“Let’s hold on to the hope that she hasn’t played us all,” Jenny said.
Orion got up, but Jenny had also found her feet. “Ry?”
He looked at her. Jake and Aria went into the other room. Scarlett was typing.
“Yeah?” Wow, she was pretty. Always, but not having seen her for two weeks took a slice out of him. Sometimes he couldn’t breathe around her. Now, she wore a pair of loose jeans and a white fleece jacket, her blonde hair back, her blue eyes shiny.
I’m sorry. The words filled his chest. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you—
“Stay safe. She could be dangerous.” She swallowed, and it seemed her eyes glazed. Probably thinking of the way he’d been practically helpless on the floor.
“I love you. You are my hero, now and forever.” The words whispered in the back of his head, like a memory, but he shook them away. Wishful thinking.
He nodded and gave her a bland smile. “Don’t worry, Jenny, I got this. Just, please, stay out of the way, okay?” He managed not to wince as he walked down the stairs to retrieve his gear.
By the time he emerged, packed and ready to go, she was gone.
For the first time in two weeks—maybe longer—Signe woke up without the nightmares. Without Tsarnaev and Jackson chasing her through shadowed, cobbled streets or down narrow alleyways. Without the quickening of her heartbeat as she opened her eyes, trying to get a footing on her surroundings.
Today she woke up safe. With the glorious sunshine whispering through the gauzy curtains and across the carpet of Ham’s master bedroom suite. With the geese honking as they flew overhead and the smell of bacon—
What?
That’s when she noticed Ham’s absence in the bed beside her. They hadn’t quite made their way back to intimacy, Ham holding fast to his idea that they needed to know each other better. But he’d burst into her room one night after she’d screamed in her sleep, and she’d convinced him to stay.
She’d fallen asleep with his arms around her, and she hadn’t slept so soundly in years.
So yes, she’d give him time. She was just happy hearing the sound of his breathing every night.
And the timbre of his voice, singing hymns in the morning, as he made breakfast.
Now, she could hear his voice downstairs, even if she couldn’t make out the words, and Signe guessed he was talking with Aggie, probably telling her one of his many childhood stories, censored and embellished for her ears.
Your mom had this dog named Caesar . . .
She lay there, watching the overhead fan spin. So, this was what happily-ever-after felt like. No pounding headache, no hyperventilation, no sense of dread in her gut. Just glorious golden skies and the man she loved—and oh, how she loved Hamilton Jones—making her breakfast.
Bacon. Yes. She’d started eating it again this week, and maybe that’s what had broken her free. The realization that Tsarnaev no longer had a hold on her.
She wasn’t leaving. She’d made that decision on the doorstep, seeing Ham’s broken expression, hearing his heart.
She believed him when he said he’d keep her safe. When he said that they could create their own version of normal.
They’d spent the past two weeks doing just that—hiking, playing games with Aggie, making meals together. Ham had even taken them fishing, and Aggie had spotted a real moose in the reeds. They’d watched movies in his basement theater, drank hot cocoa by the fire, roasted marshmallows on the beach, and listened to the waves crash upon the shoreline.
Somehow, the trauma of the past decade had started to recede, wash away with the tide, leaving behind only the skeleton of her regrets. But even those were beginning to crumble.
This was her future. Her new life.
The one she’d been too afraid, really, to believe in.
The smell finally beckoned her out of bed, and she threw on a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, pulling her hair up in a messy bun.
She was exiting the bedroom, on her way down the stairs, when Ham’s voice rose, something lethal and dark in it. “Over my dead body.”
Then the stairs moaned under her foot and the conversational hum in the kitchen stopped.
She peeked over the railing, expecting—or hoping, maybe—to see Aggie swirling her pancakes through syrup.
Her breath caught.
Orion and Jake sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. A plate of bacon sat in the center of the table, and both had messy egg plates, already finished with their breakfast.
They looked up at her, something of a stricken look on their faces.
Then they looked at Ham.
He was leaning against the peninsula countertop, his arms folded over his chest, wearing such a wretched expression it looked like someone had died.
Maybe—and in the back of her brain, something was clicking, but it didn’t form before she asked, “Did you find him?” She came down the stairs. “Did you find Martin?”
Except, it occurred to her just as she hit the landing, that Ham would be packing, anxious to interrogate the man—so, no. Something else . . . “What’s going on?”
He looked back at Orion. “I don’t believe it.”
“Ham,” Jake said, something of warning in his tone, but it didn’t stop Ham from turning to her.
“You’re not on the NOC list.”
She cocked her head. “What?”
“They decrypted the NOC list. You aren’t on it.”
“Oh.” Huh. She slid onto the bench across from Jake and Orion. Reached for a piece of bacon. “I guess that’s why Tsarnaev didn’t kill me.”
Jake just blinked at her. Orion’s mouth opened, closed.
“And you guys came all the way up here to tell us that?” She grabbed a napkin. Looked at Ham, frowned. “Is your sat phone not working?”
“It’s working. It’s just . . . there’s more, Sig.”
It was the way he didn’t move, the way he was looking at her, no through her, that made her set down her napkin, smooth it on the table. “What?”
“You’re on the disavowed list,” Jake said quietly.
The words sifted through her. Silence.
“Scarlett has connections with a CIA insider—”
“I told you that you can’t trust the CIA!” She didn’t mean to raise her voice, but this—this moment—was exactly why she should have run.
Probably without Aggie.
“She’s working separately, on a special task force for Isaac White,” Jake said.
Signe’s mouth opened, closed. “Ah, I see. And you came up here to tell Ham not to trust me. That I was lying.”
They said nothing. Jake looked away.
Orion, however, stared at her, his jaw hard.
Wait. No. “You came here to protect Ham. I would never—”
“Calm down, Sig. They came here to warn me, so we could think up a plan.”
She got up. “Did the CIA send people? Are they on their way?”
Ham nodded. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to let them take you.”
“Seriously. Ham. What are you going to do? Form a perimeter and have a standoff?”
His mouth tightened.
Oh boy. And this was worse. A standoff with her daughter and her husband—yes, husband—caught in the crossfire. “Why don’t I just go? The border is only an hour away—”
“No!” Ham came across the room, and she startled at his burst of emotion. “You’re not leaving.”
She recoiled, and because his tone had sheared off her protective layer—actually, hardly any of it remained, anyway—tears raked her eyes.
Get. Ahold. Of. Yourself.
She was tougher than this. Compartmentalize. Think.
“You’re right.” She held up her hands, backed away from him. “If I run, then they’ll take you and Aggie in and . . . I can’t have her terrorized that way.”
Ham caught her arm. “Stop. It’s going to be okay—”
“In what world?” She shook out of his grip.
“I knew this would happen. Jackson did this—she disavowed me. She’s behind this whole thing! Did you not see her name in the decryption key?”
“There was no key,” Orion said quietly.
“No . . . no . . . that’s not . . . I know there’s a key.”
“How?” Jake asked.
She looked at Jake. Back to Ham. “Because when I got the list, the first thing I did was contact my former handler, someone I trusted. Sophia Randall. I told her about the list, and Jackson, and my fear that there was a rogue group inside the CIA. She told me to hang on to the drive because all NOC lists come with a key.”
“Not this one,” Jake said.
She swallowed. “What if this one was a decoy?”
Silence.
“Why would Jackson give Tsarnaev a decoy?” Orion said.
“Maybe he knew it was false,” Jake said. “What if it’s not about the list, but about you. Maybe they were counting on you coming to America with it.”
“Maybe you have something they want,” Ham said quietly.
She looked at Ham. “What? How would . . . I’m nobody.”
Ham’s mouth tightened. “Not to me.”
“What if this is about you, Ham?” Orion said. “White did send you to get her.”
Ham stared at him for a beat. Then, “No. Isaac sent me because he was there when I lost her to Tsarnaev.” Ham held Signe’s gaze. “He knew what it would mean to me to find her.”
Her chest tightened. “If it was fake, then this was all a setup. I was played.”
Ham took a step toward her, but she turned away from him, her hands around her waist.
And that’s when she spied Aggie standing at the end of the hallway. “Mama, are you okay?”
Signe held open her arms. Aggie walked into them and she stayed there, holding her, as a car drove up outside.
Ham put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not going to let them take you.”
She kissed Aggie’s cheek. “I don’t have anything to hide.”
Orion had stood up as well. “Ham, we got your back.”
“This isn’t a standoff, Ry. We’re just going to talk.”
Outside, car doors closed. Signe turned to Aggie. “Sweetheart, why don’t you go make a fort for your animals in your room?”
Aggie’s eyes widened, but she nodded and headed down the hallway.
Signe turned as a knock came at the door. Took a breath.
Ham opened the door. Jenny Calhoun stood there with two other women she didn’t know. But it was one of two men in suits that made her still.
“York?”
She didn’t recognize the one with sandy brown hair, green eyes. The other, however, had blond hair, cut short and tight, and she would know that scar anywhere—the one that ran from his ear halfway along his neck. York Newgate. US intelligence officer and one of her former contacts.
Rumor was that he’d been on the disavowed list. So apparently this was a meetup of sorts, of former operatives left out in the cold.
He too paused, hesitated. Looked over his shoulder at a dark-haired woman, then back to Signe. “Stella?”
Oops. She made a face. “Signe. Jones, but yes.”
“You’re behind all this?” He walked into the house, followed by the other man. “You brought in the NOC list?”
“Yeah. What are you doing here?”
“How do you know each other?” Ham said, but before she could answer, he looked at the dark-haired woman behind York. “Ruby Jane Marshall?”
“Hey, Ham,” she said. She wore a pair of black dress pants and a blouse, her dark hair up. “This is York, by the way.”
Ham shook his hand. “So you’re the one.”
Signe had the distinct impression she was missing something. Ham turned to her. “Remember that woman who was framed for shooting General Stanislov? This is her.”
“The one who mysteriously escaped Russia with the FSB on her tail?” Signe shook her hand. Then looked at York. “Now it makes sense. You were a part of that, weren’t you?”
“It’s a long story,” York said. “Ruby Jane is a former CIA analyst who got caught up in something. But we’re here about you. What’s going on?”
“No—first, how do you two know each other?” This from the other man, with brown hair.
About that time, Orion said from behind her, “Logan Thorne? What are you doing here?”
Logan looked at him. “Orion. Last time I saw you, you were fighting fires in Alaska.” He shook his hand.
“Last time I saw you, I helped sew up your gunshot wound. How’d you get back to the Lower 48?”
“Took a chance on love.” Logan smiled. “Now I work for Senator White. I’m the head of an off-the-books group looking into this mess with the CIA and any connection to Jackson.”
“See!” Signe said. She turned to Logan. “You need to talk to Sophia Randall.”
The intake of breath from Ruby Jane made Signe turn. She wore a stricken expression. “Sophia Randall?”
Signe nodded, but it was the added expression of horror on York’s face that formed a knot in her gut. “What?”
“She was my boss,” Ruby Jane said. “She was murdered about two months ago.”
Signe reached out for the table. “What?”
“We think it was by a rogue officer named Martin, but we’re not sure,” York said.
“We met him!” Jenny said. “In Italy. Chasing Signe.”
Signe hadn’t seen her walk in. Or the other woman, with short dark hair.
“Wait. So Martin killed Sophia, then tried to kill you?” Logan asked.
“I have history with him too,” York said. “Once upon a time we worked for the same organization. But our roads diverged when he nearly killed me.” He pointed to the scar at his neck. “He works for Jackson.”
“See?” Signe said. She turned to Ham. “I’m not lying.”
“Of course you’re not,” Ham said quietly. “It’s possible Jackson stripped off the decryption key to hide her involvement with the sale of the NOC list.”
“That makes sense,” Ruby Jane said now, nodding. “But how do you know Sophia?”
“She was my former handler, a contact in the agency I thought I could trust. When I got the list, I called her and told her everything.”
“When was this?”
“About four months ago.”
Ruby Jane looked at York. “That’s about the time she went missing. Now we know what started her search.”
Signe drew in a breath. “Did I . . . did I get her killed?”
“No,” York said. “She got herself killed. She dug too deep. Just like Tasha.”
Signe stared at him, feeling punched. “I’m so sorry, York. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah.”
“Who is Tasha?” Ham asked.
Signe turned to him. “I met York about three years ago at a resort on the Black Sea. I was there with Tsarnaev. York came with his girlfriend, Tasha, who was a reporter for an underground newspaper. I think she was trying to get dirt on Tsarnaev. Meanwhile, I handed off information to York about an upcoming terrorist attack.”
“Yes. Unfortunately, I also handed it off—to the wrong people. The attack happened on Russian soil,” York said.
“What happened to Tasha?” Signe asked.
“She reported a rumor about a Russian general sleeping with an American senator. Apparently, Tsarnaev was bragging about how he’d set them up.”
That shut down the room.
“Tasha was killed by an assassin for hire, a few months later,” York said quietly. “We’re not sure who was behind it, but we suspect Martin.”
“Which leads us back to Jackson,” said Ruby Jane.
“Why are we not freaking out that Jackson is running for vice president?” Jake said, having stood up to join the group. “The election is in three days!”
“I know,” Logan said quietly. “And so does Isaac White. But it’s too late to pull her from the ticket, and if we did, we couldn�
��t regain the ground lost. Isaac will get elected, then work from the inside to confirm our allegations. Then he can decide what to do.”
“We can’t have a traitor in the White House,” Jenny said.
A beat, then Signe turned to York. “Are you here to take me in?”
York looked at Logan. “He’s in charge.”
Um, not by the expression on Ham’s face, but she said nothing.
Logan was shaking his head. “No one but a small circle knows you’re here. Until we get to the bottom of this, we’d like it to stay that way. But I do need to hear everything. And, I need you to stick around, okay?”
Ham took her hand.
“Yes,” she said, squeezing Ham’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere. And I promise . . .” She looked at York, then Orion, Jenny, and Jake. “I’m going to find out exactly what is going on.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THIS COULD BE THEIR NEW NORMAL.
A normal Ham never thought he’d ever have, really.
The intoxicating fragrance of the turkey roasting in the oven, stuffed with homemade thyme dressing. Potatoes peeled and soaking in water on the stove, ready to boil. His normally empty table set for thirteen, and the sounds of laughter outside as Jake, Orion, Aria, and Jenny played a game of pickup football.
His broken shoulder was still on the mend or he’d be out there playing too.
Signe was in his office, dressed in an oversized Berkeley sweatshirt, jeans, and a pair of wool socks, researching.
In the three weeks since the election, since White swept the electoral college, she’d become obsessed with uncovering Jackson’s grand plan.
If there was one.
The door to his backyard slid open and Jake came in, sweating. “I know I already ate dinner with my family, but that smells amazing, Ham.” He closed the door. Leaf debris littered his thermal shirt. “I’ve worked off meal one, and I’m ready for meal two.”
“Don’t track mud through my house,” Ham said.
“Okay, Betty,” Jake said, and toed off his shoes. “I’m just here to grab Signe and Aggie and see if they want to play.”
“Betty?” Ham said.
“Crocker.” Jake pointed to the dish towel Ham had tucked around his waist. “I certainly hope there’s pie in my future.” He came into the kitchen and opened the oven.
The Price of Valor Page 25