I close that cable, and the previous one is still up on my screen. It’s highlighted green, a status update. Approved with no modifications by DO Langston West. Falcon’s officially a source.
I still have time to make this right. Just not as much as I’d anticipated. Falcon’s now eligible for COVCOM. It’ll take time for A.J. to set up a meeting, to deliver the COVCOM. But I don’t have time to waste.
I lock my computer and head for Violet’s office. Take a deep breath, knock twice.
“Come in,” she calls.
That sick feeling’s back. I open the door and step inside, closing it behind me.
“Have a seat, Jill. I just need to finish this.” She’s typing away, barely glancing in my direction, focusing on her screen. Her blond hair is perfectly blown out, as usual, and she’s in a black sheath dress today. Always something black; ironic for someone who shares her name with such a vibrant color.
I sit down across from her and wait. My heart is thumping. I cross my legs, then uncross them. Listen to the sound of her fingers flying across the keyboard.
A moment later she looks up. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” She rests her arms on the desk, clasps her hands, sighs. “It’s Brent.”
Brent’s not the most competent member of the team, to put it mildly.
“He’s just approving one cable after another.” She shakes her head. “No research whatsoever.”
It’s not something a boss should be saying about one employee to another, but we all know it’s true.
“That’s terrible,” I say, my voice flat. Because she’s about to have a way bigger problem on her hands than slacker Brent.
“Not everyone’s as conscientious as you, that’s for sure.” She smiles at me. “Now, what can I do for you, Jill?”
Not everyone’s as conscientious as you.
Her words stop me. What Brent does every day—cursory checks, hitting the Approve button—really isn’t all that different than what I did, is it? I didn’t do the research I should have. I approved the cable without fully vetting the source, verifying the information. People like Brent do it all the time, and it’s laziness, not treason.
Then again, chances are that most of the sources we’re approving are legitimate, genuine. I know there’s something up with Falcon—
“Jill?” Violet says.
But it wasn’t just me; this doesn’t fall all on my shoulders. A.J. wrote the cable, the Chief of Station approved it. COPS did, too, and DO West. It wasn’t just me.
“How’s Owen feeling? Jeremy said he was sick?”
“He’s okay. Drew’s home with him today.”
“This first year, it’s tough. My kids were always getting sick. Being around all those other babies…”
I nod. My hands are clenched tightly in my lap.
She cocks her head to the side, watches me closely. “Are you doing okay, Jill?”
My eyes well with tears. I don’t trust my voice to speak.
“Listen, it gets easier. It does.” She smiles kindly.
I need to say something. I need to tell her exactly what happened—
There’s a chime from her computer, and she looks at her screen. “Oh come on,” she mutters. She double-clicks on something, then starts typing furiously.
“Sorry, Jill,” she murmurs, without looking up from the screen. “I’m trying to find a place for Brent. Another division, something with minimal responsibilities. Somewhere he’s not a liability.”
I nod. My voice feels frozen. I came in here to talk, but the words won’t come. I’m not really considering staying quiet, am I? I can’t do that. These people, the ones who took my son, they’ll be back. They know I’ll do their bidding. They’ll ask me to do something else, something worse. I’ll be a liability to the Agency, to my country. And this will never end.
There’s a rap at the door, and it opens a crack. The group chief’s standing there, Violet’s boss. “Need you in the conference room in five, Violet. The cybersecurity folks dropped the ball. Again.” He rolls his eyes, offers me the briefest of smiles, and shuts the door.
“If only every division was as competent as ours,” she says with a smile. “Now, what is it we can do for you, Jill?”
Dropped the ball. Again.
It happens; of course it does. Mistakes happen.
I’ve been thinking all along that once I come clean, once we get a security detail, we’re safe. But the truth is I have no idea if we’ll be safe. I don’t know who will be watching over us, how competent they are.
I’m about to put Owen’s safety in the hands of a stranger. His life.
“Jill?”
Owen’s safe if I stay quiet. And his safety—it’s what’s most important to me. I’ll keep this secret because it will protect my son—
Until they come back.
And they will. Because I’m a liability now, aren’t I?
Unless—
Suddenly I know what I need to do.
I straighten myself in the chair, look Violet in the eye. “I’d like to resign.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“You’d like to what?” Violet says.
“Resign.”
It’s an impulsive decision, one I haven’t thought through, not in the least. But once the words are out of my mouth, they seem right.
It’s a way out, isn’t it? I’m staying quiet, protecting Owen, but I’m not leaving myself open to more manipulation. I’m getting out.
Violet leans back in her chair. “Oh, Jill. You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
They said I could go on with my life. That they wouldn’t ask for anything else. They didn’t say I had to stay employed; they said we’re done. I have to trust that’s the truth.
And it’s not like I have any way of getting in touch with them, asking if it’s okay.
“Is it Owen?” she asks.
I nod, because it is Owen, just not the way she thinks.
“Look, I remember being in your shoes,” she says. “Feeling like it was impossible to juggle it all.”
She looks sympathetic, and that’s a good thing. I learned long ago that sympathy has a way of making people blind to what they should be feeling. Like in this case, suspicion.
“But, Jill, you’re doing great. You’re my best officer. I can’t afford to lose you.”
“I’m sorry, Violet.”
“I can shift around some accounts, lighten your load—”
I shake my head.
“Or we could cut your hours back to part-time?”
“No.”
She’s got it completely wrong, and she’s so convinced she has me figured out. Truth is, as much as I miss Owen during the day, I’ve never seen myself as a stay-at-home mom. I love my career too much.
Loved my career. I just decided to leave it.
“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” she asks.
It’s not too late. I can go back on this decision, stay here, continue doing this job that I love—
Only I can’t.
I can’t keep working here, not when I can’t uphold my oath. And not when the very act of continuing to work here means they might come back, do this again.
“No. This is the right decision. For me, for my family.”
This is what I need to do to keep Owen safe.
“Then I hope it is the right decision, Jill,” Violet says. “I hope it is.”
* * *
—
When I walk in the front door at five, the scent of garlic and onion permeates the air. I deposit my bag on the bench in the hall, step out of my heels. “Hi,” I call.
“Hi, honey,” Drew says from the kitchen. I walk over, and he’s checking the oven, Owen on his hip.
“Smells delicious.” I give him a pec
k on the lips, take Owen into my arms.
“How was your day?”
I cuddle Owen close, kiss the top of his head, avoid eye contact with Drew. “Okay.”
Drew turns to the counter, pulls the stopper out of an open bottle of Cab, pours two glasses. “Just okay?” He hands me one of the glasses.
I take a long sip. Owen’s squirming, so I walk over to the living room, set him down on his foam play mat. Then I straighten, look Drew in the eye. “I resigned today.”
“What?”
“I quit.”
“What are you talking about?”
What am I supposed to say? People don’t just quit their jobs, end their careers, without talking it over with their spouses.
But at the same time, they’re listening. Watching. This is more for them than for Drew. I’ll come clean to Drew later. They are what matters right now.
“Look, you know I’ve been unhappy at work since Owen was born—”
“You have?”
“Drew—”
“I mean, I know you miss him. But you love your career.”
A pang of regret courses through me. I do love my career.
Did.
And I wasn’t unhappy. I just wished there were more hours in the day.
I watch Owen bang one plastic cup against another. “He’s sick again, Drew. I just don’t think that daycare center is the best environment for him.”
“So we can move him to another.”
“They’re all the same.”
He stares at me. “Why didn’t we talk about this, Jill?”
I take another sip of wine. “It was impulsive.”
That, at least, is the truth.
“Did something happen?” he asks.
“What?” I reach down and remove one of the plastic cups from Owen’s hands, pretending I didn’t hear the question and avoiding eye contact all at once.
“Did something happen at work?”
“I told you, it’s Owen. Sick. Again. And just…everything.”
Owen lets out a high-pitched babble, drawing our attention.
“Now you can take one of those transfers out of the area, like you’ve been wanting,” I say. “Get away from Leo—”
“What about the house?”
“What about it? It’s too small for us. We never intended to stay here this long. You’ve seen what houses are selling for—”
“To knock them down!”
“So what?”
He stares at me like I’ve sprouted two heads. And I don’t blame him. As much as the house frustrates me, I’m the one who has always insisted we stay. I said it was because the longer we held out, the more our lot would be worth. But he and I both know I hated the thought of someone bulldozing the place where we created so many sweet memories.
But what does it matter now? This house isn’t safe anymore. We can’t stay here.
“What will you do for work?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
What will I do for work? CIA job skills aren’t the most transferable. And nothing could be as interesting, or as rewarding.
Besides, how could I possibly put Owen back into daycare?
“Maybe I’ll stay home for a bit,” I say. “Take care of Owen.”
“And how will we afford that?”
“We’ll get a lot for this house. And we won’t be paying an arm and a leg for daycare.”
When I say it out loud, it actually sounds possible.
Owen starts fussing, and I reach down and pick him up, shift him onto my hip. As I do, I catch sight of the television. Are they watching? Surely they’re listening.
“Look, I did this, Drew, whether it was a good move or not. Work with me here.”
He downs the last of his wine, turns his back to me to refill his glass. I watch his shoulders; they look tense.
“I can’t,” he finally says, turning to face me. “I can’t work with you, when this isn’t you, Jill. Quitting your job—and doing it impulsively, like this. My God, it takes you a week to decide on a pair of shoes to buy.”
The words catch me off guard. Probably because they’re true. It is out of character for me to do something like this.
“Something else is going on,” he says, his eyes boring into mine.
“It isn’t.” I hold his gaze—his expression’s full of suspicion—and think of how different this afternoon could have been. If I’d have come clean, I’d have arrived home with a security detail, wouldn’t I? I’d be hurriedly packing up suitcases, explaining as I went, while he stood there listening, shell-shocked.
He doesn’t know how good he has it right now. But he will.
“We don’t keep secrets from each other, do we?” His voice has an edge.
“Of course not.” This is temporary. I’ll tell him, soon enough.
“Because we promised never to do that, right?” Now it’s betrayal I’m hearing.
Guilt bubbles up inside me. He’s my spouse, my partner. He and Owen are everything to me, and the last thing I want to do is jeopardize the trust we’ve built. But he’ll understand, when all is said and done.
He’s giving me an even gaze, a searching one, like he’s trying to see the truth in my eyes. But here’s the thing: I’ve been trained to lie. I may work behind a desk now, but I didn’t always. I worked in the field, and I learned from the best. I know how to lie, and I know how to do it convincingly.
I shoot him an indignant look, one tinged with anger.
“Drew, for God’s sake. I’m your wife. You can trust me.”
* * *
—
By the time we’ve finished dinner, Drew seems to be warming to the idea of moving. In truth, I am, too, if only to escape from this house, start fresh somewhere else. They’ll leave us alone, won’t they? I mean, I can’t know that for sure, but it doesn’t seem like they have a reason to approach me again.
I clean Owen’s face and hands and set him back on his play mat while Drew clears the table. As I’m transferring the leftovers into a glass container, Drew runs some hot water in the sink, splashes in dish soap. He unlatches his watch, sets it on the counter, and plunges the pan into the suds.
His watch is off. Finally.
I turn to the counter, spot his phone. Perfect. I make a point to straighten a pile of mail, then pick up the rest of the counter: a stray pacifier, a pen and a pad of paper, Drew’s phone. I deposit it all on the opposite end of the counter, behind a loaf of sandwich bread. If anyone was watching, hopefully it just looked like I was cleaning. It isn’t much, but it’s something.
Now I just need to get him alone. Quickly.
“We should go for a walk,” I say. “It’s beautiful out.”
“That’s a good idea.”
The TV picked that up, right? Our phones, his watch—they’re all transmitting that audio.
He’s almost done with the pan. Then he’s going to put his watch back on, isn’t he? Grab his phone?
“Let’s go now,” I say.
“Now?” He puts the clean pan on the drying rack, empties the sink. Dries his hands—
I walk over, wrap my arms around him, and he pulls me close. “Well, this is nice,” he says with a smile, giving me a kiss.
I kiss him back, then reach for his hand. “Come on. Let’s take that walk.”
He glances toward the spot on the counter where he’d left his phone, bare now. His brow furrows. He looks around—
I give his hand the smallest of pulls—
He shrugs, and follows.
* * *
—
It’s a perfect summer evening. Warm, but not too hot. Not too humid, either. The lawns are full and green, trees are rustling
softly in the breeze, the sun is inching lower in the sky. Drew’s pushing the stroller; Owen’s quiet and content, absorbing the surroundings.
There’s no one else around. No phones, no smartwatches, nothing.
We can talk, finally.
“Drew, about today,” I begin.
He looks over expectantly, waiting for me to go on.
I struggle to find the right words. Any words.
He needs to know. This is our son we’re talking about. Our lives.
“Drew, something happened.”
He turns toward me. I can feel it, even if my own eyes are still facing straight ahead. “What?”
“Today…” Every word seems wrong. Dangerous. Difficult.
Why am I having such a hard time getting this out?
Because of that warning. Because they told me if I breathe a word, they’ll take Owen again, and they’ll kill him.
But it’s not just that. It’s that I decided the best way to keep Owen safe is to stay quiet. What if Drew doesn’t agree?
Truth is, I don’t know how he’ll react. I don’t know if he’ll insist we go to the authorities. He’s a lawyer; he tends to see things in black and white. And this…this is gray.
“Honey?” He steers the stroller around an uneven section of sidewalk.
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
In the stroller, Owen gurgles happily. Drew is quiet. I watch a little girl approach on the sidewalk, on a bike with training wheels, pink streamers fluttering from the handlebars, her father walking just behind. He lifts a hand in greeting as our paths cross.
“Look, I know you can’t give me details,” Drew finally says. “We’ve been together long enough. I get it. But I just wish you’d told me that you weren’t happy. That you were considering resigning.”
He sounds hurt, and it feels like a crack in our marriage. Because I’d never have kept something like that from him. I’ve always been honest with him, always shared how I’m feeling, because I trust him, and because he always knows what to say to make me feel better.
In the distance I can hear the happy shrieks of kids at play. I look down at the stroller, at my son, watching the birds and the trees.
You Can Run Page 4