I continue toward the kitchen table where Marilyn sits with the children. She has today’s Post open before her and is busy scanning an article. Without glancing up at me, she smiles and says, “Good morning, Holly. How was your trip?”
As usual my absence is explained by some sort of trip—visiting friends, family, whatever. Walter almost never clues me in on specific details and so when asked a general question about a trip I give a general answer.
“It was good, thanks.”
She smiles again, turns the page. “Glad to hear it.”
Casey and David both wave and say hello. Their smiles fade when they see my face. In all honesty, the bruising isn’t terrible. From a distance you can barely tell it’s there. But up close, with the kids less than ten feet away, they can see it and at once worry clouds their faces.
I look at both of them, look at them hard, and quickly shake my head. I can deal with the kids later, but right now I don’t want to deal with Marilyn. She won’t be as discreet as Sylvia. She won’t accept a simple answer of it being an accident. She’ll worry, ask questions, maybe even call the police on my behalf. She’s a good woman who means well, but right now she’s the last person I want to deal with.
“Hey, kiddos,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee. “You guys ready for a fun day?”
“Yeah,” they answer together, though the enthusiasm they usually share at this time in the morning has been diminished by their worry.
I don’t bother asking Marilyn if her husband is home. I don’t bother making a silly excuse to leave the kitchen. Two years now I’ve been working for this family, giving me the right to have the run of the house when I want it, and so I continue past them through the house all the way to Walter’s office.
I don’t bother knocking. I open the door and walk in and then stand there, holding the coffee.
Apparently today is a Pentagon day. Walter sits behind his desk wearing his uniform, his three stars aglow from the artificial light of the computer screen. He looks away from the monitor, stares at me for a moment, and says, “Christ, you look like hell.”
“It’s good to see you too, Walter.”
“Nova told me it was bad, but … Christ.”
“You really know how to lift a girl’s spirits.”
He doesn’t say anything, just watches me.
“I see you have the FBI still chaperoning us.”
He shrugs. “For the time being it makes sense.”
“Which means what exactly—how much longer before you replace me?”
“That’s not—”
“I don’t want to be replaced.”
“Holly—”
I take a step closer, lower my voice. “I don’t want to be taken off the team. This is what I do. This is what I’m good at. I can’t … I can’t do anything else.”
Walter doesn’t say anything.
“If the issue is about me being reckless and irresponsible, I can change that. I can be better.”
Walter shakes his head. “No, you can’t. That gradual decline you’re on, it’s too steep. You’ll never get back to where you were before.”
His words, they’re like a slap in my face. In a soft, stunted voice, I say, “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? I’d assumed after what happened to Scooter you would learn your lesson and not knowingly put your team members in danger. But from what I understand, you walked into Xerxes’s club just because you wanted to see the man.” He snorts a disgusted laugh. “Just how stupid are you?”
I look away from him. “What happened to Philippe?”
“What do you think happened? He just found out his entire team has been working as double agents. He’s under investigation, and will probably never return to that detail again.”
“That’s not fair. He’s a good man.”
“His superiors feel otherwise. And quite frankly, I can’t say I blame them. After all, Philippe has been making this thing against Xerxes personal. His feelings got in the way of rational thought.”
I didn’t get a chance to talk with Philippe about what happened. Nova was the one who had found me. He was the one who drove me to the airstrip and got me on the cargo jet out of the country. He even rode with me, holding me most of the flight. And when we had landed he took me home, fed me and put me to bed where I slept almost the whole day.
“Something’s troubling you,” Walter says. “What is it?”
“That man in the alleyway. The one who saved my life.”
“What about him?”
I fix my gaze on Walter’s. “He held his gun right at my face, like he was going to shoot me. But he didn’t.”
“Yes, I’m aware. We still don’t know who he is.”
“It’s not just that. It’s … I had the sense he didn’t even intend on killing me. But he wanted me to see that he had the opportunity. He wanted me to understand in that instant he had the power of deciding whether or not I lived.”
“And that scares you?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“That’s exactly it. Why? Why did he save me from those cops? Why did he decide to let me live?”
I glance down at the carpet, glance back up. Shake my head.
“Just what am I to him, anyway?”
Forty-Three
The agents’ names are Colin and Mitchell. Mitchell’s nose is the one I broke. It’s clear they don’t like me much—I have to admit, after what I put them through, I wouldn’t like me much either—but their assignment is to keep an eye on us and so that’s what they do.
I have to let the kids know about them. There’s no getting around it. Their
