“Please,” he scoffed. “Like you were going to kill your sperm donor in cold blood. I think the worst of people on a regular basis, and even I knew that wasn’t going to happen.”
“What are you going to do with him?”
“He has some things to answer for,” Kade replied. “If he’s smart, he’ll take what I’m offering. If not, then he’ll just disappear. See? Problem solved.”
“But I don’t want him to disappear.” I rushed to the window and looked out, but saw nothing unusual. Well, it wasn’t as if they were going to all wear matching neon shirts with CIA DEATH SQUAD printed on the front.
“Not your call, but I appreciate the input. Now just cooperate when they come to the door, and no one will get hurt. Should be about three minutes. Oh, and your buddies are there. Rooms 904 and 906. Adjoining. Ain’t that sweet?” He ended the call.
I grabbed my backpack and shoved my feet into my Converses. “C’mon,” I said. “We have to hurry.”
Danvers didn’t move.
I grabbed his arm and pulled. It was like trying to move granite. “C’mon!”
He shook his head. “You go. Or stay. It’s me they want, not you.”
“They can’t have you.” I was becoming frantic. The clock in my head said we’d lost more than a minute already, arguing.
“I’m not going.” He was implacable. “He said he’s offering something. Maybe I can still be useful. Maybe it’ll be the last time I’ll have to be useful.”
I shoved my face into his. “You owe me,” I gritted out. “So get your ass in gear. We’ve got to get out of here. I’m not ready to give you up yet. So chill on the whole martyr thing.”
Life seemed to finally spark in his eyes. “Fine,” he bit out. “What’s our time?”
“With you screwing around, we’re probably down to sixty seconds.”
He growled out a curse. “They’ll be covering the stairs and elevator. There’s no way out.”
What Kade had said came back to me in a flash. “Yes, there is. We go up.”
“I said, they’ll be covering the stairs.”
“Out the window. I have a friend two floors directly above us. We just need to climb up.”
“You say ‘just,’ I say, seven stories down to a splatter on the sidewalk.”
“They’re not getting you,” I repeated, adamant. “So you can either watch me risk my life to get you to safety, or you can sit here on your ass and let them take you. Which is it gonna be?”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re a lot like your mom.”
“Thank you.”
It took more precious seconds to open the window, then another to boost myself out. The railing wasn’t a proper terrace, but purely for decoration. However, I could see that two floors above was an actual terrace. If I could just get there.
I stood, holding the window and trying to ignore the fact that concrete waited below. This wasn’t safe. It was dangerous on the level of stupidity. I wasn’t going to be able to make it, and they’d find me with my brain bashed in.
I started to hyperventilate, frozen with fear. Danvers poked his head out the window.
“Are you waiting for a rope? Because there isn’t going to be one.”
I gritted my teeth. It took a monumental effort of will, but I stretched up to grasp the lip of the concrete. I wasn’t tall enough.
“Hold on,” Danvers said. He put his hands on my butt and pushed.
I grabbed the lip and pulled, the muscles in my arms screaming. If I could just get a knee up, I could reach to the bottom of the next level’s faux terrace.
Danvers was beside me, then ahead of me, making it look so damn easy. If I could have spared the breath, I’d have cussed.
He made it to the faux terrace and latched an arm through the grate, then reached down and easily swung me up next to him. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. The wind whipped my ponytail into my face. Danvers reached over and combed it out of the way. The look on his face was one I couldn’t figure out. More than sad. Wistful, perhaps?
“One more,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Yippee.
We repeated the procedure, this time without my nearly passing out from hyperventilating, and stood on the expansive terrace of some kind of suite. Of course it was a suite. Jackson wouldn’t stay anywhere else.
Jackson.
Was he really in there? My heart leaped at the thought. It had been so long, and felt even longer. Would he be glad to see me? Why was he here, in New Orleans? Was it mere coincidence we were at the same hotel? Or had he known where I was and came here deliberately?
“What are we waiting for?” Danvers asked, yanking me out my thoughts. “Do you know these people or not?”
“No. I mean, yeah, I do.” Taking a deep breath, I moved forward and knocked on the glass door. The curtain wasn’t pulled, and I could see into the suite. I knocked again, louder.
Then I saw him.