Confusion and concern rising, I grab my car fob. Something creaks behind me and the fine hair on the back of my neck bristles as chilly disquiet crawls along my spine.
Something cuts through the air as I turn. Pain explodes. Then everything goes black.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Noah
I raise another glass of whiskey and toast the photo.
Bobbi glares at me from the wall, flipping me the bird. It’s the enlarged shot from the security feed, which I printed and framed and hung in the room where I store my rifles. Wonder what the shrinks at the agency would say if they knew. Would they call me crazy? Obsessed? Hopeless?
I haven’t been able to move from this lounger since I returned from Bobbi’s house and let Mom know about the dossiers and the box full of tiles.
“I knew it!” she crowed. Nothing pleases her like being proven correct. “Did she see the files?”
“No,” I lied. If she decides Bobbi saw more than she should, I might have to go rogue. And it would be the end of whatever bright future I could have with Bobbi. Besides, I’d really rather not have to kill my mother. She’s a cold-blooded sociopath, but at least she’sourcold-blooded sociopath. “I found the memory card in the floor before she could, and looked it over to make sure. Then I took the tiles, ostensibly to throw them away. It made a mess in my Bugatti,” I added. The lie would be more convincing if it included whining about dust in the car.
Sure enough, Mom snorted. “Use your billions to clean it.”
Zero sympathy. Like I said, a cold-blooded sociopath. But at least she’s satisfied for the moment because she has the dossiers she wants and the tiles to break.
My eyes return to the picture of Bobbi, and a desire to drink until I can’t think or feel anything surges up. Although she was angry and defiant when I shouldered my way back into her life, she gave me hope because she cared. And she didn’t know what I did or the danger I posed or the fact that I killed her father.
I down another whiskey, wishing my problems were something I could just assassinate with my cheetahs. Alcohol probably won’t help, but I reach for the bottle again anyway because what else is there to do? How the hell do we come back from this? I can manifest until my hair turns gray, but nothing will change.
Bobbi’s a smart woman. Probably too smart for my own good. If she were a little slower, the type who’d just nod at everything I said, it’d be easier to manage the situation.
Dumb ass. If she were like that, you wouldn’t have fallen for her.
Fuck. I’ve been thinking about how to fix this since I left her house, but haven’t come up with a single solution. I can’t talk with my brothers about it, because what the hell will I say?Hey guys, Bobbi’s mad at me because she found out I’m a government spec-ops asset. Plus, I lied to her when we first met in order to get close to her and retrieve some dossiers on operatives we have stationed in foreign countries. Oh, and I assassinated her father a while back, too. Got any ideas how I can pull myself out of this hole?
Yeah sure. My brothers are going to want to know what the hell I’ve been snorting. And that’s thebestreaction I could hope for because disbelief is better than the alternative. Just how messed up is my life?
I roll the square box in my free hand. The ring from Peery Diamonds arrived yesterday, after Bobbi asked for some time off. I pop the lip open, stare at the ten-carat, circular blue diamond surrounded by twelve square white diamonds that together look like a clock. Two pairs of smaller, moval-cut diamonds on either side complete the piece.
When I received the preliminary sketch of the ring, I knew this was it. The clock motif seems to symbolize the lifetime Bobbi and I will spend together, and I also like the four smaller diamonds because they could represent the four points of the compass, signifying our freedom to build a life in any direction we choose.
But the longer I study the sparkling stones, the more despair and misery weigh me down. What good is a ring without the woman I love? I cling to the fact that Bobbi hasn’t dumped me outright. Time and space donotequate to “Sorry, it’s me, not you.”
But that doesn’t mean the outlook is good. Bobbi wanted time to think. And when a woman says she needs alone time, it rarely ends well.
I struggle to maintain self-control. Rushing back to Bobbi to try to talk—forcing a conversation when she isn’t ready—would be a recipe for disaster.
Huxley would say that remaining silent is the best course of action. I haven’t felt this nervous since my first mission to snipe some shitty dictator’s right-hand man. He was in the market for chemical weaponsandraped little girls on the side. A mission I later came to think of as a twofer.
I snap the ring box shut with a flick of my wrist. Even if Bobbi says yes to the engagement, what about the wedding? She won’t have a father to walk her down the aisle. Otto Bright might have been a traitor, but he was also her parent. She wasn’t close to him, but still. My brothers and I grouse about our dad’s ridiculous antics, but if he were to die, we’d stop. Death tends to elevate a person a few notches, so ordinary guys become saints and assholes somehow become just…misunderstood. You have to be an absolute shitshow to continue to be vilified.
And what Otto did might not reach that level with Bobbi. It’s impossible to tell.
A panicked voice inside my head screams at me to talk to her now.Fuck giving her time. Confront her.Makeher choose you. All your brothers who got the women of their dreams went after them with all they had.
Yeah, except none of them offed their future father-in-law.
Besides, I’m not sorry I killed him. I’d do it again if I could go back in time because it was that or sacrifice too many of our people. What I regret is the impact on Bobbi and how she feels about me.
I open one of the social media apps on my phone to see if there’s any update on Bobbi. Need clues on how she’s feeling now. Nothing pops up. But there’s a post about a job opening—an NGO position to build a wildlife sanctuary in Colombia.
It’s a coded message from my mother:Noah, take this damned job.
