7
Six months later, Mark had an assignment in the most unlikely of places—Maui. I flew there and met him afterward. The honeymoon I’d always wanted but never had, with a man who was not my husband. A sad tale, but I wouldn’t have traded that week for anything. My guilt wasn’t enough to keep me from going to him.
To feel the intensity of joy after months apart . . . perhaps the only ones who would understand are military spouses. Mark’s job was dangerous, and worry gnawed at me when we had to go days without communication. To be in his arms again was the sweetest pain.
Whenever we reconnect, our first time together is always a matter of ripping clothes off and coming together in a blinding need. I love that first time the most. To want and be wanted so intensely . . . it’s like the most potent aphrodisiac, the most addictive drug.
Seven days in paradise with the love of my life. It was a place out of time. I’d never been happier, or more in love.
He asked me. Asked me to leave my husband and run away with him. I was elated that he asked, that he wanted a lifetime with me. I wanted that, too. More than anything.
But I couldn’t. I had two young boys at home who needed their mother. If I turned my back on them, what did that make me? I’d end up resenting him for it, if I left my children. Our love would grow bitter and tainted. The very thing we had together would fall apart under the weight of regret.
Telling him no was the hardest thing I’d ever done. He begged me. Got down on his knees, took my hands in his, and kissed them. His eyes were filled with pain and desperation. I sobbed and he held me. That night he promised to never ask me again. It only made me cry harder.
I woke from a (thankfully) dreamless sleep and made the mistake of stretching. My breath caught at the aches and stiffness in my muscles.
Glancing around, it took me a moment to remember the events of the previous night and where I was. A posh hotel room, though it was dim. The blackout curtains were drawn, so I had no idea what time it was. There was a clock, but without my glasses, I couldn’t make out the glowing numbers.
Jackson was lying next to me on his back, sound asleep. A bruise darkened his jaw and I could see more on his ribs and abdomen. His hand lay on top of the sheets, his knuckles bruised and scraped.
It was a miracle we were still alive.
I edged as close to Jackson’s side as I dared without waking him. He’d showered, because I could smell soap. It made me want to be clean, too, but I couldn’t make myself move away from him.
The only reason he had been there last night was because of me. I’d nearly gotten him killed.
I settled my palm, ever so lightly, on his chest. I watched the rise and fall of his breathing and could feel the warm beat of his heart. It was so, so easy to take each day, each moment, for granted. That you’d have another day tomorrow, and more after that, to correct mistakes and fix things that hadn’t gone the way you wanted them to.
But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it. I didn’t know which way I wanted my life to go, and I didn’t have an unlimited time frame to decide. In fact, given the events of last night, I might have even less time than I’d imagined.
I fell back asleep to the sound of Jackson’s steady breathing.
When I woke again, I was in the bed alone. Alarmed, I sat up and saw Jackson sitting at the desk with his laptop open in front of him. He glanced my way and I saw his gaze drop to my chest before lifting to my eyes. Oh yeah. I was only wearing my Victoria’s Secret demi cup in black satin with the matching no-show panties. I tugged the sheet up.
“Good morning,” he said. “I ordered some breakfast. It should be here soon.”
“Thank you.” The television was on, but muted. I read the closed-captioning. “I see they found Bruce.”
“Yes. Since we were the last ones seen with him, the police want to talk to us. My lawyers are taking care of it.”
“How?”
“They gave them a sworn statement from you and me about what happened last night, minus Bruce’s collusion. Two men wanting to mug two billionaires? It’s plausible.”
I frowned in confusion. “Did I give a statement in my sleep?”
Jackson’s smile was fleeting. “The lawyers took care of it. I hope you don’t mind. That’s what I pay them for. There’s no need for us to speak directly to the police.”
I was relieved, and grateful. Money was a more effective shield than bullets in some instances.
My body ached and I remembered the bath that Maddy had recommended. “Do you need the bathroom for a while?” I asked. “I’d like to take a bath.”
“Be my guest.”
I slowly climbed out of the bed, mindful of the aches and pains. Jackson was looking at me, his expression growing grim and forbidding as more of my battered body was revealed.
“Did the software all get uploaded?” I asked, partly to distract him.
“Yes. I’ve had a team of my people going through it back at Cysnet.”
Although Bruce had told us we couldn’t take the software off the premises, Jackson had ways around that. There were other methods of networking than Ethernet and Wi-Fi.
“Do you trust your people?”
“Each one was handpicked and hired by me,” he said. “Yes, I trust them.”
I nodded, then made my way slowly to the bathroom, feeling his gaze on my back the entire time.
The mirror wasn’t kind.
I bruised easily, which didn’t help, but even so, I looked like I’d been on the losing end of a serious can of whoop-ass.
My right eye was swollen and bloodshot, a dark bruise surrounding it. The cut on my cheek still had the butterfly bandages holding it closed, and a fragile scab had grown along the seam. My back and side were a mix of blue-and-purple bruises. Note to self: Being thrown against the dash of a car left a hell of a mark.
I started the bathwater as hot as I could stand, then slowly began stretching my muscles. By the time I’d brushed my teeth and climbed into the tub, I could at least move without every inch being fraught with pain.
Thirty minutes later, I was feeling mostly human. Freshly scrubbed and shaved (I couldn’t stand not shaving), I wrapped myself in a voluminous white robe and grabbed a brush before leaving the bathroom.
Jackson was still at the desk, wearing a robe identical to mine. The suite was so big, there must have been another bathroom where he’d showered while I bathed. His hair was wet and his jaw was smooth.
“I have Bruce’s grandfather’s address and phone,” Jackson said. “I think we should pay him a visit today.”
“How did you get that?” It wasn’t like you could just Google for that kind of personal info.
“It’s what I took a photo of off Bruce’s cell last night.”
Ah yes. Now I remembered. I’d been in such a daze, I hadn’t even though to ask what he’d been doing.
“That’s kind of callous, isn’t it?” I asked. “His grandson just died.”
Jackson’s eyebrows flew up. “Seriously? You’re worried about his feelings and social niceties? His grandson tried to kill us.”
I shrugged, muttering, “Just thought I’d mention it.”
Jackson motioned to the closet. “I had your clothes brought over that you bought yesterday. And I sent the other outfit to be cleaned and mended.”
“Thank you.” It was nice to have someone else around, just to help. It grew tiresome, adulting. As simple a thing as taking care of my clothes for me was appreciated. It was one less thing I had to worry about, and I already had plenty to worry about.
Breakfast had come while I’d been in the bath, and the smell of bacon and eggs made my mouth water. I headed for the table room service had set and reached for the coffee urn.
“Want some?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I poured two cups as Jackson closed his laptop and came to sit at the table with me. Dinner seemed forever ago, and I was surprised by how ravenous I was. I managed to polish off my entire plate of bacon, eggs, and hash browns, plus a pancake, an order of toast with jam, and two cups of coffee. I caught Jackson staring at me as I added some more syrup to the last two bites of pancake.
“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious. Had I dripped syrup on me? I glanced down, but the robe was still a pristine white.
He shook his head, grinning ruefully. “I don’t know where you put it. How you can eat the way you do and still look the way you look.”
I forked a bite of pancake. “I have good metabolism.” And sometimes, when deep in coding, I forgot to eat. I didn’t tell people that, though, not since I’d mentioned it to Bonnie, who’d given me a look and informed me that I had to be a “special kind of stupid” to forget to eat. “I plan my day around mealtimes,” she’d said.
“Be glad you do,” he said. “If I ate like you, I’d have to work out twice as much as I already do.”
“I didn’t realize you worked out to keep from gaining weight,” I said.
“Why else would I do it?”
“I don’t know. Some people like working out,” I said, which was about as easy for me to fathom as the people who insisted that they enjoyed eating kale.
“Working out sucks. I do it because I used to be a tubby kid, and I don’t want to go back to being that tubby kid.”
“You were overweight as a child?” Okay, that threw my mental imagery of his past all out of whack.
“Yep. Super smart, glasses, poor, and chubby. A good day was when I got to keep my lunch money.”
Bullies. I’d had my share of them, too. Children could be the most vicious creatures on the planet.
“But I showed them,” Jackson said, his lips twisting into a thin smile. “The best revenge is success.”
I couldn’t disagree with that. Being one of the most sought-after and eligible billionaire bachelors in the world wasn’t an accomplishment many could boast of.
“I bet the high school reunion was awesome,” I said, my imagination conjuring up images of Jackson showing up via helicopter on the football field.
He grinned. “Better than I imagined.”
In another forty-five minutes, we were ready to go. I wore a sleeveless sheath dress in block colors of navy blue, white, and beige. The hem came to an inch above my knee, and I had on the same pair of red heels as yesterday. My hair was in the usual thick ponytail, and Jackson had returned my glasses. At the moment though, I wore a huge, oversize pair of black sunglasses, which hid my bruised eye. The rest of my bruises were mostly decorating my torso.
Jackson’s security people led us out the back of the hotel—two people in front and two behind—to a waiting black SUV. One of the guards got in the front with the driver, and two more climbed into the car with us. The remaining guard watched the street as we pulled away.
The trip to Grandpa’s house took us about an hour, though it was only about thirty miles upstate from Manhattan. The homes grew to gargantuan proportions, and the lawns were expansive. It would have been a beautiful drive, if I’d focused on the scenery. But I was on my computer, looking through code. I trusted Jackson’s people, but I wanted to look for myself, too.
“We’re here,” Jackson said, pulling me out of my concentration.
I glanced up and saw we’d stopped in front of a beautiful brick home, built in a Tudor style. Though most Tudor homes I’d seen were cozy cottages. This was a cozy cottage only if your other house was the Kennedy compound.
The guards escorted us to the door, then tactfully stood behind us. Jackson knocked and rang the bell. A woman wearing a half apron answered. She held a brown feather duster and was Latina. I guessed her age to be midfifties.
“May I help you?” she asked. She was frowning, and it had the look of what her perpetual resting face must be.
“We’re here to see Harrison Cummings,” Jackson said. “Is he available? Tell him Jackson Cooper would like to have a word.”
“Please come in,” she said. “I will go inform him.”
We stood in the foyer and I gaped as I looked around. Jackson’s mansion was professionally decorated, but it was in a modern, masculine fashion. This house was done in a high-end rustic style that probably cost a fortune to look authentic. Antique bronze fixtures with the Edison bulbs made to look old, and heavy furniture that appeared to have grown out of the hardwood floor, it fit so well. A beautiful baby grand piano stood in the corner of the massive great room, opposite a stone fireplace that stretched all the way to the top of the vaulted ceiling.
“Wow,” I breathed. “This is my dream house.”
“You like it?” Jackson asked.
I nodded vigorously. “It’s beautiful. And look at the view.” The wall at the back of the room was floor-to-ceiling windows, showing a vast expanse of green lawn and property, edged with thick woods for privacy. It was peaceful and rustic, but only thirty miles from the city.
The maid appeared again. “This way.”
Jackson had the guards wait, and we followed her down a short hallway to a small library. Despite the season, a fire burned in the grate of the fireplace, and an old man sat in the armchair directly to the right. A blanket covered his lap, and as we drew closer, his face appeared haggard with grief and age.
“Mr. Cooper,” he said, his voice called up from deep inside his chest to reverberate around the room. “This is indeed a surprise. Do have a seat.”
Despite his age and apparent frailty, he had an air of authority that only came with experience and years spent having others jump to do his bidding. Jackson and I sat on the love seat opposite Harrison.
“I take it you have additional information regarding the—” He paused to clear his throat. “The death of my grandson.”
“Yes, sir. I have. But it’s going to be different from what the police told you.”
Harrison frowned. “What do you mean? You weren’t ambushed and mugged? You both have bruises on your faces, and I see your knuckles are scraped and bruised.”
“Yes, we absolutely were ambushed,” Jackson said. “We’re very lucky to be alive. Unfortunately, what the police didn’t tell you—because I didn’t tell them—was that Bruce was the one who set up that ambush. The targets were me and my colleague.”
Harrison’s mouth was slightly agape as he absorbed this information, then he snapped it closed. “That’s preposterous,” he sputtered. “Accusing my grandson of accessory to murder is ridiculous. What possible proof do you have?”
“We’re two witnesses,” Jackson calmly replied. “And he had a strong motive.”
“What motive?” Harrison clearly thought Jackson was lying, his tone scathing.
I answered that one. “He was afraid that we would divulge the fact that Fortress Securities installed a back door via the Y2K software upgrade eighteen years ago.”
Silence. Harrison looked from me, to Jackson, then back to me. He let out a long, tired sigh.
“I knew one day it would get out,” he said, passing a gnarled hand over his forehead. “It’s not something you can keep a secret forever. Not something that big.” He looked up. “And you were going to go public? Ruin Fortress?”
“No,” Jackson said. “We’re trying to find anyone who knew about the back door. We’re here because Bruce said you were instrumental in making sure Fortress landed the project, even though it was a small company that never could’ve gotten it without help.”
“Are you with the government?” he asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I was warned not to tell anyone.”
“The government warned you?” I asked.
“No. The Chinese.”
I’d thought as much, but it was good to hear it confirmed.
“Tell us what happened.”
Harrison gazed into the fire, seeming to collect his thoughts before he spoke. “It was 1998. The Y2K problem was just showing up on the public radar, though of course the tech world had known about it for a long time.
“I had a seat on the Exchange and had been tasked with heading a committee that would send out requests for proposals on upgrading the Exchange software. We were in the midst of reviewing those bids and proposals when I was . . . approached. He was a very successful Chinese national with an international firm having offices in a dozen countries. I never would have expected it of him.”
“Did he offer you something? Threaten you?”
“It was the strangest thing, to be sitting across a linen-covered table, sipping a lunch martini, and have a man in a five-thousand-dollar suit tell you that if you didn’t agree to put Fortress Securities ahead of the other bids, your grandson would suffer an unfortunate accident.” He gazed into the fire again. “I was . . . stunned. These are the things of fantasy and movies. They didn’t happen to regular people. I told him he was being ridiculous and that I was going to report his threat to the SEC.”
“What happened?” I asked when he paused.
He turned toward me and the look in his eyes was one of resignation. “They engineered a close call. A taxi, out of control, missed running Bruce over by inches. He leaped out of the way, suffered a broken arm. They assured me that next time, there would be no escape. So I listened. And I did as they said. I didn’t ask why they wanted Fortress. I just made it happen.”
“Then what?” There had to be more. Bruce hadn’t tried to kill us just because we might cause him some bad PR.
“I encouraged Bruce to buy Fortress. No sense letting an opportunity go to waste. He’s done very well with the company.”
“That’s not the whole story,” I persisted. “Bruce said they found the back door and fixed it thirteen months later. What happened in the meantime?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Whatever was supposed to happen, didn’t.”
“You’re lying,” Jackson said flatly. “As of now, your grandson died a victim of a crime. We know the truth. Do you want his name dragged through the mud? Because I have no scruples about letting everyone know what really happened.”
He was silent, but we didn’t waver, waiting him out. Finally, he spoke, and his voice was quiet and tense.
“The back door, we thought it would be used to crash the market, which is what we watched for. But we were wrong. We found out later, by tearing apart the software, that it had a very different purpose.”
I waited, barely noticing that my hands were in fists in my lap. This was it. This was what had killed my mom.
“The software added one one-hundredth of a cent to every tenth trade, sending it to over three dozen accounts, scattered around the world. By the time we’d crawled through all the trades affected, we realized over five billion dollars had been stolen.”
The words reverberated inside my head. Five billion dollars. That had been the price of my mom’s life. Money. Not some high ideal of country or patriotism—no matter how twisted. Just . . . money.
“Excuse me.” My voice sounded foreign in my ears. “Where is your restroom?”
Harrison, looking bewildered, pointed. Calmly, I got up and walked through the door. I was watching myself as if from the outside.
My heels clacked on the wooden floor, slow at first, then faster, as though someone were chasing me. I kept going until I slammed my palm into a half-open door and saw a sink and toilet. I barely made it in time.
I emptied the contents of my stomach and more, until I was dry heaving. Finally, I flushed the toilet and sat back on the floor, exhausted. Someone handed me a damp washcloth. I glanced up to see that Jackson had followed me. I couldn’t be bothered to be embarrassed.
Wiping my face, I scooted until my back was against the wall, leaning against it with a sigh. I felt wrung out, and it wasn’t just from getting sick.
Jackson sat down next to me, handing me my glasses, which I’d tossed away. He had my shoes, too, which he carefully set side by side on the tile. He leaned against the wall as well.
We said nothing. Jackson wasn’t an idiot. He knew why I was upset.
He reached down and grasped my hand in his, threading our fingers together so our palms touched.
“Money,” I said at last. “Stupid, dirty, senseless money. Nothing more than that.” The icy rage inside burned colder than my despair, chilling me to the bone.
“I know.”
Jackson let me absorb and adjust to this information in silence, merely holding my hand. I concentrated on breathing in and out until I didn’t have to consciously do it anymore.
“Now what?” I asked.
“We have the why. You know who did it. I guess the answer to that question is up to you.”
“I’m taking someone’s word for it that Mom was killed and that Danvers did it. I still want to see the police report. Clark was also checking into seeing if Mom’s CIA handler was still alive. Maybe they’d know more.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
The trip back to the city was quiet. I didn’t bother opening my laptop. Instead, I watched the scenery go by outside the window. Jackson spoke on his cell, directing the team to find the code, which should be easier now that we knew what it did. I tuned him out after a while.
We were in the middle of rush-hour traffic when my phone buzzed. A text from Clark.
I have information. I’m in NY. Meet me.
I texted back. Okay. Where? When?
Top of the Empire State Building. Of course. Sunset.
Well, that was very specific. And touristy. And Sleepless in Seattle. Yet, it fit. I smiled a tiny fraction. Leave it to Clark to lighten my mood.
I checked my weather app. Sunset was in roughly two hours. By the time we got back to the hotel and I made my way to the Empire State Building, it would take me about that long.
“I think I want to get out and walk,” I said, picking up my backpack.
Jackson looked at me as if I’d said I’d just sprouted wings and wanted to test them out. “Why would you want to walk? We’ll be there shortly.”
I didn’t want to mention Clark and have him get all weird on me, so I obfuscated. “I need some time alone. I’m just going to walk around for a bit. I want to clear my head.”
He looked unconvinced, but nodded. “Okay, but you’re taking Julio with you.” He motioned to one of the guards.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I protested. “Unlike you, no one knows who I am. I’ll be fine. Just one of a few million other people walking the streets.”
The car was stopped and the sidewalk was right outside my door. I popped it open and slid out.
“I’ll meet you back at the hotel later,” I said, shouldering my backpack. “Don’t wait on dinner for me.” I shut the door and melted into the stream of humanity flowing down the sidewalk.
The light turned green and the SUV sat there for a moment. I knew Jackson wanted to send someone with me, but I was being partially truthful. I wanted to be alone for a while. A car angrily honked and the SUV sped through the intersection.
I was by Central Park West, and as I glanced over, the grass and trees of the park looked peaceful and inviting. I headed that way. Joggers passed me as I walked. I wasn’t in a hurry. I breathed in the warm spring air and felt the breeze stir my hair.
I wondered if my mom had visited Central Park when she’d lived in New York. She must’ve. Everyone did, right? You couldn’t come to the Big Apple and not step into Central Park. Maybe she’d visited Strawberry Fields—which was where I was headed.
I’d gotten my Elvis love from my mom, but she’d appreciated the Beatles. Not as a fan, but as an influence in popular culture. Honestly, I just thought they’d become as popular as they had been because of the British accents. There wasn’t an American alive who didn’t love a British accent, especially teenage girls.
The Imagine memorial was more crowded than I thought it would be, with about a dozen people meandering by and taking photographs. I gazed at the mosaic for a few minutes, then moved on, making my way south through the park.
I passed a line of food trucks, pausing next to one that served Belgian waffles. A plateful of carbs sounded like just the thing. I ordered one with Nutella and strawberries, then sat on a bench to eat it, watching people go by.
I deliberately thought of nothing. I slowly ate my waffle, the warm chocolate melting on my tongue. The sound of traffic going by, people walking and talking, and planes overhead filled my senses. I closed my eyes, drinking it in.
Yesterday, I’d nearly died. I could’ve easily missed this experience. How many more experiences would I miss because of fear or hesitation? Thinking that “one day” I’ll do it? What if that mythical and ever-so-evasive One Day never came? And would I be alone?
I was sure my mom hadn’t thought her life would end so soon. When she’d been my age, she’d probably thought she had decades ahead of her. Time to get married and have children, watch them grow up and have children of their own. Time to travel and see the world, or at least the places that didn’t serve disgusting sea creatures as a staple.
The premonition of being at a crossroads—or a fork in the road—was even stronger now. One path was marked Jackson, the other, Clark. Perhaps it was narcissistic of me to think I had two men waiting on a way forward with me, but I wasn’t in the habit of lying to myself to make life sweeter. Did it make me feel guilty? Absolutely. But I hadn’t made them choose their paths.
In Clark, I could have a safe Friends with Benefits relationship that, while perhaps not as emotionally fulfilling as I’d hoped, would also safeguard me from heartache. We could work together and . . . play . . . together, without either of us risking our hearts. He’d said he was falling in love with me, but I didn’t trust that. Clark didn’t strike me as the Falling in Love type.
Jackson was the polar opposite, wanting love and marriage and family. On one hand, it was incredibly tempting to create my own “tribe” that was just mine. People who would love me no matter what. Yet that held a truckload of risk, and I’d yet to meet anyone who hadn’t been hurt by someone who supposedly loved them.
It was like going down the rabbit hole, and there was no answer. Not yet. Not until I knew what had happened to my mom. The truth would set you free? I guess I’d find out.
I took my time making my way to the Empire State Building, stopping along the way to buy flip-flops, and stuff my red heels in my backpack. Heels were great for sitting. Not so great for walking.
When I reached my destination, I craned my neck to look up. It was beautiful and the height made me dizzy. The wind was chilly now, the streets shadowed from the setting sun, and I wrapped my arms around myself.
I bought a ticket for the 102nd floor and waited for the elevator. The line wasn’t terribly long, and my ears popped on the way up. My stomach was trembling, though I didn’t know if it was from nerves or anticipation. Clark still set butterflies to flight inside me, no matter what.
The observation deck was deserted, and when I stepped out there, I realized why. The wind took my breath away and made my eyes sting behind my glasses. A shiver overtook me. It was too darn cold out here. Clark would just have to ditch the movie reference and find me inside the gift shop.
I spun around and ran right into a man. “I’m sor—” It took me a fraction of a second to go from surprise to shock to recognition.
Clark.
He picked me up in a bear hug and held me against him. I was surprised, given our last conversation, but instinctively wound my arms around his neck, tightening him to me. He was deliciously warm, bracing his back to the wind and sheltering me with his body. The wind whipped my hair, and I buried my face farther into his neck, inhaling the scent of leather and skin that was all Clark. He held me so tightly, almost as if he knew I’d nearly not seen the dawn today. I didn’t know why he wasn’t mad at me anymore, and I didn’t care.
Finally, he let me slide down his body until my toes touched the ground. That’s when he got a good look at my face.
“What. The. Fuck,” he ground out.
“If we’re going to argue, can we do it inside?” I asked with a sigh. My teeth started to chatter.
He swung open the door and we stepped inside. I breathed a sigh at the warmth. Clark grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the elevators, but I put on the brakes.
“I want to buy a souvenir,” I explained. His eye roll was epic. I ignored him and browsed the merchandise. There was a really pretty snow globe with the Empire State Building that I picked up, as well as a book describing the construction of the building during the Great Depression. Clark plucked them from my arms.
“I got it,” he said, heading for the register. Though the place was filled with tourists, people took one look at him and got out of his way. I winced, thinking of what the look on his face must be.
He was back quickly and we joined a group of people herded into an elevator. My ears popped again on the way down. Clark held tight to my hand the entire time, staring fixedly straight ahead.
I didn’t protest when he led us out of the building and down the street. We crossed a block and went into a bar called the Liberty. It was full, but not crowded. He led me through the bar to a set of stairs going down. The lower level had fewer people, which was nice. I wasn’t much of a crowd person.
There was a grouping of leather sofas, and one of them was empty. That’s where we landed. A waitress approached almost immediately. She had a piercing in her lower lip that was the size of a dime, with one of those circles in it to keep it open. Those things fascinated me. In earlobes, okay, I could kind of understand. But how did she keep food or liquid from coming out of the hole? I could see her gums and teeth through it.
I opened my mouth to ask when Clark elbowed me sharply. “Don’t do it,” he muttered.
Grudgingly, I obeyed, sending him a dirty look and rubbing my sore ribs. He’d hit a bruise.
He ordered drinks for us, and the waitress left. She was a cute girl, though the piercing marred the prettiness of her face, in my opinion.
“You said you had information,” I began, wanting to bypass the whole what-happened-to-you conversation. Alas, it was not to be.
“Nice try,” Clark said. “Start at the beginning, and don’t even tell me that Jackson was involved, or I may kill him.”
I hesitated too long and he cursed, lengthy and with great feeling.
“It wasn’t his fault,” I said, and with a sigh, began the story. When I’d finished, Clark looked slightly less pissed off, which would usually be a good thing, but instead he just channeled it into a glint of steel in his eye that was dangerous.
“Bruce is dead already, so don’t get any ideas. We lived to fight another day, plus we found out what the software back door did.” I pressed my lips together. “My mother died because someone wanted money. That’s it.”
Clark frowned. “What did you think it would be? Some high ideal? People don’t kill for that. They kill for personal gain or revenge.”
The words hurt and I stared at him. Clark’s eyes softened and he pulled me into his arms.
“I’m sorry. That was a shitty way of putting it.”
“No, you’re right. I was just hoping that she’d died for something worthwhile. When you lose someone you love, you want it to be for a good reason. That their death serves a higher purpose somehow, in the grand scheme of things. Because she’s lost to me forever. I don’t want her sacrifice—my sacrifice—to have been for nothing.”
“I don’t believe anyone’s death is for nothing,” he said. I twisted in his arms to look up at him. “Everyone has an impact on somebody—their life, and their death. No one comes into or leaves this world without making some kind of difference, for good or bad.”
“That’s surprisingly deep, coming from you.”
One corner of his lips lifted in a smirk. “I have all kinds of depth under this sexy-stud exterior.”
I laughed and spontaneously hugged him. I didn’t think I’d be laughing anytime soon, but leave it to Clark to prove me wrong.
The waitress returned with our drinks, giving me a look of disdain for my unbridled display of affection. Apparently, that was Not Cool, in her view.
I took a sip of my drink—clear, but sweet and tart at the same time—and asked, “So what did you find out?”
“The good news is, your mom’s handler is still alive.” He handed me a slip of paper. “That’s his name and address.”
“Then what’s the bad news?”
Clark’s expression was grim. “The address is for a retirement home, where he suffers from Alzheimer’s.”
Ouch. That hit a nerve for Clark, I was sure. Plus, who knew if he’d remember the answers to the questions I wanted to ask?
“So if we find out who got the money,” Clark mused, “then we find out who ordered your mom’s murder. Since Chen was killed, we can’t assume only the Chinese were involved. The problem is, there’s no rhyme or reason as to why the CIA would want her dead, then do nothing about the back door. Letting all that money spill through their fingers was a risky move. Why did they do that? Were they hoping it would lead to something—or someone—bigger?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I don’t want to believe that Danvers killed her. It had to be the Chinese, or maybe a subversion in the CIA itself.” Hope springs eternal.
“Any word on that police report?”
I shook my head. “I thought I’d call tomorrow and check on it.”
A huge black guy came over to us, wearing jeans and a tight T-shirt. His expression was no-nonsense.
“Excuse me,” he said, directing his words to me. “May I have a word?”
Clark glanced at me. “You know this guy?”
“No,” I replied, confused. “I don’t think so. Do I know you?”
“No, ma’am. This’ll just take a minute.”
“She’s not going anywhere without me.” Clark stood, going toe-to-toe with the guy, whose gaze narrowed. Clark was dangerous, but this guy looked like he ate nails for breakfast.
I jumped to my feet, laying a restraining hand on Clark’s arm. “It’s fine,” I said. The last thing we needed was an incident. “I won’t leave your sight.”
That seemed to satisfy Clark, sort of, so I followed the man until we were out of earshot. Clark was watching me like a hawk.
“Who are you?” I asked. “What do you want?”
“My name is Travis,” he said. “Bridget told me about you.”
“Who’s Bridget?”
“Your server. I work security here. Thought I’d come down and see if you could use some help. I can call the cops, or just detain him”—he nodded toward Clark—“for a while so you have time to make other arrangements.”
I wasn’t following. “Why would—Oh.” The light bulb went on. “He didn’t hit me,” I said with a sigh. “I got mugged last night.”
Travis frowned. “Are you sure? Because you don’t have to lie. There are people who can help.”
“I swear. He’d kill anyone who hurt me.” Which was the absolute truth.
“Okay, well, take this. Just in case.” He handed me a card.
“I do appreciate it, though,” I said. “That was kind of Bridget to notice and get involved.”
He nodded and moved on. I went back to Clark.
“What was that about?”
“Just trying to do a good deed and save a woman in an abusive relationship,” I said.
“Did you tell him you and Coop already broke up?”
I gave him a look and decided to ignore his dig at Jackson. “So when do we go visit this handler? What’s his name?”
“Jim Dayle. He’s in a place over in Jersey. Visiting hours are tomorrow from ten until four.”
“Okay, then. That’s what we’ll do.”
I took another swig of my drink, thinking, when a woman plopped herself down opposite us.
“Hey, baby,” she said to Clark. “Miss me?” She transferred her gaze from him to me, then back. “We’re still married, you know. Don’t tell me I caught you cheating on me.”