“But—”
“I know. It’s pathetic. And truly, I almost don’t even see the photos anymore. However, if I took them down or threw them out, I’d miss them.” She chuckled. “Definitely weird and sad, but there you have it. I don’t even have a picture of you because if it landed in the wrong person’s hands . . .” She shrugged.
Unsure what to say, Ava studied the pictures once more. There weren’t a ton of them, but enough to make the room—and the mantel in the den—feel cozy. Homey. “It’s not weird or pathetic,” she said, her voice soft. “It’s actually a really good idea. I think we have to find comfort where we can. My father was so meticulous to never be in a photograph. No family pictures, nothing. His wedding pictures are in a safe-deposit box along with the negatives.”
“He had his reasons for that. The same with John.”
“I know. And if Mom tried to sneak pictures of Dad and me when I was little, the photos always managed to get lost.” She paused. “What were the reasons? I know there are other CIA officers who live fairly normal lives and have pictures in their homes. Why was my father—and John—so different?”
Julie sighed. “Even I don’t know the complete answer to that, but I can tell you this. You know John and your father were good friends and grew closer than brothers while working with the CIA. Has your father ever mentioned Lucas Moreno?”
“No.”
“That’s probably not his real name anyway, but the three of them were tight friends. Lucas got married and had a son. About a year later, something went wrong with a case—they trusted the wrong person, or someone was paid off, I really don’t know the details. All I know is that Lucas’s wife and baby were killed in retaliation—a car bomb. Lucas committed suicide shortly after that, and that’s when John and your father made a pact to do nothing that could come back to their families.” She cleared her throat. “It’s one reason John and I never had children. Your father wasn’t quite willing to give all of that up, apparently.”
“My mother was pregnant with me when they got married,” Ava said. “My dad may have decided the same thing, only got caught when Mom told him she was pregnant. But I didn’t know about Lucas. Thank you for telling me.”
“Come on, honey, let’s go back in the den and I’ll get us something to drink and a snack. Then we’ll talk about lighter things. Your friend has to be wondering what’s taking us so long.”
“Sure. Okay.”
When they returned to the den, Caden’s worried gaze caught hers and she offered him a tight smile. But once Julie disappeared into the kitchen, Ava settled next to him on the couch and patted her pocket. “I think we need to visit the local high school.”
Caden stepped outside, conflicted, but relieved as well. He’d nearly had a conniption fit when she’d disappeared, knowing full well she was going snooping. When Julie had excused herself to go check on Ava, it had been all he could do not to give everything away with an attempt to stop her.
So, he scrambled for a plan while he watched her walk down the hall and finally followed on silent feet. And overheard the exchange just inside the director’s office. It hadn’t surprised him. Fake families, secrets, and subterfuge. Lies. It was all part of the life Ava’s father—and others—had chosen. Great personal sacrifice for the good of the country.
When their conversation wrapped up, Caden slipped back into the den and they enjoyed the next hour of Julie telling them lighthearted stories of Ava’s father. Mostly his penchant for practical jokes, his fascination with puzzles and foreign languages, and his amazing ability to crack a code.
But now, they were back in the rental car heading for the high school her father had attended.
It was late, but a call to the principal had garnered them an after-hours appointment. Ava rode beside him, her features smooth. Serene. She was one of the few people he couldn’t always read, and quite honestly, he found it a bit unnerving. “What are you thinking?”
“That I’m not sure she bought my reasons for being in John’s office.”
“Hmm. Maybe not, but if she didn’t, she put on a good show.”
“And I feel bad betraying her trust like that.” She paused. “In spite of the fact that she’s been lying to me my entire life.”
“About your father.”
“Yes, but who knows about what else?”
He shot her a sideways glance. “But you’ve basically lied to everyone in your life as well. Like your mother and Nathan? Us?”
“Us?”
“Heather, Sarah, Brooke, me?”
She bit her lip and sighed. “I’ve tried not to. I’ve done my best to simply avoid any conversation about my father, but”—she shrugged—“yes. If someone asked me outright what he did for a living, I lied.”
“Why?”
“To protect him, of course.”
“Exactly. And you know that’s why she and John haven’t told you everything there is to know about your father. They’re protecting him—and possibly you as well.”
“But he’s dead. What’s the point in keeping it from me? It’s not like I’m asking them to take an ad out in the paper or post it on social media. Mom and Nathan don’t know and I wouldn’t tell them, but since I know as much as I do, I think I deserve to know who my father was. All of it.” She leaned her head back. “If I didn’t know what I know and was living in blissful ignorance, that would be one thing, but I haven’t had that claim since I was fifteen. I have questions I think I deserve answers to.” She fell silent. “Or if I don’t deserve them, then . . . I need to know that too.”
He turned onto the high school property, wound his way to the front office, and pulled into the nearest parking spot. A silver Ford Taurus was already in the principal’s reserved space. Ava unbuckled and climbed out with determination stamped on her features. “Let’s do this.”
He followed her to the door, and she pressed the button that would alert anyone inside to their presence. Caden held his badge to the camera.
The door buzzed and Caden reached around to open the glass door. A young man about their age walked toward them, hand outstretched. “Hi. I’m Dr. Ronald Pearson, principal here.”
“Thank you for seeing us, Dr. Pearson,” Ava said.
“Of course. Please call me Ron.” After the handshakes, he motioned for them to follow him. “Come on back to my office and you can tell me what this is all about.”
“Actually,” Ava said, “this won’t take too long. I just need to see a couple of your yearbooks. If you still have them.” She gave him the years they were looking for.
“They’ll be in the library. I’ll show you.” He led them into the library to a wall dedicated to past volumes of yearbooks. He went to the year Ava had given him and used a forefinger to tilt the book from its space and into his hand. “Here.”
He handed her the book. She opened it to the page she’d torn out from the other book and gasped.
Caden looked over her shoulder. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. The page was gone, the ragged edge against the binding a pointed message.