I plead no contest with my hands. “A drink it is, then.”
I follow him down a hallway, through a large chef’s kitchen attached to a massive floor-to-ceiling-window lined family room, and duck past sheer curtains billowing in the breeze that cover an open French door. We find ourselves on the pool deck. It’s a gorgeous pool. This entire property is much, much more than I expected it to be and I once again find myself comparing our lives.
We are so very alike, but all the things around us are so very different.
“So.” Adam leads me over to a wet bar underneath a large pergola. “You and Wendy. How’s that work?”
“How’s what work?”
I expect Adam to serve up some kind of pretentious whiskey. I expect crystal glasses. I expect him to be a lot like my father, I realize. So when he reaches into a fridge and pulls out two silver cans of Ghost in the Machine, I am forced to take a second look at what seems like my lifelong nemesis.
I take the can and nod my head in thanks. We pop them open, drink, and then we both turn to look at the thick, encroaching woods on the other side of the massive, immaculate pool.
“So. You and Wendy, huh?” Adam tries again. “What’s that like?”
“What’s it like?” I side-eye him. “It’s lovely, Adam.”
“She’s very young.”
“So?”
“You’re, what? The same age I am, right?”
“I guess.”
“And Wendy is the same age as Indie, right?”
“I… couldn’t even tell ya.”
“There’s like half a year difference between them. But it’s easy enough to see that they come from the same crop.”
I let out a breath. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk about my wife that way.”
Adam’s laugh is so loud, a whole flock of birds squawk and take flight from the thick canopy of trees. “Wife?”
I take a casual drink of my beer and caution myself to be cool. “That’s right. You heard me.”
“When did this happen?”
“Last New Year’s.”
“Well.” Adam turns his body so he can face me. “I’m hurt that I wasn’t invited to the celebration.”
“It was a private affair.”
“I expect it was.”
Seconds tick off in silence and I can practically hear the wheels grinding inside Adam’s head. He’s not sure of me now. Maybe he had some reason cooked up for why I was suddenly so involved in his life. Maybe he sees past the whole Sasha phone call.
But I doubt it.
He has no idea what I’m doing here.
“Can I ask you something?”
I shrug. “I might not answer, but whatever.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why Wendy?”
“Why not Wendy? No.” I put up a hand before he can speak. I should let this go, but I can’t. I should let him think anything he wants about Wendy and me, but I won’t. I’m going to set him straight. “I love her, Adam. And I hope you don’t doubt that because it would be unfortunate if anything happened to her at any point in the future. I will destroy everything in front of me if it comes down to protecting Wendy.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on there. You’re touchy tonight, Nick. I wouldn’t dream of harming a single hair on Wendy Gale’s head. She is a valued member of my team.”
“I understand that. But this needs to be said.” I pause to look him in the eyes. “Because there will be no second chance. Wendy might have been a valued employee in your organization”—I practically sneer that word—“but she is mine now, do you understand me?”
“Perfectly. If anyone should ever hurt… our Wendy, trust me”—he tilts his chin up like he’s superior to me—“I would be the first in line to deliver retribution. She is one of us.”
“One of us,” I agree.
Adam smiles. “Exactly. Us, Nick. Us. We are all on the same team.”
I hold my can of beer up and knock it against his. “That we are.”
But it’s not the team he thinks.
I am on Team Wendy and regardless of what Adam Boucher thinks, there is no room for him and his ilk with us.
“So. What have you been up to all these years, Nick? Keeping busy, I’m sure.”
“You know what I’ve been up to. Nathan St. James lives here, and he’s far more us than I am. Where is he, Adam?”
Adam actually has the gall to look around. Like Nathan is hiding in the bushes and we just misplaced him. “Oh, he’s lurking somewhere.”
“Building that house across the lake, maybe.”
“Maybe.” Adam smiles. “But back to you. Tell me more.”
I almost laugh. “I haven’t told anything, so how could I tell you more?”
“Is this how it’s gonna be then?”
“If you mean the cat-and-mouse game?” I shrug. “I can’t see any way around it, can you?”
Adam turns to face me. He’s not that far away. And even though we’re like exactly the same height and build, we didn’t have the same training growing up. We are very different in all the ways that matter. But that doesn’t mean he’s not formidable. He did have that brain injury, courtesy of Indie. But he was an assassin, after all. Not rank and file, which is what I would call Nathan. So Adam Boucher is not a man you underestimate. And I don’t.
He says, “Why are you here, Nick?”
“I’m delivering your PSYOPS agent, as requested.”
Adam’s eyes narrow down into tiny slits as he parses my words, trying his best to read between the lines. “Merc?”
My heart flutters a little at his question. “Who else?”
He cocks his head to the side like he’s genuinely perplexed. “Are you lying to me, Nick Tate?”
“I do not lie.”
He barks out a laugh. Same way Sasha did.
And this kinda pisses me off. “Name one time I lied to you.”
“Well…” But he falters.
“I have never lied to you. I have only withheld my truth. And my truth, Adam Boucher, has nothing to do with you.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“It does not.”
“Well, I find that very interesting.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because I was down in a graveyard not more than a month ago and do you know what I was doing there?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start guessing.”
“I was digging up my brother’s grave.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I stutter. “I… I… I’m sorry to hear the sad news about your brother.”
“Is that a joke?”
“No. I didn’t even realize you had a brother.”
Adam smiles and points at me. “Nor I you.”
I have to chuckle. “Yeah. I guess that’s a little bit weird.”
“Is that all it is?”
“Adam. I feel like you’re leading me around in circles. What are you trying to say that you can’t seem to spit out?”
He studies me for a moment, that small smile growing bigger as the seconds tick off. “You really don’t know, do you?”