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“No, he’d already begun cooling on me when this”—I touch the scar on my forehead—“happened. Afterward, he couldn’t even bring himself to touch me. Still, he kept me around until Mom’s accident gave him an excuse to get rid of me.”
Ryson’s bushy eyebrows lift mockingly. “He needed an excuse?”
“Don’t all monsters fancy themselves angels?” I keep my gaze steady on his face. “Even the worst criminals like to think they’re good people and just happen to be misunderstood—you, of all people, should know that. And Sokolov is no different, I can assure you. He convinced himself that he cared about me, and when he got bored with his new toy, he needed an excuse to throw it out. Mom’s accident provided it, and here I am, only a little worse for the wear.” I touch the scar again, as if bitter about the disfigurement.
“Uh-huh.” Ryson stares at me without saying anything else, and I realize he’s waiting for me to say something to fill the increasingly uncomfortable silence.
When I just keep looking at him calmly, he rises to his feet and gives me a stiff smile. “All right, Dr. Cobakis. My colleague informed me earlier that the lawyer your family engaged is already here, barking at our door. Since we have not yet formally charged you, you are free to go… for now. We’ll be checking out your story, and if it turns out you lied—and I do mean about anything—no fancy lawyer will save you.”
“I understand.” I hide my relief as I follow him out of the room. As I hoped, my cooperation gambit paid off. On the way here, I considered lawyering up, but I decided it would be best to act like someone who has nothing to hide, even at the risk of accidentally incriminating myself by answering questions without a lawyer. This strategy might still come back to bite me, but for now, I’m free to do what I came here for: spend time with my parents.
A tall, sandy-haired man meets us once we exit the interrogation area hallway. To my shock, I recognize him.
It’s Joe Levinson, Agnes and Isaac’s son—and apparently, my attorney.
Keeping a poker face, I shake Joe’s hand and thank him for coming. He smiles politely at Ryson, promises that I will not leave town without notifying them, and calmly leads me to the elevator. It’s not until we walk out of the building together and get into a cab that I let my astonishment show.
“I thought you practiced corporate law,” I say, staring at the man who is, if not exactly a childhood friend, at least a very close acquaintance. “How did you—”
“I was having drinks with clients downtown when my father called me,” Joe explains, grinning. “Naturally, I rushed over as soon as I could. You probably don’t remember this, but right after law school, I did a two-year stint at a human rights nonprofit, defending alleged terrorists’ right to trial and such. The pay was shit and, frankly, many of the clients terrified me, so I switched to corporate law. But the old skills and lingo are still there, so if you ever get accused of aiding and abetting a suspected terrorist and need a lawyer on an hour’s notice, I’m your man.”
Peter is an assassin, not a terrorist, but I don’t bother arguing that point. “You’re right,” I say, smiling. “I remember that now. Your parents worried about you the entire time you worked at that place.”
“Yep.” His grin widens for a second. Then his expression turns serious, and he says quietly, “I’m sorry about your mom. She’s an amazing lady, and I hope she pulls through.”
“Thanks, me too.” My throat tightens, and I have to blink again.
Joe considerately lets me look out the window at the night-dark streets until I regain control. Then he says gently, “Sara… Obviously, I’m not really your lawyer—your father will find someone much more qualified to handle your case—but I want you to know that you can still talk to me if you want. I don’t know what happened to you, and it’s totally fine if you don’t want to discuss it, but I just want you to know that I’m here for you, okay?”
I look at him, at the earnestness in his blue eyes, and for the first time, I wish I’d made a different choice back in college. That instead of jumping into a committed relationship with George when I was barely eighteen, I’d taken things slower and paid more attention to the son of my parents’ friends… the nice, quiet one who’d always been on the periphery of my life. It’s true, he had never excited me, but maybe attraction would’ve grown with time—if I’d given it a chance.
I grew up hearing stories about Joe, about his successes in school and how proud his parents were of him, but I never paid much attention. He’s seven years older, and that age difference seemed insurmountable when I was a teen. By the time I was in my twenties, it was nothing—but by then, I was married.
