I pressed my palms into my eyes even harder, my fingers curling until my nails dug into my hairline.
A moment of silence ensued, in which I was sure my father was weighing his options. How truthful should he be? “She took something of mine. A ledger. I only need it back. Get her to come here. I will get her to give back what she took, and we can all go about our lives.”
Another moment of silence. Then he spoke again.
“Or I’ll choose someone else to join Milo on the floor here.”
My heart lurched and broke and galloped at the evidence of his depravity, and I couldn’t find it in me to feel even a little bit betrayed when Renee said, “I’ll do it,” because I would have done the same thing.
Agent Spencer tapped a key on the computer and the noise stopped.
I kept my trembling hands over my eyes, forcing my breaths to come in steady beats as I pulled my emotions in. It was a losing battle.
“Miss Marchant—”
“Damn it,” I breathed. “Damn it. Damn it! DAMN IT!” I screamed, shooting to my feet and toppling my chair in the process. I turned my back on Agent Spencer.
That ledger was supposed to be my insurance policy. My last line of defense. Now it was my greatest liability. I hadn’t planned on coming back into contact with Renee, hadn’t counted on my father being able to use her against me. I certainly hadn’t thought that Milo would be dragged into it. I pinched my eyes against the pain and guilt of what my father had done to Milo.
This was exactly why I hadn’t allowed myself to get close to anybody. I pressed my hands to the wall, leaning against it, needing the physical exertion of fighting against something, even it it was just a stupid wall.
“Do you have the ledger he’s referring to?” Agent Spencer asked.
“Yes,” I snapped.
“Where is it?”
I shook my head, my back still to them.
“Miss Marchant.” I winced at the name. “You’ve been running a long time. You don’t want to trust anyone. I get that. But it’s time to let us help you now.”
I spun to look at him. “And how does it help me to give you what I have, huh?” I stared at him hard as I threw my words at him, hoping they would cut. “It seems that would help you out, but I don’t see how it will benefit me or my sister.”
“Don’t you want to see your father behind bars?”
“Agent Spencer,” I bit out, and then spoke with slow precision. “There is no one who wants that more than I do.”
A moment of confusion crossed the agent’s face before he smoothed his expression. “Then what’s the problem?”
“What happens to my sister if I just hand over what I have?”
“We use it to defuse the situation. We use it as evidence against him later on. It’s a resource, one that he is interested in, and we can better control the situation and maintain everyone’s safety if it is in our possession.”
“That’s a good speech, but I heard that recording, and I know a lot better than you do what my father is capable of. So no, I will not be handing over the one piece of leverage that might get my sister out of there alive.” The shrill panic surrounding my words made them bounce around in the stark room.
“I understand how you feel, and I assure you that we will do our best to make sure that no one dies. But we have to act.”
“I don’t have to do anything!”
“So you’ll leave your sister’s fate up to your father?”
“Whatever plan you’ve come up with, my father has already thought four moves ahead of it. You go in there guns blazing, and he’ll throw her in front of one of your bullets. Your plan will turn into a death sentence, and my sister doesn’t deserve to die,” I yelled, my body shaking with the effort it took not to fall apart. “Neither did Milo.”
Then I did fall apart. Milo was dead because of me, and that knowledge made my knees buckle as air heaved in and out of lungs that felt too tight to take it in. The fact that I was hyperventilating hovered vaguely at the edge of my thoughts, but the sound of the gunshot cracking through the speakers only minutes before kept replaying in my head, demanding attention, forcing shame down my throat and turning my stomach with guilt.
***
We’d been having the same argument for the past forty-five minutes. Agent Spencer tried to convince me that they knew what they were doing, that they would do all they could to protect my sister, but I just couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t give up the small semblance of control that I felt. I wanted to walk out of here—to prove that I could still decide—but I couldn’t, not when there was a chance they really could help Renee.
Agent Spencer made a noble effort to stay calm, but I knew my stubbornness was wearing on him. “You need to tell us the location of that ledger, Miss Marchant.” Same words, but each time he said it, his frustration grew.
I knew the feeling. “It’s my sister’s life in danger. I cannot just ignore my father’s directions and trust that the FBI is going to make everything all right.”
“We have your sister’s compound surrounded. You won’t get anywhere near her. Even if you did, you would just end up being another hostage.”
A legitimate concern, but not enough to change my mind.
“With or without that ledger, we are going to take your father down.” Same threat, and yet he hadn’t gone off and done it yet.
“Understood.” There was a lack of emotion in my voice, completely at odds with the gut-wrenching worry that roiled inside me. I knew I couldn’t stop them from going in, but I wouldn’t give them what they asked for. I would not gamble with Renee’s life.
It was a short time later that Agent Spencer was called from the room. As soon as he left, Jack closed the door, shutting us alone in the small room together. He leaned against the door, looking at me with worry and curiosity. Whether he was waiting for me to yell or cry or throw myself at him, I didn’t know, so I looked away and remained silent. He hadn’t spoken throughout the entire interview with Agent Spencer. He had simply remained within reach by my side, sometimes resting a hand on my arm, other times touching his knee to mine, just enough that I didn’t feel alone. Now, finally, after so much silence, he heaved a sigh, pushed away from the door, and spoke up. “I’m sure you’re hungry. Why don’t we get something to eat?”
“I’m fine on my own. Thanks.” It wasn’t fair—being angry at him wasn’t fair—but there was so much fear coiled up in my chest that being angry felt productive.
“They don’t have anything but break-room food in the building.”
“I can go and find my own food.”
He sat on the edge of the desk, close to my chair. I wouldn’t look at him. I wanted him to be on my side, and he probably was. But I didn’t know for sure; I couldn’t tell anymore.
He dipped his head, trying to catch my eye. “I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.”
“And if I do mind?”
“I’ll probably follow you anyway.”
“I’m a hostage?”
“No.” There was one moment of hesitation before he said, “But you still need protection.”
“Right.” The derision seeping from that one word was thick. “You know who used to say that to me?” My chest tightened with anger and hurt. “My father.”
He winced, and his chest expanded with a silent but sudden intake of breath. “Come on, Leila. It’s me.”
The way he absorbed the accusation I had just flung at him made me deflate. I wanted to trust him, to let him take my burden, but it was so hard. I ground my palms into my eyes, angry that my father had stifled my ability to trust.
I may not be able to trust Jack completely, but I needed to rely on someone right now. “Okay.”
He nodded and his eyes had a glossy quality as he looked at me in a way that felt too personal. It was reminiscent of the goodbye we had shared at his home nearly a year ago, and for the first time I wondered what he thought of me now. Did he pity me? Resent me? What about the fact that I’d
kissed him at the police station? Had he meant it when he’d kissed me back?
I wasn’t brave enough to ask any of those questions right now, so I shoved them aside. I didn’t have the time or emotional stamina to focus on anything but the situation with my father and Renee.
Jack held out a hand, waiting for me to take it.
I did, letting him pull me to my feet before disengaging my hand and folding my arms. I mentally wrapped myself in invisible armor as he held the door open and we ventured out into the open office space of the FBI.
I noticed a few curious glances thrown my way, but for the most part, my invisible shield seemed to hold.
Jack let Agent Spencer know where we were going and we took the elevator down to the lobby and out onto the street. Jack laid his hand on my lower back and I stiffened but didn’t move away. He led me to a car (his, I assumed) and opened the door for me.
The car ride was silent and strained, though I didn’t know how much of it was the impending doom of whatever my father was going to do next, and how much was all the unspoken baggage that lay in a heap between us.
“I’m sorry about Milo,” he said.
I gave the tiniest shake of my head. I couldn’t talk about Milo; I was still reeling from what had happened.
The ride wasn’t long. Jack parked in front of a deli a couple miles from the office and killed the engine. I got out of the car right away to keep him from thinking I expected him to open doors for me and whatever else. This wasn’t a date.
We went in and stood in line. Jack seemed relaxed as he casually observed those around us. I pretended to read the giant menu hanging above the counter.
A long bench sat along one wall with tables scooted close. After we got our food, I took a seat on the bench, pulling one foot up with me so I could wrap my arm around my knee.
Hey, at least I wasn’t in full-on fetal position, rocking back and forth. This was only half-fetal position, not nearly as bad.
Jack sat across from me. “Can I ask where you’ve been living?”
Could he? Would it be possible to go back into hiding now? And even if it was, wasn’t Flagstaff burned?
Yes. It was definitely burned. “Arizona,” I answered. “I’ve been calling you from Phoenix.”
“Really? That surprises me.”
I looked at him, at his too-casual posture, and the way he continued to eat as if starting this conversation wasn’t a big deal.
“Why’s that?”
“You mentioned that the place you were staying was pretty. I never thought of Phoenix as being pretty.”
I shook my head. “I hate Phoenix.”
“But you’ve been living there?” He furrowed his brow.
“No, that’s just where I was when I turned on my phone.”
He chuckled. “I should have known. You really would make a great agent. You have incredible secrecy skills.”
One corner of my mouth pulled up a fraction. “Is that the official term? Secrecy skills?”
He just grinned, but it didn’t last long. It slipped into a look of melancholy or regret. “I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing. You mentioned how controlling your dad was.” He stared at his plate for a moment. “I want you to know that’s not what I’m trying to do and—”
“That is what you’re doing.”
“But it’s not the same as—”
I cut him off with an angry wave of my hand. “The motivation might not be the same. I can even look at it logically—examine everything I know about you—and conclude that you are the good guy. But it feels exactly the same.”
He chewed on that for a minute, and I took the chance to take a few bites. As it turned out, I was starving. I finished my sandwich and then looked at my tray, sad it was now empty. Jack dropped half of his sandwich on the wrapper I had been staring at. I looked up in surprise.
He nodded toward the sandwich. “I won’t be able to finish the whole thing. I ate pretty recently.”
I only hesitated a minute before saying “Thank you” and diving in.
“Leila,” Jack hesitantly spoke up a minute later. “In our messages to each other, we talked about doing something, about really doing something to bring your father in. Do you realize that that is a very real possibility now? We can get him. And if we get him, you’ll be free to live your life.” He leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes intense and interested. Possibilities flipped through my head. Movie nights and making dinner together and normalcy.
The bite of food in my mouth suddenly felt as if it was choking me, and I had to force myself to swallow. Sure, I’d wanted Jack to pass on the names I remembered. I’d daydreamed about something happening to take down Dad’s organization, to make those possibilities viable. But it had never been real. I hadn’t believed it was a real possibility. I hadn’t let myself even think it.
I took a drink and tried to form the words to explain to him. “Do you know what I’ve discovered over the years?”
He lifted his eyebrows in interest.
“Hope is like a drug. It feels so good. It’s something I crave, something I think that I need.” Like all of those phone messages, making me high on the possibility of love and a normal life. “And yet in the end, hope has only ever let me down.”
His brow cinched as his eyes looked at me with concern and compassion. “That’s not true.”
“Look at my life, Jack!” The insistent whisper burst out of me as I sat forward.
“I am.” His words were bold, his gaze unwavering. “And I know you had to have hoped that you could survive a midnight swim to shore to escape your father—and you did. I know that when your car went off the road, you must have hoped that someone good would find you—and I did. When you were shoved into a van, you must have hoped that you wouldn’t be taken to your father—and you weren’t.” His voice shook, as if the things I had lived through still somehow affected him. “Hope doesn’t always let you down.”
My eyes pinched shut as I shook my head. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t know how many times I had hoped that my father would just disappear, how much I had fantasized about hearing on the news that he had been captured, put in prison, even killed.
I was fairly certain that made me a terrible person, but it was the truth. I had wished and hoped for my father’s death.
“We can do this, Leila.” Jack’s enthusiasm was potent and grating.
“It will never happen,” I insisted.
“This time it can. This time the FBI has you to help them.”
“Them? Don’t you mean ‘us’?”
He shook his head. “I told you, I’m not with the FBI.”
“But you’re working with them.”
“Would you be talking to them if I weren’t here?”
No. And he knew it, which made me squirm. Was I allowing him to manipulate me? “I’m not just handing over the evidence they want so they can run off with it and leave me to wonder if my sister will get caught in the crossfire. As much as Agent Spencer claims to want to protect everyone, I know that really they probably just think of her as criminal collateral. They wouldn’t really care if she died.”
“Then help me come up with a better plan, because I do care whether or not your sister dies.” He got up and rounded the table, scooting onto the bench beside me. “Tell me what you want to do; work with me to come up with a proposal that will get you want you want.”
I studied his face, looking for patronization or pretended motivations. But he seemed sincere.
“What do you want to do?” he asked. “Now that you know what’s waiting for you if you walk into your sister’s house, what would you do?”
Sincerity seeped from his voice and his eyes. It made me want to try, or at least to consider that there might be a solution. I shut my eyes, looking at the situation in my mind and trying to think through all the angles. “How much do you know about what’s going on?”
“The basics.”
“How many of my father’s men are watching the
house?”
“Too many for a raid to work, which is why they haven’t done it yet.”
“My father has an exit strategy?”
“A helicopter on site.”
“So, if I go in on my own…”
“He could easily put you on the chopper and force the location of the ledger out of you, then take you anywhere he wanted.”
I rested my elbows on the table, nodding with my eyes still closed, and steepled my fingers against my forehead. “Is there any way to draw him out?”
Jack scooted closer, probably to avoid being overheard by other patrons. “You could call Renee and tell her you want to meet her somewhere else. You could be honest and say you know your dad is there and he’ll have to come and get the evidence if he wants it. But that gets dangerous fast, and I doubt the FBI would go for it.”
“And if we did get him to come to us, we would have to make sure he brought Renee; otherwise he’d still have more power.” I turned my face toward him, resting the side of my head against my hands. “Is there another player we could bring in? Someone who could claim to know my father was there without that information having come from law enforcement? Even if I did call Renee, if I tell her that I know anything about my father being there, then he’ll know I’m working with law enforcement.” I massaged my forehead with my fingers. “Who would have a reason to get him out of her house? Who would even know he was there?” I was talking and thinking in circles, so I shook my head and just looked at him, willing him to come up with an answer for me.
He took a slow breath and opened his mouth, on the verge of saying something, but then changed his mind. He shook his head. “I’m sorry you’re in this situation.” He reached out like he was going to touch my hair, or maybe my cheek, but then he pulled back.
Distance was good. I should let him maintain it, since the last thing we needed was to complicate this game of cat and mouse with all the unspoken things that lay between us. But the way he had reached for me made it impossible for me to be rational. I leaned forward and reached my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. It was probably unfair of me, but I was so desperately tired of holding myself up—of fighting and running and jumping through invisible hoops and slamming into invisible walls—that I needed to break down, for just a minute, just a little bit.
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