Agent Kym continued paging through the documents. “Unbelievable,” she murmured. “We always wondered how the Koreans developed the bomb after the Soviets fell apart, but no one suspected it was our own defense contractors.”
“It’s an embarrassment,” Eric said. “To the South Koreans and to the Americans. So you see, if NIS takes that evidence, it’s never going to see the light of day.” Without waiting for a response, he took the bundle of documents off Agent Kym’s lap. “Detective Cho has digital copies. In the meantime, these are intended for the Secretary of Defense and the head of the CIA.”
“I am CIA,” Agent Kym reminded him.
“Then you’ll understand exactly why we can’t give them up without knowing exactly who is going to look at them.” Eric nodded toward Jane and her mother. “My mother-in-law and my wife have been through hell over the last two weeks. Justice needs to be served. And it’s become very clear that we can’t trust just anyone to make sure that happens.”
Agent Kym’s face softened, as if she could clearly see the resolve in Eric’s. She sighed, then stood. “I will notify the director at Langley,” she said, softly enough that the other agent wouldn’t be able to hear her. “And…no one else. You have my word. Travel home safe. All of you.”
But before anyone could reply, Agent Suh burst back into the room, chattering in Korean on his phone. All at once he stopped, holding the phone away with his hand over the speakers. “No one is going anywhere. I have an order from the president herself—right here—that Mrs. Lefferts must be kept in the country. The plane is grounded until she comes into custody.”
“What?!” Jane squawked.
“No!” Yu-na shouted.
“Carson,” Eric muttered. “Absolutely not.”
Before Agent Suh could argue with him, Eric snatched the phone out of his hand. “This is Eric de Vries, Chairman of De Vries Shipping. Am I really speaking with President Chang?”
“Mr. de Vries!” Agent Suh shouted, but Eric turned his back so he was facing Jane. Her eyes danced behind her glasses as she watched. The little minx, she was actually enjoying this.
It wasn’t the president, but her assistant, who, as it happened, was able to turn the phone over to the president herself.
“President Chang? Yes, this is Eric de Vries. I understand you have suddenly decided that my mother-in-law, an American citizen, is not to leave the country. Is there any chance this direct infringement on American sovereignty is a request from John Carson?”
There was a pause on the other line. Then:
“That is not of your concern, Mr. de Vries. The Korean government has a right to detain any of its citizens that—”
“President Chang,” Eric interrupted with an edge that had both agents in the room cringing. “I think perhaps you will appreciate the fact that the longer I am held up here in Suwon, the longer it will take me to sign the papers renewing the De Vries Shipping contracts in Incheon, Busan, and Donghae, among others. If I am unable to sign them, I’m afraid operations must cease until I return home. Remind me again, how much daily commerce flows through these ports cumulatively?” He looked at Jane while the president spoke, as if her tired, surprised face would reveal the answer. “About fourteen percent? Yes, that sounds about right. Or is it twenty-three, as your trade minister told me yesterday? Now, how much of the total South Korean GDP does that account for, President Chang? I wonder if our numbers will also match there.”
This time the president actually didn’t answer, so Eric just continued.
“Those three ports are responsible for close to eleven percent of your economy, yes. That sounds about right. Can you imagine what an extended cut on imports and exports there would do for your markets, let alone the economy?” He smacked his head. “And when you’ve just emerged from a recession too. Your exports are already down ten percent from years past, President Chang. Can you really afford to let go of another eleven?”
“Very well,” President Chang interrupted suddenly. “I believe you are correct, Mr. de Vries. Mrs. Lefferts cannot be the same Yu-na Lee we are seeking. It must have been a grave misunderstanding.”
“Must have been, President Chang. I’ll let you tell your agent here the same thing. Immediately.”
Eric handed the phone to Agent Suh with a stony expression. “We’re leaving. Now.”
While the agent grumbled a bit more, a few words from his president assured him that he indeed had to allow the American jet to take flight. The agents disembarked the jet, the security team re-boarded, and within fifteen minutes the engines were running and the plane was taxiing to the end of the runway.
It was only after the coastline of South Korea was long out of sight that Eric finally relaxed. While Tony and the other security guards chatted amiably about going home, he sank forward in his seat, rested his forehead in his hands, and exhaled at last.
After the plane had been airborne for about two of the fifteen hours back to New York, the door to the bedroom opened. Yu-na emerged, looking for the bathroom. Her gaze flickered sharply around the sleeping security team, landing on Eric for a split second. But a split second was all it took to convey one harsh phrase.
Your fault.
There it was, clear as day. Hadn’t she warned Jane before the wedding not to get involved with Eric and his family? She knew. She had known the whole time, and no one had listened to her.
“Mrs. Lefferts—” he started, but the woman shook her head.
“No,” she said, and the single word, like her expression, carried all manner of meaning. It was too late for talk now.
She disappeared into the small bathroom, then took a seat by herself. After a moment’s thought, Eric got up and again entered the bedroom. Jane was asleep on the queen-sized bed, curled into a tight ball, her face shoved into a pillow while both her hands clutched the down-comforter tightly.
Eric sat down at the end of the bed, reached out to her leg, but pulled back so he could watch instead. It was something he had done several times at the hospital when he was in between phone calls with the CIA and trade minister, shaking Tony down for every scrap of information he could get, coaching Nina through her interim duties with the board, and trying to figure out how in the hell he was going to get his family home when the entire Korean government wanted to stand in their way.
Tried to touch. But never landed.
He had never felt like such a failure. Sure, they were on their way home and had managed to rescue Yu-na before she went the way of the other murdered flight attendants. But at what cost? The investigator’s life? Their child’s?
He would never forget Jane’s face when he told her what had happened. The way it had felt as if he himself was responsible for her utter violation, not the men who had actually done it.
Your fault.
He couldn’t argue with that. And he’d spend the rest of his life making up for it if he had to.
They’d get through this. They had people working with them now, not just a small-time investigator, but real people of power. The CIA. The State Department. The Secretary of Defense.
John Carson couldn’t fight them all.
Right?
At that thought, Eric reached out again and set a hand on Jane’s leg, hoping her solid presence would calm his anguish. But despite the fact that she was still on a combination of minor sedatives and antibiotics, Jane jerked in her sleep. Eric rubbed her leg, hoping to console her.
But she pulled away more, curling even tighter into herself, and moaned.
He pulled his hand back. She had never done that before.
It wouldn’t last.
Would it?
Home, he thought to himself. They just needed to make it home, and everything would get better.
He only wished he could believe it.
Part III
Tercet
“Vacancy”
The problem with chasing the dawn,
Is its essential emptiness.
You can run after it a
ll you want,
And the thrill will never cease,
But in the end, you’ll be alone,
Never sated,
Never getting what you need.
— from the journal of Eric de Vries
17
Present
“Mrs. Lefferts, you can stay here if you like. We have rooms in the main house too, but Brandon and I thought that you and Ms. Lee would be more comfortable here.”
Four nervous Korean women followed Skylar around the spacious guest house on her Brookline property. Yu-na, her cousin Ji-yeon and her daughter, Suejean, and Jane.
They resembled a queue of chickens, eyes dancing nervously around the deceptively airy space. Eric hung back in the doorway, watching the strange procession. Yu-na and the cousins spread out slowly. Jane stuck close to Skylar, hugging her friend’s side, Eric noted with envy, instead of his.
His wife had barely touched him in three weeks. Not since the hospital and those first terrible moments when he’d found her in that dingy house in Hwaseong. She’d clung to him then like those moments might have been her last. And they might have been. The doctors, both in Suwon and at home, had said as much.
Eric rubbed his inner arm. He was still angry that he hadn’t been allowed to donate blood. A year—a fucking year!—you had to live in the country before the Korean Red Cross would allow it, on top of a bunch of other requirements. It was only by a stroke of luck that they ended up finding a few extra pints at a blood bank in Singapore that had cost Eric a fucking mortgage payment to transport to Suwon. He would have emptied his entire account to do it. Eric had been two seconds from sticking a needle directly from his arm into hers if they hadn’t found something.
Now that she was nearly back to normal, she’d shrunk away. He noticed it first after they left Mount Sinai and Skylar returned to Boston. She slept for most of the day, keeping to her bed while her mother listlessly roamed their apartment. Until today, neither of them had left it once in two weeks.
Eric had done his best to give her what she needed. He managed to do half his work for DVS from the confines of their apartment and had slept quietly next to her, rising when she did, waiting for her to reach out for him.
Except she never did.
It went both ways, really. They were interacting as if both of them were covered in jagged edges that could slice the other open. Or even hurt themselves. They operated with cordiality. Kindness. But always at an arm’s length.
Maybe this was what she needed. A check-in with family. With Skylar. A change of scenery.
Eric wasn’t sure what else he could do.
Ji-yeon and Suejean explored the two-bedroom cottage with the asserted interest that was characteristic of Jane’s entire family, from what Eric could tell. They chatted about the practicalities of the space—whether the kitchen had enough counter space for a rice cooker and an Instant Pot or if the closets had enough room for a full-size shoe rack. Ji-yeon said she was only planning to stay in Boston for two weeks, but her two giant suitcases suggested she might be there longer. Eric was okay with that. If Yu-na had company here in Boston, maybe it would be easier to coax Jane back to the city with him.
Because the main problem was Jane’s guilt. And Yu-na was very good at pressing that particular button.
It had taken Yu-na exactly one week to say in no uncertain terms that she was not staying in New York. She didn’t feel safe there, she said. Everything was too crowded. Too many streets for people to hide in. Too many alleys for people to jump out of. Too many people who could take her away.
Eric couldn’t lie—he was ready for his mother-in-law to leave, even if it meant sending an entire battalion of security with her. But Jane, who seemed to be scared of her own shadow these days, had fought the idea of her mother returning to Chicago. For every reason Yu-na gave, Jane had an answer. Wasn’t she accosted in Chicago, not New York? And just outside of her old suburban home? Weren’t she and Jane sequestered in a small farmhouse next to a bunch of rice paddies, not apartment buildings?
And so, when Skylar offered the guest house just steps from her private security gate, sheltered behind the tall stone walls of the Crosby-Sterlings’ Brookline compound, it seemed like the perfect solution. Ji-yeon would meet Yu-na there for a few weeks, and after that, Skylar’s grandmother would probably suffocate Yu-na with blintzes. Brandon’s mother wasn’t exactly inhospitable either. They’d all learned about Yu-na’s plight and wouldn’t leave her alone for a second.
“You know there’s room for you too,” Skylar said quietly to Jane.
Eric had to concentrate not to glare at Skylar. He was already worried that Jane wouldn’t leave her mother, and the fact that she had brought her own house-sized suitcase didn’t soothe his suspicions. Say no, he willed Jane. Say you need to come home. With me. Did you forget what we are? Did you forget that I’m the love of your fucking life?
But Jane just watched her mother touch a finger to the mantle over the blazing stone fireplace, then looked out the window toward the big house and the orchard. It was pretty idyllic.
“Jane can stay?” Yu-na demanded. Good Christ, the woman had the hearing of a bat. “How many rooms?”
Eric stifled a scowl. No, she can’t fucking stay, he wanted to snap. The truth was, he was heartily sick of his mother-in-law. He realized he could take Yu-na in small doses, but he was getting very, very tired of the way she demanded Jane’s time and energy with no apparent gratitude. He understood they were both recovering from the trauma of their abduction—yes, he definitely understood that—but Jane was the one who had been through a legitimate medical emergency. Yu-na’s detox had been difficult, but she had rebounded much faster than her daughter. She had also been no fucking help after they returned to New York. And now here was Yu-na, asking more of her daughter. For herself.
“There isn’t enough room in here,” Eric said. “Not with Ji-yeon here, right, Skylar?”
Everyone turned to him, and Jane’s gaze was particularly sharp.
“There is in the house,” Skylar offered, though she looked uneasy about it. Yeah, she knew exactly what Eric was thinking. “Anytime she likes. We have a spare room just for Jane. And you, of course, Eric.”
“We have an apartment too,” Eric put in. “In the North End.” He knocked on the walls, like they were somehow lacking. “If we need to stay in Boston, we can go there.”
But Jane’s grimace made it clear what she thought of that. Hell, even he didn’t like the idea. Aside from the fact that they’d be sitting ducks in that place (there was no security other than the elderly doorman), there was also the fact that it was just…pre-Jane. To him, and probably to her, the cold modern edges of his old apartment represented a life that deep inside, Jane was scared Eric wanted back. A bachelor’s existence, devoid of intimacy, but still full of women.
He made a mental note to sell it as soon as possible. He wanted nothing to do with that life anymore. He only wanted Jane.
“There are two bedrooms in here,” Yu-na protested. “Jane and I can share a bed, just like we did when she was a girl. She can be with her mother where she belongs while she heals.”
What about with her husband? Eric was practically seething at this point. He wanted to scream, yell, shove the tiny, square-shaped woman out the door. Two weeks—two weeks she’d been butting in on their lives, interrupting those moments where he and Jane should have been reconnecting. Calling out in the middle of the night like a baby. Forcing Eric to spend half his nights alone, staring at the ceiling.
Her daughter was a grown fucking woman. She didn’t need to be sleeping in a bed with her mother, of all people.
“Eomma, that other room is for Ji-yeon. And we are absolutely not sharing a room,” Jane said, to Eric’s intense relief. “You’re staying out here, okay? We need a little space.”
Was it wrong that Eric wanted to throw his fist in the air in victory?
But Yu-na wasn’t finished.
“Space? What is this space? Spac
e is why we ended up in Korea like we did. A daughter should be with her mother.” Yu-na looked around the room, like she was expecting fucking applause. When her gaze landed back on Jane, she was practically triumphant. “You want to sleep at the big house, fine. But I want you to stay here. Family should be together.”
What about my family? Eric wanted to snap back. God, the woman made him want to tear his hair out.
“Jane?” Yu-na’s hands perched on her hips while she waited impatiently for her daughter’s answer.
Jane sighed, and fatigue enshrouded her thin body like a cape. She drooped against the wall. Her face was still frail, thinner than it should be, and behind her thick black glasses, her eyes shone with fear and vulnerability. No bravado. No punch. So damn different than the woman he knew. Eric wanted to pick her up and carry her away from the tiny tyrant, away from everyone putting that look on her face.
Behind her, Ji-yeon and Suejean had peeked out of the bedroom to witness the exchange. It was plain on both of their faces what they thought she should do. Skylar rubbed Jane’s arm sympathetically. Jane wilted toward her.
He had lost, Eric realized. Before anyone said anything.
“Lunch?” Jane asked weakly.
Skylar smiled kindly. “Of course, Janey. Susan came over last night and made a few extra roasted chickens with dinner. Why don’t we eat, and then everyone can get settled in.”
They walked back to the main house through the snow, where Brandon and the four kids—Annabelle, Christoph, Jenny, and Luis—were building a snowman. That basically consisted of Annabelle bossing everyone around, Christoph pointing out the deficiencies of her plans, Jenny trying and failing to roll as many giant snowballs as possible, and Luis screeching with joy every time he stuck his hands in the snow. Frequently, one of them would hurl a snowball at Brandon, who would retaliate swiftly, to their delight. And every so often, Luis toddled out to the driveaway on his chubby, two-year-old legs, causing his father to jog after him, swing him up into the air, and redeposit him in the yard with the other kids.
The Love Trap (Quicksilver Book 3) Page 17