Page 12 of Cash

“What, do you strap yourself to the roof rack when a woman’s driving? For the record, I’m cool with that but if it’s cold and I’m driving, the trunk is also available to you.”

I felt my ears clog with our descent. I watched Cash clench his jaw a second before his Adam’s apple bobbed. The movement shouldn’t’ve been worth noting, a simple thing that most of the passengers right then were doing to clear their ears, yet for some reason I was enthralled.

Maybe because so much of my life was hidden behind subterfuge. Maybe because every movement was measured. Every word guarded. Every feeling masked. I’d lost my humanity. I was a robot. I viewed those around me as pawns. I moved them where I needed with lies and manipulation.

I’d forgotten what it was like to be human.

I’d forgotten normal people didn’t hide their fear of turbulence like it was top secret information. They didn’t hide the fact they needed to clear their ears when there was a change of altitude like it was a sign of weakness. Most people slept on airplanes and when they woke, they weren’t mad they did. And most people would be happy to be offered the window seat and not throw attitude they didn’t have the aisle for strategic reasons.

Yet there I was, holding a grudge because Cash had forced me to sit next to the window. I was pissed at him I’d fallen asleep. I was equally as mad I’d shown the slightest weaknesses. All of this his fault, of course.

Then there was Cash—open and out there while managing to keep his secrets intact. Using humor to hide the pain of his past.

I envied him.

I was an all-or-nothing type of person, and the life I lived meant I gave nothing—absolutely nothing. I wasn’t like Cash, who gave what he wanted and masked the rest. I didn’t know how to do that. I wasn’t taught how, and since I wasn’t, I didn’t know how I’d teach Cara good lessons. Would I ruin her the way my parents ruined me? Would she grow up feeling like an obligation, cast adrift because she didn’t have an anchor?

Fear rooted in the understanding I didn’t know how to be a good person—forget being a mother, I couldn’t even function as a normal human—settled in my bones. Fear rooted in the knowledge I was not going to be who Cara needed me to be made my soul bleed.

I remembered what it was like being scared and lonely, feeling abandoned. Yet, months after her parents died I’d left her with her nanny when I should’ve been at home with her holding her while she processed her new circumstances. I should’ve been at home lying next to her at night while she grieved the loss of her mom and dad. Yet I was such a shitty person, I was off on an assignment—a job that would earn me a favor. One that would, one day, once again take me away from her so I could hunt her parents’ killer. One last mission that wouldn’t be for money but for revenge. Then I’d be done. Once justice was doled out, my old life would be over. I’d never again leave her. I’d clean every scraped knee when she took a tumble. I’d read her bedtime stories. I’d cuddle with her for no reason other than to show her she wasn’t a burden. I’d learn to be human so I could love her.

I could not ruin her.

I couldn’t.

The thought made my insides twist.

Cash’s hand covering mine on the armrest jolted me from my morose thoughts.

When his face came back into focus, those baby blues were assessing, but worse they were perceptive. He knew I’d been lost in contemplation, he knew it was unpleasant, just as much as I knew I’d given away a hell of a lot.

In a twist I didn’t see coming, he simply jerked his chin toward the window. “We’re at the gate. Grab your shit so we can get this show on the road.”

That was it. No interrogation. No pushing. Not even an acknowledgement he’d seen what he saw.

This didn’t give me relief; it gave me pause. I scrambled to make sense of the game, anticipate his next move. Had he filed away me zoning out to use it later? Unless he could read minds, he’d never guess where my head had gone. Cara’s existence was buried so deep, no one would ever find her. Unlike Cash’s childhood, which was easy to access if you knew the right people. Though, since ten years ago, he’d faked his death—along with Theo, Smith, Easton, and Jonas when they went dark to work with Patheon—Cash’s records were no longer hidden by his last employer. At one time the CIA had buried his life so deep it would’ve cost me a fortune to uncover it. The same with the rest of the guys. Luckily for me, dead men didn’t need to be hidden, therefore, it had only cost me a whack to get the intel I needed on them, and not a complete fortune. I needed the money I had squirreled away. I had a life to set up, a bike and a swing set to buy, little girl clothes, plus I needed to set up an extra circular budget in case Cara wanted to play sports or learn how to play an instrument or take dance. In other words, I needed all the money I’d saved since I had no idea what I’d do for work. I might’ve never lived in the real world with normal people, but even I knew that master manipulator, liar, and assassin were not marketable skills when applying for a job.

My purse landing on my lap once again pulled me back into the present. Wordlessly, Cash reached over, unbuckled my seatbelt, tugged me out of my seat, and had me in the aisle standing in front of him while he dealt with retrieving our backpacks from the overhead compartment.

I didn’t fill the silence. I was too busy seething inside for being so stupid. This lasted until we were walking through the parking lot to the rental car.

“I’ve heard about your driving,” I told him as I hitched the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder. “Just so you know, I might not have any weapons on me but that will not stop me from murdering you if you crash.”

“Don’t believe the lies, baby girl, I’m a good driver.”

Baby girl.

I hated that nickname.

But I would miss it when it was gone.

“Right. Jonas told me you have two modes, dodging IEDs or Grandpa out for a stroll. Today, you’re putting on your tweed cap and argyle socks, and we can even stop to buy you a pair of New Balance sneakers to complete the look. In other words, grandpa.”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

I glanced down at his coyote tan boots before I asked, “What’s not? The New Balance? I’ve heard they have good arch support. Probably be better on your old-man feet than those Lowas.”

“Best day of my life was trading in those old Bates steel toes when I made the teams and got to choose what boots I’d wear.” Sadly, with the way Cash’s life had been prior to him joining the Navy, I reckoned that was a true statement. “I drive how I drive and I do it with my Lowas or Salomons or sometimes Foleys on my feet. What I’m not and never will be is someone’s grandpa.”