Her eyes fell closed as she relived the moment as if she were sixteen again and not thirty-one.
“When I opened the door to go outside, people were screaming, and a sea of blue—cops and FBI agents—flooded the sidewalk out front. It was disorienting, and I just wanted to find my parents. They’d keep me safe.” Her breath hitched. “They always kept me so safe.”
Her parents had been criminals. Spies and imposters. And worst of all, traitors. But they’d loved her. And it killed her that she still loved them, even knowing the truth. She wasn’t supposed to, but . . .
“But they were the ones who’d been shot. Weapons were on the ground near my parents’ outstretched hands. The agents blocked off where they lay. Had to keep the crime scene intact, they said.” She slowly opened her eyes to find A.J. crouched before her. He set a hand on her knee and began sweeping small circles over her skin. “I pushed through the officers guarding their bodies to try and get to them. The officers had to practically tackle me to the ground because I refused to give up.”
“Jesus, Ana. I’m so sorry.” His free hand cupped his mouth.
“They said my parents resisted arrest. That they were armed and opened fire on the agents first. I-I just couldn’t believe it. They had their quirks, but criminals? Spies?” Ana shook her head in disbelief exactly as she’d done while sitting at the metal table inside an FBI interview room later that night. “They threw too much at me at once. Volkov spies. The ledger. Counterfeit artwork. Stolen artifacts. They wanted to know why we were in Hungary at the Buda Castle the week before. Did I see anything there? Know anything. They said my parents were sleeper agents and had only been activated the year before. I was so overwhelmed. Spies. Activation. I was clueless. For God’s sake, I was only sixteen.” She took a moment to catch her breath and steady her nerves.
“You don’t have to keep going if this is too much.” A.J. removed his hand from her leg and stood, then offered his palm and helped her out of the rocking chair.
“No, it’s okay. I need to get through this.” She went over to the railing and peered out at the pool that had yet to be filled.
She placed a hand to her neck, knowing it was bare, but her thoughts drifted to the ruby pendant her father had given her the night of her birthday in that castle in Budapest. Her dad’s palms had been empty, but in the blink of an eye, he was holding the necklace, offering it to her. Just like magic. She had to remind herself he wasn’t a magician. He was a con artist. A Thief. A Spy. Maybe he even stole the pendant?
“When they died, and I learned my entire life had been a lie, I was so angry. So mad at myself for being manipulated. And upset that I missed them. Frustrated I couldn’t stop loving them in the face of the truth.” She side-eyed him, finding his elbows resting on the railing, his gaze set on the backyard that stretched for acres.
“That’s why you studied criminal and forensic psychology, to ensure you could read people and know their motivations from then on?” He was a quick study.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
“And it’s why you have such high walls?” He turned to the side, standing tall again.
She nodded.
“What happened next?”
“Once the FBI decided I’d had no knowledge or involvement in my parents’ activities, and I wasn’t useful in taking down any other spies, they put me in protective custody. They were worried about the Volkovs looking for me, or the Russians killing me.”
“That was when you changed your name?”
“Quinn is the second name change the Feds ordered.” So many names over the years she could barely keep them all straight. “I became Quinn when I was eighteen, when I decided to leave protective custody. By then, the Volkovs were yesterday’s news, and the FBI agreed I could start a new life. They wiped my history clean to protect me. My records were sealed.”
“But then your work profiling for the NYPD gained the FBI’s attention?”
“Yes, and after turning the Bureau down twice, it was Porter who changed my mind.”
“What?” he asked in surprise. “Why him?”
“He was one of the agents on scene the day my parents died. He’d taken me under his wing. Helped me start over with my life,” she admitted, and the news had him pushing back upright. “But when he came to me at twenty-five, requesting I join the Bureau, he helped me understand that becoming an FBI agent would be my chance to make up for all the bad my parents had done.”
“He guilt tripped you,” A.J. hissed low and under his breath, but Porter saved her, and he was the last person she wanted A.J. angry at. Porter had been the only person she’d been able to count on since her parents died. Having no one else with whom to talk about the truth, he’d been who she had turned to. A father figure. He’d been the one to encourage her to get married and set some roots like she’d never had growing up. The one to give her away at her wedding with Kyle.
“It wasn’t like that,” she defended. “But I didn’t think I had a shot at being hired because of my past.”
“And I’m guessing Porter took care of that?” He arched a brow, concern still clinging to his expression.
“He said it wouldn’t be a problem, and that my past would be need-to-know outside of those hiring me. He guaranteed no agents I worked with on a day-to-day basis would know the truth.”
“How does the ‘you’re a Russian spy’ thing come into play?” he asked after taking a few seconds to process.
“That’s kind of where things get complicated.”
His lips twitched into a surprising smile. “And what you said before wasn’t already complicated?”
“I—” An embarrassingly loud growl escaped her stomach, interrupting her line of thought. Perfect timing, hunger pains. Maybe part of that pain in her stomach had been from her lack of any real food aside from gas station snacks earlier and not just the incredibly difficult conversation.
“Hungry?” His smile broadened.
“I think it was a good idea you bought the wine and ice cream. You feel like having that for dinner while I reveal classified intel to a man who has yet to come clean with me?”
He leaned in, and his mouth hovered near hers as if he were going to kiss her.
“You’re not planning on going with Avenger again, are you?” she softly asked.
His gaze moved from her mouth to her eyes. “Do you really need to know the truth about me to share your truth?”
She rolled her tongue over her lips. “No.” She knew in her heart this man was brought to her for a reason, now more than ever. “I trust you.”
Chapter Eighteen
A.J. secured a bottle of red wine from Grant’s wine cellar—this occasion now called for something better than what he’d picked up from Piggly Wiggly—and left to find Ana. I fell for the daughter of Russian spies, he thought in surprise while trekking up the steps. He’d never had much luck with the Russians in the past, but Ana wasn’t her parents, and he refused to believe anything different. No blinders on his eyes.
A.J.’s thoughts kept spinning like he was on a Tilt-A-Whirl as he grabbed a corkscrew and two glasses, then searched for where Ana had disappeared.