Savanna had just settled into the crook of Griffin’s arm on the couch, the same one where Ella had tossed and turned, dozing on and off before her morning of wonderful sex. Back to reality now.
“Thatcher, damn it, tell me. Did you kill Zoran’s wife?” Jesse’s free hand balled into a fist, and Thatcher would’ve been on the receiving end of a punch if he were in the room.
She didn’t want to see Jesse come apart, though, not when she’d spent the morning witnessing him piece himself back together. His walls had come down, and he’d handed her his heart.
Ella closed her eyes as Thatcher’s silence became deafening.
“Yes, yes, it was me behind the long gun that day. I killed Zoran’s wife, and I would’ve placed a second bullet in Zoran had I known your shot wasn’t lethal.” Thatcher’s response rolled slow and steady, for some reason calling to mind her mom’s bowling technique—gently releasing the ball to trundle down the alley, seemingly with little force, and yet, the pins always fell.
And right now, when Ella opened her eyes, those pins were symbolic of Jesse’s control . . . as he lost it. She had a profile view of him, but she could see that the rage no longer simmered, it was a full-on boil. Thatcher’s confession was sure to be the final straw for Jesse, especially since Thatcher had purposefully set into motion a plan that jeopardized Ella’s life.
“Why?” Carter asked when Jesse remained quiet. It was the eerie kind of quiet that raised the hair on her arms.
Forcing herself to stand, she approached Jesse and smoothed her hand up and down his taut back. She felt him draw in a deep breath before stealing a look at her from over his shoulder, his brows tight, rage still clinging to his blue eyes as she hoped the veil of anger would, at least, lift a little.
“Because of that deal with the Bulgarians and the intel they gave us, we stopped a terrorist attack. At least a hundred civilians would’ve died if we hadn’t played ball. So, how about you focus on that?” Thatcher’s answer had Jesse’s gaze swinging back to the phone still in his palm. Ella continued to stroke Jesse’s back, doing her best to calm him and loosen the grip of anger that seemed to prevent him from speaking.
“Details,” Carter barked out. “Now. No more games.”
Ella spied Zoey cutting across the room to stand near them. “Zoran’s brother, Dragan? Was he involved?” Zoey asked, her tone as sharp as Carter’s. “Is he the kid’s biological father?”
“How the hell did you . . .?” Thatcher dropped his words, and yet, that was their answer.
Sydney and Zoey had been right. Impressive. But what did that mean? All of this was over Ella’s head. She taught third grade and designed clothes as a hobby. Hunting criminals was miles outside her wheelhouse.
“You wouldn’t have been on board with us killing the wife. And frankly, you didn’t need to know the details back then,” Thatcher defended himself before anyone else had a chance to ask more questions. “And I didn’t tell you yesterday or in Alabama because I was trying to protect you from yourself.”
“Oh really?” Jesse’s humorless chuckle sent a shiver rolling down Ella’s spine. “Your definition of protecting me is fucking hilarious.”
“If you knew about the kid, you’d go to Austria, and I’m telling you now if you think that’s the right play, you’re mistaken. You’ll get yourself killed, I guarantee it,” Thatcher hissed, and Ella wondered if this was yet another game or if his plea was genuine. “We can’t offer you drone support there. Or any kind of support. The Austrians already objected to an operation there.”
“You telling me not to go . . . means you really want me to go, once again assuming I’d do the opposite of what you order,” Jesse bit out.
“If that were the case, I would’ve already told you about Dragan’s deal with Aleksa to cut out Zoran by handing him over to Bulgarian Intelligence,” Thatcher insisted. “I’d have fed you that lead.”
“He has a point, I hate to admit it,” Zoey spoke up, which had Jesse looking her way, and Ella only caught a shadowed glimpse of his profile from that angle, but he was most likely baring his teeth at anyone suggesting Thatcher had a point.
“Do not go to Austria. That is the wrong move,” Thatcher reiterated. “I’m warning you.”
“We don’t need your help. Your help is what got us all in this mess in the first place,” Jesse responded while looking back toward the phone.
“You do need my help. Don’t be stubborn because you’re pissed at me,” Thatcher quickly remarked. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t know Zoran survived until a few weeks ago. I would’ve handled him myself long ago if that’d been the case.”
“How am I ever supposed to believe another word from your mouth?” Jesse was trembling now, the little pulses beneath her palm at his back a dead giveaway. “You’ll do whatever it takes to get your hands on The Chechen, including making a deal with Zoran himself—my life in exchange for Yuri's.” He shook his head. “My death would be worth all those lives saved, right? Statistically speaking. That’s how you do the math in your head. It’s how you calculate your decisions.”
And now it was Ella shaking. The idea of Jesse being used as a martyr to bring down a criminal . . . not an option.
“I’d never do that, and you know it. Every decision I’ve made that led us to this point was calculated, yes. But I trusted you could handle it. You’re the best I’ve ever worked with, and I also knew—”
“I’d do anything to protect Ella,” Jesse cut in, his tone venomous.
Thatcher, and well, the entire room, fell quiet for a few seconds before Thatcher solemnly said, “I’ve been like a father to you. A father doesn’t want to see his son die before he does.”
“You’re no father to me.” Jesse’s words punched through the air.
“Maybe you’re right,” Thatcher slowly remarked. “I didn’t smack you around the way he did.”
“Son of a bitch.” Jesse turned and launched the phone into the lit fireplace before he bowed his head and planted his hands at his hips, panting.
Thatcher’s comment burned a hole in her heart as the fire consumed the phone, and her thoughts swirled like a tendril of smoke. Now she understood her mother’s comments about Jesse that day in the stables at home—Jesse didn’t have an easy life growing up . . . not my secret to share.
“So now you all know about my dad.” Jesse tossed both hands in the air and did a three-sixty to look at his teammates, but he avoided eye contact with Ella. “It’s a non-issue. We need to focus.”
Your dad beat you? How had she missed that? Why hadn’t her parents stopped it from happening if they knew? Called child protective services, damn it? A million thoughts slammed her at once, but Jesse’s sudden litany of curses under his breath proved he was anything but fine and able to move on and focus.
His father was the first one to break him, wasn’t he?
And now she wanted to kill the bastard herself for ever hurting the man she loved.
Chapter Twenty-Eight