by M. Leighton
I’ve seen his incredibly handsome face before. Spiky blond hair, dreamy green eyes. He’s not only a champion MMA fighter, but he’s quite popular with the ladies, which lands him on tabloid covers fairly often. I guess I just never pictured him being a part of an elite black ops team. Of course, I can only imagine that those deadly fists were trained somewhere.
“So what’s the next step? How do we find this bastard?” the one called Tag asks. He’s just as good-looking as Rogan, but in a totally different way. He has a dark, aggressive look about him that reminds me more of Jasper. His hair is black-brown and longish, brushing the collar of his shirt, and his eyes are a stormy gray color. All three men are well over six feet tall, I’d say, and could probably win the heart of whomever they set their sights on, but my eyes are only for one of them.
Jasper.
His face, his eyes, his intensity draws me in a visceral way. It’s like my body, my heart, my soul strain toward him, even in a room full of beautiful men. He holds my focus with a reluctant singularity that reminds me of a magnet, pulled to its mate even when it doesn’t want to be.
“I won’t rest until I follow this to the source,” my father says.
“And I’ll take care of it when you do,” Jasper adds with a quiet ferocity that brings chills to my arms. I’m not repulsed or afraid. I can simply relate to the need to bring to justice those who took away what little he had left in the world. It makes me want to harm somebody, even though I’m still devastated over his deception. My heart isn’t differentiating between the Jasper of today and the Jasper of tonight. It still feels only love. Hurt, yes, but also love.
“I wouldn’t deny you that, Jasper,” my father assures softly, setting his hand on Jasper’s big shoulder. “We’ve all got a stake in this, though. We’re all in danger and no one we love is safe until we put an end to the threat. So in the meantime, boys, do what you have to do to keep your loved ones safe. Be vigilant. Keep ’em close. Warn them if you have to, send them away if you need to. Just until I can get some answers. Jasper, since you’re the only one still in the game, keep your ear to the ground and watch your back. Rogan, you’re a pretty public figure. Hole up somewhere quiet if you can. Keep your head down.”
“Done. Just so happens that’s already in the works. Got a gig on a cable show. Quiet town, good money, hot chicks. I’m one lucky son of a bitch,” Rogan replies.
“You’ll be the primary contact. I think I can use your influence as an in. I know you’ve got some government contacts of your own.”
“Yes, sir, I do,” he confirms, nodding. “I’ll use ’em however you need me to.”
“Good. Tag,” my father says, turning to the third man. “You’re already pretty damn well hidden, geographically. Watch that mountain road that leads up to the vineyard. If I need a ghost to go in somewhere, you’re it. You can blend in and slip through the cracks unnoticed among these high-society types.”
Tag’s laugh is mirthless and velvety. “Thanks. Just the talent I always wanted.”
“You know to play to your strengths. Nothing wrong with that. Also, I got us all new burner phones. Keep them with you. Expect a call. Jasper, you’ll be the triggerman, but I’ll use every damn one of you to get this done if I have to. We’re going to finish this, one way or the other.”
Both other men are nodding their heads, probably already making plans, but when my moving gaze settles on Jasper, his eyes are trained on me.
—
Nearly an hour later, after all sorts of unintelligible plans and decisions and codes have been established (at least they’re unintelligible for someone not in their little group), the party breaks up.
Rogan stops at Jasper on his way through the kitchen to the front door. “Good seeing ya, man. I’ll be in Georgia for a few weeks. Up in Enchantment. Doing that bit for cable. You should come up if you get a chance. It’s been a long time.”
“I’ll try. I’ll be in touch either way.”
Rogan nods and they do that manly hug that men do, replete with hard slaps on the back that would probably break the bones of a less solid person. And then he turns to me, offering a hand, which I take.
He smiles and, despite my frustrating captivation with Jasper, my belly flutters a little. “Nice to meet you, Muse. You made this trip very worthwhile.”
I can’t help returning his smile. He’s devilishly charming, that’s for sure. “Is that right?”
“Gospel truth,” he declares with a wink.
“I bet you’re the most dangerous one of all, aren’t you?”
“To you? Never,” he replies, still slowly shaking my hand up and down. I think the most thrilling part is that I can feel Jasper’s cold-as-ice gaze on us. It gives me a touch of satisfaction to know that he does feel, that he does react to me, and to others who might find me attractive. Under different circumstances, I might be tempted to flirt with Rogan and rub it in a little. But now’s not the time for that.
“Better get on the road, Ro,” Jasper says sharply, interrupting. Rogan raises his eyebrows and looks from me to Jasper and back again. He grins bigger and then walks away without another word.
Tag follows behind him, reminding me even more of Jasper when I see him walk. He’s got a fluid way of moving that reminds me of a dancer. A dangerous, sure-footed dancer.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he says to Jasper, repeating Rogan’s manly hug. “You’re always welcome at the vineyard.”
“Appreciate it. I’ll be in touch.”
Tag nods to him and then turns to me. His eyes are unnervingly direct and . . . admiring. They’re like puffs of sultry smoke bottled in the orbs of his eyes, and they hold an intensity that might well rival Jasper’s.
He leans in to brush his lips ever so slightly over my cheek. “It was a pleasure, Muse,” he says in his gruff voice. And then he, too, is gone.
“I’ll be back,” Jasper tells me before he turns to follow them out.
When I hear the front door close, I relax onto a stool at the island, all the emotion, all the uncertainty, all the worry of the last few days coming together to just about put me on my ass.
“God, I’m tired,” I breathe, my father approaching me cautiously.
“Muse, you have to know that I would never do anything to hurt you. I would never knowingly put you in danger.”
I raise my prickling eyes to my father’s and my stomach sinks. This isn’t over yet. Nowhere close.
“Dad, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course you can.”
I hold his gaze for several long seconds, taking in his casual expression, his attractively creased face. He controls himself almost as well as Jasper does, but I’ve known him my whole life. I think I’d be able to tell if he was lying to me. As far as I know he never has, so I have nothing to compare it to, but still, I think I would know. I think I’d feel it somehow.
“Is there anything I should know about Mom?”
The change is so subtle, I could easily have missed it had I not been watching him so closely. But I am watching him closely, so I didn’t miss the shift. His nostrils flared the tiniest bit before settling back into their normal state. It was a miniscule reaction, but a reaction nonetheless.
“What’s got you thinking about your mother? She left a long time ago.”
“Did she, Dad? Did she really just up and leave like you said? Or was there more to it?”
“What’s this about, Muse?”
My heart, worn out from the events of the last few hours, isn’t too worn out to accelerate, flooding my muscles with blood and adrenaline. “Tell me what happened, Dad. Everything that happened. The whole truth.”
His eyes search mine. I wonder if he’s looking for a weakness to exploit, some way to spin this that will make it more palatable. Because I know it’s not. The fact that he’s hidden something from me for so long tells me that it’s nothing that I want to hear. But the thing is, I need to hear it.
“Before you go trying to soften the facts
for my poor virgin ears, let me remind you that I have been through a lot in the last year. I’m done with blind trust. I’m done with partial explanations and being stuck in the dark. If you don’t tell me what I want to know then I’ll find someone who will. And that probably won’t end well. We both know what could happen if I go snooping around in your affairs. Nothing good, I’d say.”
I see his Adam’s apple bob with his gulp and my nerves tingle with dread. His eyes never leave mine as he pulls out a stool and sits facing me. “Muse, before I answer your question I want to remind you that all I’ve ever done has been for the good of you or the good of this country. Sometimes both. There are things I’m ashamed of just because of the nature of the way they happened, but if I could go back and do it over, I don’t think I’d change anything, because it’s all been the right thing to do.”
My breath is coming short and shallow. “Tell me what happened, Dad. Just tell me.”
There’s a long silence before he begins. “I met your mother when I was stationed in North Dakota doing some cold-weather training. She worked at a little diner there. Stole my heart the first time I laid eyes on her. We had only been dating a couple of months when I found out that I was being transferred to Germany. I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her, so I asked her to marry me. She said yes. We had a little informal ceremony and then packed up and moved halfway across the world.
“Things were fine at first, even after we moved back to the states two years later. Within a few months of coming back, she got pregnant with you, so I put in for a desk job in Texas. Anything to get out of the field, away from the travel. I wanted our family, especially you, to have stability and not have to move around so much.
“I was pretty sure I’d get the job. Even then I had a high clearance, but that position required top-level credentials, so they vetted me for it.” His pause makes the bottom of my stomach drop. “That’s when they found out about her.”
My pulse stutters like a hiccup high in my chest. “Found out what?”
“She worked for an intelligence group that fed state secrets to a terrorist organization in the Middle East.”
Sweet Jesus, will this day never end?
“M-my mother was a spy? Or a terrorist?”
At this moment, my father looks ten years older, his face that of a man who has seen more tragedy and heartbreak than I ever knew. He doesn’t deny my deduction, but he doesn’t address it either. He goes a different route.
“All you need to know about your mother is that she was the woman who gave birth to the most beautiful child in the world. She passed on only good things to you. Your green eyes, your quick smile, your art, your fierce loyalty. Your courage. I’ve never seen anyone as fearless as you when it comes to the people they love. I will always be grateful to her for giving me the best part of my whole life. You.”
The lump in my throat is so big I fear that it might stop me from taking the deep breath that I so desperately need. “So what happened? Did she really just leave us? And you let her go? Or . . . ?”
A short, sad pause. “Yes. She did leave us. That was the truth. After I applied for the transfer, I think she knew it was just a matter of time before she was discovered. She knew they’d take us both apart before they gave me top clearance.”
“Do you know what happened to her after that?”
His face blanches, and he looks down and away. “Yes.”
When he doesn’t continue, I have to prompt him. “And are you going to tell me?”
“Muse, I think it’s better—”
“Dad, no! I need to know. I’m not a little girl anymore. You can’t protect me from everything in life.”
“But this is different. Knowing the details won’t change the fact that she’s gone, that she’s no longer a part of your life.”
“No, it won’t, but I still want to know. I need to know the whole truth about my life, Dad.”
“Muse, honey, please.”
“No! Don’t you do this to me. Tell me, Dad. Tell me right now. I need to know.” I’m on the verge of some sort of conniption. I think he must know that.
He takes a deep breath. “They wanted her brought into custody for questioning. I knew what that meant, what they’d do to her.” His pause gives me too much time to fill in the blanks, to complete the imagery with the most horrific ones that I can conjure. “No matter who she really was, no matter what she’d done, I could never let the mother of my child live out her life being tortured. No matter how short that life might’ve been. I couldn’t do it. So I went after her. When I found her, she didn’t try to run. I think she knew I couldn’t hurt her. Not really. I told her they knew. I told her what they’d do. She just nodded. She knew, too. When she reached for my gun, I don’t know if I thought she was going to kill me or herself. I don’t know if she knew for sure either. We just stood there, staring at each other. My gun in her hand. When she raised it to her head, she said five words that have brought me more heartache yet more comfort than I could ever have thought they would.” My father’s eyes are distant as he looks over my shoulder, almost like he’s looking into the past.
“What did she say? What five words?”
“‘Don’t tell Muse about me.’ I knew then that she loved you as much as I did. I knew then that she was taking the only way out that could save us all, especially you.”
“S-so what did you do?”
My question brings his sad, tormented eyes back to mine. “I . . . I gave her the only mercy that I could. I let her choose her own fate.”
My stomach sloshes with a queasy feeling that only adds to my exhaustion from this day. My mouth is uncomfortably dry and my head becomes lighter the harder I try to think and process.
“You . . . you let my mother kill herself.” Not a question. Not an accusation. A statement. An attempt to assimilate this information into the life I thought I knew, into the life I thought I was living.
“I had no choice. Not really.”
I raise dull, watering eyes to his. “You could’ve taken us away. Far, far away. To another country maybe.”
“They wouldn’t have rested until they found her. Whether her people or mine, they never would’ve stopped coming for her. And that would’ve put you in danger. Every day for the rest of your life. She didn’t want that. Neither did I. We couldn’t risk you, honey. I couldn’t risk you. Not my Muse.”
My eyes sting with unshed tears. I don’t try to stop them from falling. They just don’t. I think they can’t. Maybe I’m in shock. Or maybe I’m just all cried out.
“I hope you can forgive me for keeping this from you. I just didn’t want you to have to live with that in your head. In your heart.”
At this, I stand up, straightening my spine and raising my chin. “I’m stronger than you think, Dad.”
“I never thought you were weak.”
“Yes, you did. You just never wanted to admit it.” He starts to argue, but I cut him off by moving past him. “I’m going to bed. If this is a one-bedroom, I hope you don’t mind the couch.”
With that, I walk numbly to the first bed I come to and I fall face-first onto it.
THIRTY-TWO
Jasper
Rogan and Tag have long since faded down the street, yet still I sit here in my car, thinking. Avoiding. Trying not to feel. Failing miserably.
I’m agonizing over what I have to do. I know it’s the right thing to do. It’s really the only thing to do. I never would’ve imagined myself in this position. I didn’t think I was capable of . . . all this. But even if I had, I wouldn’t have imagined it being this hard.
Finally resolute, I get out of the car and open the trunk, taking out the small black duffel. I never thought I’d use this in such a way either. These days “never” isn’t as absolute as it once was.
I never thought I’d lose my mother the way I did. I never thought I’d have to worry about betrayal from one of my own. I never thought I’d hesitate to do my job. I never thought I’d meet someo
ne who could make me feel so much—desire, frustration, guilt, regret. And probably even love. I don’t want to start labeling things; it just gets even more complicated. Best not to go there. I just need to get this over with and move on. She’ll be better off and that’s what’s important.
I walk quietly back toward the Colonel’s little house on the hill and I mount the steps. I don’t bother knocking, but I do notice the silence when I close the door behind me. I check the living room, which is empty, and then the kitchen, which is not. The Colonel is sitting at the island, toying with an old picture of a woman who looks remarkably like Muse.
He glances up when I stop in the doorway. We stare at each other, exchanging information without saying a word.
He glances at my bag. I heft it up as if to say Yes¸ this is what I’m doing.
He sighs and nods, knowing it’s the right choice. The only choice.
“Afterward, get out of the country.”
I nod in return.
He tips his head to indicate the space behind me. I turn to follow his silent instruction.
I walk to the first closed door I find and I knock softly. There’s no answer, so I turn the knob and push until there’s a crack big enough for me to see through.
Muse is lying facedown on the bed, unconscious. Her chin is tipped just enough toward me that I can see her relaxed expression. The other half of her face is buried in the comforter. Her fiery hair is spread out behind her like she’s on fire and running as fast as the wind.
God, she’s beautiful! I’ve never met someone who bothers me on so many levels. And I say bother because anything that upsets my carefully maintained existence is a bother. Or at least it was. Until I met her.
She’s the most mind-blowing, body-quaking bother I could ever imagine meeting. I love so many things about her that I can tick off a dozen things without even having to think. I love the way she wholeheartedly throws herself into what she feels. She doesn’t hold back. She just jumps. I love that I can turn her to putty in my hands with a simple touch or look. I love that she can stand against all my rough edges and never get cut. I love that she accepted who and what I am without all the lies I could’ve told her. And probably most and least of all, I love that, despite my resistance, she made me feel. She woke me up. She brought me to life.