He eases off me, onto the mattress, and turns on his side, stroking my arm with his fingertips.
“Don’t touch me.”
He takes a ragged breath, and moves his hand.
“We knew each other three years,” I say with the sharp bite of a woman whose feelings are bruised. “We were friends. We had sex. We were teammates on a mission where trust was everything. But you never thought to tell me that you knew my husband. Not even when I asked.”
“I couldn’t say anything when you worked at Wildflower. It would have blown my cover. After you quit, we didn’t say a civil word to each other.”
“And whose fault was that?” I snap. “There was no reason you had to carry a ruse that far.”
“It wasn’t just subterfuge. I was pissed you went to Smith instead of coming to me after we spent so much time together—after what happened at Christmas. It felt like a betrayal. And then not talking just became what we did.”
I roll onto my side with my back to him. It’s bad enough I have to listen to this, but I don’t need to look at him.
“I didn’t tell you while we were getting ready for the op—there was too damn much going on already, and so little time. And,” he pauses, “I hoped you would tell me about your marriage one day. That you’d trust me enough to show me that part of you.” He sighs. “But I’m tired of waiting. I want us to start—not over…what came before is worth keeping. But I don’t want secrets between us.”
I let my eyelids flutter closed, focusing on the familiar rhythm of his breathing. But it provides no comfort today.
Gray curls behind me so we’re almost touching. He doesn’t lay his hands on my body, and I don’t push him away.
Two things for you to consider. That’s what he said when we started this discussion. I don’t know if I have the energy to deal with any more, but I can’t stand the thought of a landmine still out there waiting to detonate. “You said there were two things.”
He’s so quiet and his breathing is so shallow, for a few moments I think he’s asleep. But he’s not.
“I delivered my father to his death,” he says dispassionately, his tone devoid of any emotion.
I gasp softly. His father was the president.
“I lured him to within easy range of the bullet. I wanted to take the shot myself, but couldn’t get anybody to buy that plan.”
His lack of emotion is chilling.
We’re discussing a presidential assassination like we’d talk about hunting turkey. Even the conversation we had about the archbishop’s death had more verve. “Was it sanctioned?” I ask cautiously. “Because that’s the vibe I’m getting.”
He lays his hand on my hip. “Please don’t ask me to share the details.”
It was sanctioned. Jesus. “Why are you telling me any of it?”
“Because going forward, there are no secrets. Nothing separating us.” I feel his knees dip into the back of mine. “I don’t want there to be any doubt about how much I trust you. I’m going to take a lot from you, Delilah. The little girl inside you—the one who drops her Gs hard, and is proud and resilient—her anxiety will increase and her innocence will disappear in my world. It’s bound to happen.”
“She’s not innocent. That’s the whole point. She’s simple, scrappy and tough, and she knows the streets are dangerous.”
“She’s also forgiving and loyal and much too hard on herself. Whatever you think you’ve done, I’ve done worse.” He wraps his arms around me, enveloping me in his body. “I told you about my father because I want you to have serious power—in case you ever need it. My world is dangerous, and the danger often lurks in unexpected places. Think of it as the ultimate safe word, to use if you ever need to save yourself.”
I allow myself to slip into sleep, dragged by the emotional tsunami. I don’t fight it, because I need the escape that even restless sleep provides.
I wake up a couple of hours before we’re scheduled to touch down. Gray isn’t in the room, and I’m relieved to have a few minutes alone to think.
Last night comes flooding back. He lured his father, the president, to his death. Suddenly, I knew Kyle from the Bureau doesn’t seem like such a big revelation.
Damien Wilder was the monster of all monsters. Molested little girls, and had his wife and daughter killed. There were so many other evil deeds, but selling dangerous compounds to the enemy, compounds that could be lethal to our soldiers on the battlefield—simply to line his pockets—that was a bridge too far even for his most ardent supporters.
There were hushed whispers that the assassination was an inside job, but no evidence ever surfaced. Shortly after the funeral, Americans moved on to other things. All but the most fanatical kooks tire of conspiracy theories eventually. In truth, President Wilder needed to die. Even more than Archbishop Darden.
I shower and compose myself before going out into the cabin. Gray’s there. His dark hair above the leather seat is what I see first. I square my shoulders as I approach. There’s no telling what fresh hell our next conversation might hold. But I’m well-rested and clear-headed. And more than anything, I don’t want to fight with him.
“Good morning, or afternoon,” I say, sitting across from him. “I haven’t slept that long in forever. Did you sleep?”
“Here and there. How are you?” he asks cautiously.
“A good night’s sleep always makes things clearer.”
“Have you decided?” He’s hopeful, and confident that we can make it work—but I’m not sure. I haven’t had as much time to rifle through the layers.
“If I want to be your partner in crime?”
He laughs, and I hope the sparkle in his eyes is a good barometer of his mood.
“No. I haven’t decided.”
“Would it be easier to make a decision if I slipped a ring on your finger?”
What? “No.” I put my hands up to stop any further discussion along those lines. “I need to go back home. To Mississippi.”
“Are there answers there?”
“I’m not sure, but something’s telling me that I need to go and see for myself if the little girl inside—and the woman she’s become—is strong enough to survive in your world without losing herself. Her values. Her very essence.”
He nods, resigned to the necessity of the trip. “Give me a day or two to put out fires at Wildflower, and then we can leave.”
I shake my head. “I need to find those answers alone. If you’re with me, the setting will be different, but it’ll all still be murky.”
Gray leans back and stretches his legs out, tapping his foot against mine. “Take Trippi with you.”
“I need to go alone.”
He gets up and takes the seat near me, arranging the chairs until our knees are practically touching. “We have no idea what we just left behind, or what the next few weeks hold. None. Take Trippi, or don’t go.”
Inky flickers have replaced the sparkle in his eyes. It’s about to storm, and it’s going to be a belly-washer.
“I will not be your prisoner.”