To the Edge

by Anna del Mar

  “But then Margaret became the chairwoman of the Senate’s Intelligence Committee,” Diana put in. “It was too late for public revelations. Your mother worked so hard to get there. And she did such an incredible job. I couldn’t accept that she’d have to give up everything she’d accomplished to be with me.”

  “Maybe nowadays, nobody would’ve condemned us aloud for being gay or for being in an interracial relationship,” Mother said. “But back then they would’ve shredded me to pieces.”

  “What about now?” I said. “Couldn’t you just come clean, tell the truth?”

  “And make a mockery of my life’s work?” She scoffed. “We live in savage political times. It’d be worse if I came out now, after a lifetime of voting one way. They’d have a field day. They’d attack me for keeping secrets, for leading a fake double life.”

  “If any of Margaret’s opponents had gotten a whiff of us,” Diana said, “her political career would’ve been dead in the water.”

  They were right. It would’ve been a Luz ripping festival. I didn’t like that parts of my life had been a lie, but I understood their concerns and I had to accept their choices.

  I let out a long sigh. “This is a huge shock to me.”

  “We know,” Mother said.

  “It’s a shock to us too,” Diana said. “We’ve been in the closet so long, I’m not sure we can be ourselves with anyone other than ourselves.”

  I felt bad. I felt selfish too. I’d vilified them as I grew up and missed their predicament altogether. I’d made them the focus of my anger. But as I struggled to make sense of my complicated relationship with Noah, compassion warmed my heart.

  It hit me like a tidal wave. Love was not a hormonal reaction, for Mother, or for me. It couldn’t be cured with a pill or erased by one’s will. It couldn’t be ignored, or repressed, or concealed forever. It had to be faced, accepted and embraced, because repressed love was a killer. It killed the human soul slowly and painfully. It made people cold, bitter and remote. Like my mother. I knew at that moment that, even though I was terrified, I had to stop justifying my fears on the past and accept my love for Noah for what it was, not a hope, not a dream, not a second chance at the past, but something real, pervasive, enduring and true.

  “Clara?” Diana stared at me with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, sure, I’m fine.” I cleared my throat. “I can’t pretend I get everything. I’m processing. And I wish I’d known. I may have been a nicer person to you, Diana, and I might have even liked you, Mother.” I thought about that and made a face. “Okay, maybe not liked you, but at least I might have understood better where you were coming from.”

  “You can’t imagine how many times I dreamed of telling you,” Mother said. “I just...didn’t have the courage.”

  I understood that perfectly, because I hadn’t had the strength to overcome my emotional cowardice, confront my demons and make the necessary changes to improve my life. Until Noah. Until now.

  “You were afraid I’d judge you like Grandfather did,” I said. “I get that. But I don’t want to judge you at all. You have my support, both of you.”

  “Thank you.” Diana squeezed my mother’s hand. “It means a lot to us.”

  “It does,” Mother agreed.

  “On the other hand...”

  “What?” Mother said.

  “You need to stop putting me down.” There. I’d said it.

  “I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do, Mother.” My spine straightened. “I don’t know why you do it, if it’s behavior you learned from Grandfather or if it’s something you developed on your own as some sort of defense mechanism. The point is that it has to end or I won’t be able to be around much.”

  All these years, I’d been wanting to say this. And now I’d done it.

  Mother seemed at a loss for words. “I had no idea it bothered you so much...”

  “I told you,” Diana said. “The child is grown up.”

  Grown up, yes, maybe that’s what I’d done.

  “One other thing,” I said. “It’s time to begin the search for my replacement.”

  Mother stared. “Your replacement?”

  “This is my notice,” I said. “I love what I do at the foundation, but it’s important for me to move on.”

  “Move on?”

  “Yes, Mother,” I said. “I won’t leave the foundation hanging. I’ll see the gala and the budget through, and I’ll stick around until we find a suitable replacement. But it’s time for me to leave.”

  “But...” It was odd to see Mother at a loss for words. “You can’t leave.”

  “Margaret?” Diana tugged on Mother’s hand. “She can leave and it seems to me that she will, whether you like it or not.”

  “There’s a lot at stake.” My irrepressible mother rallied like the political animal she was. “Perhaps we can table this discussion for another time.”

  “I’ve made my decision,” I said, hoping for the best, even though I knew that Mother was not going to change overnight and my resolve was likely to amp her efforts to retain control. “I’ll tender my resignation to the board after the gala. And now I’m leaving. I need to go home, before my head explodes.”

  Diana got to her feet. “Before you go, wait here.”

  I watched her march out the door, mouth tight, jaw clenched. “What’s she up to?”

  Mother shrugged. “I have no idea. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m confused, overwhelmed and very tired, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Tired?” Mother grinned. “I take you didn’t get much sleep this weekend?”

  “Mother.”

  “Okay, fine, let’s keep pretending we’re both asexual, because the only thing worse than thinking about your parents having sex is thinking about your children having sex.”

  I let out a startled laugh. My mother’s lightness was so...out of character and unexpected. This new phase of our relationship was going to require a lot of work, but it promised to be interesting.

  Diana returned to the room and handed me a manila envelope.

  “What’s this?” I stared at the envelope.

  “Noah’s letter,” Diana said.

  My heart stopped. The blood just drained out of me. My hold tightened on the envelope.

  “You kept it?” Disbelief twisted Mother’s perfect features. “But I told you to burn that thing.”

  Diana cocked an eyebrow. “You forget I don’t always do what you tell me to do, especially not after working hours.”

  I grabbed the letter and, mumbling my hurried goodbyes, rushed out of the house. The crisp air cooled my overheated body. Noah’s letter. I had it. In my hands. Talk about unexpected. Unreal. Unbelievable.

  I got as far as the car. I collapsed in the driver’s seat, staring at the envelope in my hand. Today, I’d confronted my past, challenged my mother, discovered a whole new part of my history and resigned from the foundation, all major milestones from a woman who’d been stuck in the muck for a long while. And now, in an unexpected turn, the past was coming after me.

  The letter preserved in the manila envelope was old. Did I really want to read it? It didn’t matter anymore. Did it? But if that was the case, why was my heart beating so violently?

  I recalled my time with Noah, the way he’d pushed me to challenge my limits and explore the forbidden. I’d savored the pleasure of knowledge, the joy of discovery, the thrill of surrender. I was stronger than I’d imagined, more flexible, more open than I’d ever given myself credit for. I’d learned courage in the past few weeks, courage to face myself, embrace my emotions and be whoever the hell I was becoming.

  With trembling hands, I opened the manila envelope and, shaking it lightly, emptied a smaller envelop onto my hand. My name glared in Noah
’s blunt print. The letter inside was written on Casa Luz stationery, thick linen paper lined with Noah’s strong calligraphy.

  My heart tripped when I read the first few lines. The letter was quintessential Noah, short, pragmatic and to the point. But nothing prepared me for that last line, for what it had meant back then—to him, to me—for what it meant to me now.

  Clara,

  I’m nobody and I have nothing, except for the will to become a better version of myself, and the love I feel for you. The first is a work in progress. The second will never change. Come with me in life’s adventure. I can offer you love and forever. Marry me and we’ll sort out the rest.

  Noah.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Noah

  The motorcycle’s engine roared in my ears as I flew across Key Bridge. It was late, and traffic was moving briskly across the Potomac. The moment felt surreal. The last time I’d been on a motorcycle, I’d been tearing through Mogadishu on my way out of hell. I was no longer in a lawless, hostile territory, and yet my heart beat in my throat and, under my helmet, my jaw was about to break.

  I hadn’t heard from Clara all week, zero, nothing. I knew she was busy, but after my anger cooled, I took the time to work through my emotions and analyzed the facts. I’d come close to discovering the source of Clara’s fears when she’d called yellow and red, but I needed a breakthrough. That’s where I decided to concentrate my efforts. I had the tools. Now I just had to pull it all together.

  All week, I’d tried to be patient. I’d tried to give her the room she seemed to need. I’d also talked to Dr. Dodd and decided to continue in the program. I was gonna beat this shit. But I had to confess that after five days, the icy fear settled in my gut had turned feral. Friday had arrived and I couldn’t stand being away from her any longer. I had to find out where I stood.

  And then today, my findings had come together to reveal a trap, a conspiracy that threatened to blindside the woman I loved, crush her between sly, powerful forces. Clara in danger was not an acceptable scenario under any circumstance.

  As I roared down the district’s streets, the past few days were a blur. As of three hours ago, Josephus was history, a casualty of the rage coursing through my being, which had translated into the most aggressive cyber hunt of my career. Once my packet analyzer infiltrated his systems, I was able to pinpoint his location down to his devices and the filthy toilet where he was shitting when the team knocked on his bathroom door at a suburban basement in Toronto. It gave me no small amount of perverse pleasure that the fucker was caught with his pants down. Never mind the Glock he held in lieu of toilet paper. It killed him, because my badass Canadian Special Operations friends didn’t fuck around. When they spotted the gun in his hands they shot Josephus dead.

  The world was a safer place without that asshole preaching violence and sending naive and mentally ill kids to their deaths, but the kill hadn’t given me any peace. In addition to hunting Josephus, I’d been doing some hacking of my own.

  The report on the fire had arrived this morning. The fire had started not in the wastebasket, as Clara had believed, but rather inside the linen closet. Evidence of an accelerant was inferred from the burn patterns, but most importantly, under advanced magnification techniques, the lab discovered miniscule traces of wax visible in the photographs.

  The report was conclusive. A candle had been lit in the linen closet, allowing the arsonist to time his crime to the rate of burn and establish his alibi. Had it not been for the eye-defying wax traces, the crime would’ve been undetectable. In other words, Mark fucking Walker had lit a candle on top of a pile of gasoline-soaked towels on purpose.

  With my gut instincts confirmed, I wondered how the insurance adjusters had missed the crime. My contact informed me that there had never been an insurance claim submitted for the fire at the Luz house. Clara had never reported the fire. She would, tomorrow, so help me God, and Mark fucking Walker would pay for his part in this.

  The discovery left me grappling for motive. I’d had to prioritize and accelerate my hack into Annette Collins’s personal accounts. She’d introduced Walker to Clara, which made her the principal actor. Plus, she’d been hot and heavy pressuring Clara into writing that article.

  Why?

  Collins’s personal server was set up tighter than Fort Knox, but I got in. It took me a while to flag down her communication patterns. I identified her most frequent contact and broke the encryption. Interesting. Collins had a lover, kept it under wraps. His name was very familiar: Ed Durant. I lit him up as well and got into his decently defended systems. Son of a bitch. Unbeknown to anyone, he was planning a run on the senate next year, a surprise assault on one of the most powerful, well-established incumbents in the senate, Senator Margaret Luz.

  Clara was under attack. My Clara. She might be mad at me, maybe even done with me, but I wasn’t done with her, and nothing was going to stop me from coming to her aid. I trusted Clara was able to take care of herself under most conditions, but this was a stealth attack on multiple fronts, enacted from within by powerful, sophisticated foes who were willing to destroy Clara to get at her mother. She had walked into the middle of an ambush and she had no idea.

  I maneuvered my Kawasaki Ninja onto M Street, turned left and hightailed up 33rd Street. Good thing the traffic cops appeared to be busy elsewhere. I didn’t need an encounter with the police tonight. My heart beat at a running rate, my nerves were strung taut and my senses were on high alert. If all of that wasn’t enough, my toes and fingers had gone completely numb and the tips of my fingers had turned white. I didn’t give a fuck about that. If it was the price I had to pay to reach Clara in time, so be it. I had to get to her. Now.

  I parked my motorcycle in a no-parking zone. The urgency pounded on my chest and echoed in my temples. I ripped off my helmet, stripped off my gloves and leather jacket and, after stowing them away, marched up the street, straightening my tux as I went. Good thing I owned one of those. I’d bought it several years ago, before my former life went to hell, when Josh Lane took over the helm at Phoenix Prime. I’d thought the tux was a waste of money back then. Who the hell knew I’d be needing it for an emergency mission tonight?

  I forced myself to slow down and play my part like the trained operative I was. I approached the main entrance of the museum and mounted the stairs with the arrogance of a patron who belonged in the exclusive crowd. Attitude got me through the first two security checkpoints, but given the pedigree of the attendees, I didn’t expect to go unchallenged. Every celebrity in town would make an appearance tonight, political or otherwise, and that included the first lady, the vice president and every other member of congress.

  In the past few hours, I’d considered several alternative scenarios for covert infiltration. But, strictly speaking, this wasn’t a covert operation. In fact, my mission required a degree of impact visibility. To achieve my objectives, I had to step out of my safety zone to operate within the scope of a crowd. Talk about a nightmare scenario. The mission involved facing every single fear on my PTSD list in order to access a specific set of individuals, high-value targets.

  Music drifted out from the main hall, a big band jazz ensemble, by the sounds of it. I took in the checkpoint, identified the head of security, approached him and offered my hand.

  “My name is Noah Blake,” I said in my best operator’s voice. “I need to see Diana Gomez. Now.”

  The man’s strong grip had squeezed more than dainty politicians’ hands during his career. He assessed me with the shrewd eyes of a trained professional. I held his stare and assessed him right back. He could’ve given me shit, but he wasn’t a power hog.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not on the guest list?” he drawled in a deep voice.

  “Because I can tell you’d look good in a green beret.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. You like to wear t
hem fancy flippers?”

  “Someone has to, since Delta Force keeps high and dry.”

  “So we’ve got a Navy SEAL crashing the party.” He smirked. “Not as good as Delta Force, a lot more bluster and a tad less brain, but right on our tail. There aren’t too many of us hanging around fancy Washington parties.”

  “You’re here,” I said. “I’m here. The brass is certainly here.”

  “No shit.” He eyed me closely. “I trust your purposes here are constructive?”

  “One hundred percent,” I said. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have seen me at all.”

  “Fair enough.” He gave me a curt nod. “Please wait here, Mr. Blake.” He stepped back and clicked the comm on his ear, whispering a few words into his mic.

  I adjusted my cuff links, straightened my tie and stood by the security checkpoint, taking in the steady stream of Washington royalty parading in and out of the hall. Beautiful people. Lots of glimmering jewelry. A few fancy uniforms with lots of golden scrambled eggs. Men and women wielding power with the same ease they wore their formal wear.

  These were the principals of Clara’s world. I’d come a long way from my life in the projects. I’d gone to school, served and worked among the movers and shakers, but sometimes, a small part of me still wondered if I could ever hang with this crowd.

  Get the fuck over it, Blake. I hadn’t come all the way out here to whine.

  So many people. So many threats. Despite my precautions, the anxiety pounded in my chest and dampened my palms, urging me to get the hell out of this place. I braced my polished oxfords on the marble tiles and refused to follow the commands of my malfunctioning brain.

  Within moments, Diana Gomez barreled down the hallway. She wore a black suit and sensible shoes that could even out a race. She’d kept in shape. The sleek muscles powering the grip that had manhandled me years ago remained self-evident. Her only allowance to the formal evening was a strand of pearls around her throat. Under the watchful eye of my Delta Force friend, she parked before me.