“So you shot him.”
A beat as bitter despair that I’m going to lose her spirals upward from my gut, all the way to my racing heart. I resist an urge to wipe my clammy hands. “Yes.”
A tear falls from her eye. Panic that she’s slipping away blazes through me. I reach for her, wishing I could soothe her and cling to her at the same time, but she pulls away. The rejection twists a knife in my heart. I tighten my jaw to contain a groan.
“Stop. I just…can’t.” She raises her hands, palms out. “I need some time to myself. I don’t know what to make of us—of this—anymore.”
“How long, Bobbi?” I say, my whole body numb with a certain defeat.
She looks at me, her eyes glazed with tears. “I don’t know. But right now, I can’t do this.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Bobbi
The door closes quietly behind Noah, who takes the box of tiles like I asked. If I hadn’t discovered the memory card, I’d think he was taking them out for me and smile. But now I know it’s so he and his agency buddies can pull each tile apart and look for more memory cards—if there are any.
A suffocating silence descends on the house. Although it was quiet after the tablet ran out of juice, it feels like a mausoleum now, the ceiling and walls closing in.
I can’t process all this, especially with the new information from Noah. I don’t even know what to believe anymore. I never suspected Noah was anything but a photographer and adventurer. Guess he’s good at his job.
Just like Dad was good at his.
Thinking of him sends icy slivers into my heart. He deserved to be punished for what he’d done. He was lucky the truth didn’t come out after his death, sparing his name and reputation. Hell,I’mlucky the truth remained buried. If it hadn’t, my life would’ve become a nightmare with reporters coming after me. The government would have wanted to know if I knew or suspected anything. If I’d participated or benefited somehow. Although we weren’t close, the government might think we were faking estrangement. After all, Dad’s distance from me wasn’t out of a desire to protect me. He was just too damn busy selling his motherland out.
Noah didn’t elaborate, but grabbing those dossiers to sell to the highest bidder couldn’t be the first time my father betrayed the country. People simply do not, out of the blue, decide to commit such a serious crime without any deliberation or practice, especially for someone like my father who was nothing if not methodical. He didn’t have money problems, and he despised gambling. Didn’t drink or do drugs as far as I know. He left me a very modest sum, and I wonder if there’s an ill-gotten fortune hidden somewhere. Or maybe the agency knew about it and confiscated it. Either way, I don’t want it.
What about this house?
Did he pay for this with the money he got from selling state secrets? I look around the home I inherited, and the place that has felt like a sanctuary suddenly seems like a filthy hovel. I cover my mouth as nausea roils in my belly. How many lives were lost because of my father’s sins?
And wouldn’t Noah think about that when he sees me? I don’t look much like my father, thank God, but I’m still his daughter. Noah’s face twisted with pain when we talked.
He might’ve lost someone dear to him because of Dad. Or maybe he was thinking of how he got so close to having his identity revealed. That would’ve gotten him killed—and his brothers and their wives and children he adores so much might not have been safe, either.
Is that why he ghosted me? Or was it because he couldn’t see a way for us to be together? He knew his lifestyle and all the dangers it entailed.
My thoughts spin in frustrating circles. I pick up my phone, needing to call Yuna and Ivy to talk, then slowly drop it back on the sofa cushion. I can’t tell anyone. Even if this weren’t a top state secret, I couldn’t. A sudden chill shivers my skin. I’m truly alone, with nobody I can lean on, in this matter.
I change and slip under the sheets in the quiet bedroom, but sleep eludes me. My brain won’t shut down. Everything I’ve learned in the last twenty-four hours churns dangerously.
The next morning, I get up with a head dull and heavy from the lack of sleep. Thank God it’s Sunday so I don’t have to go open the bakery. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, but the headache lingers. A hot shower doesn’t help. I slip on a wrinkled tank top and jeans, then shove my feet into flipflops until I remember the state of my kitchen floor. I put on the first pair of shoes I find in my closet—ankle boots—and walk out of the bedroom.
The house feels empty and wrong without Noah. I open the pantry, then shut it at the sight of bagels. They remind me of him.
I give canned tuna to Señor Mittens, who looks at the offering with utter contempt. “Sorry, buddy. Caviar Man is gone.”
Señor Mittens turns his nose up and pads away with a feline sneer. I should care that he doesn’t want to eat, but right now, my mind is too preoccupied with tangled thoughts about Noah and Dad to make room for a cat.
I make myself coffee and sit in the living room. It’s awful to be alone without anybody I can seek advice from. Josie is a therapist, so everything I tell her is confidential if I go to her as a patient, but I just can’t. My dad betrayed the country and Noah. I can’t betray the latter’s secret.
Damn it, Bobbi. What are you going to do?
I remain with my head in my hands for a long while. Then there are knocks at the door.
My joints creak as I get up and wince at the stiffness in my neck and shoulders. The clock on the wall says it’s a little after six.Who could it be?Noah’s people, wanting to question me and see how much I know?
But wouldn’t it be easier for them just to kill me? The dead can’t speak.
