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Do I detect an accent? If there is one, it’s faint.
“Cain!” A young female voice sounds frantic on the other line. “It’s a setup. Don’t come!” Like that would stop him. An armed squad paired with a bomb threat wouldn’t stop him.
There’s a scuffling noise then the sound of a thump and a muffled cry.
“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” I feel as if actual fire shoots from Cain’s eyes.
“That’s what you like to do, isn’t it? Kill people just for the hell of it, don’t you? You don’t care who you kill. You don’t care if people have family. The ends always justify the means with you, don’t they?”
Cain doesn’t respond but goes deadly calm.
His eyes flick to mine and I can’t quite read him.
“What do you want?”
“You can’t give me what I want, Master.” Oh, the irony of him calling Cain Master. “So I’ll do what you do oh so well. I’ll take what’s mine.”
“If you—”
The line goes dead. He grabs the phone, curses, and it looks like he’s going to whip it right out the window. I grab his arm. “Stop! You’ll need that if he calls you again. I know, I want to break things, too.”
The truck comes to a rumbling stop at the side of the road. He tosses it into park and buries his head in his hands. Shoulders heaving, I wonder at first if he’s crying. The thought terrifies me.
Gently, I reach a hand to his shoulder. He’s breathing heavily, his body tense like a bowstring pulled too tightly. He’s going to snap.
“We’ll find her,” I tell him, determined. “I don’t care what it takes. We’ll find him.”
When he lifts his head, his eyes are too bright, but he hasn’t cried. Still, it breaks my heart to see him so tortured.
“He’s right, Violet. I did kill, and I have no regrets. I did it for my country. For my soldiers at arms.”
I read his files. I know what he did, what he’s capable of. But I don’t see a bad man. No. Only a good man would feel the weight of his actions the way Cain does. Only a good man would lay down life and limb for the people he loves. He’s loyal to his very core.
I gentle my voice. “One thing at a time. Let’s go over what he said. Did your team get anything at all?”
The call was too brief, all ability to track expertly blocked.
“Okay, alright, so let’s put our heads together. He says you know him. How would you know him?”
“Must’ve been when I served in the military.”
“In France?”
He gives me a short nod. “Yeah.”
“Tell me what happened there. Would anyone have reason to want to kill you?”
“Lots of people want to kill me. Fucking dozens. I was in charge of protecting the U.S. Embassy. It came to my knowledge there was going to be an attack, so I acted.” He blows out a breath. “If I had it to do over again, I would behave differently, but honest to God…” His voice trails off, and he shakes his head. “I did what I thought was best at the time.” He glances at the clock on the dash. “I don’t have time to go into detail.”
“Summary, please. I need to know.”
“Fine. The short version. We were subject to a hostile militia attack at our embassy access points. They began at night and went into the day. The attacks were unprovoked and considered an act of war and had to be stopped or many, many more would’ve died. The attacks focused on the arrival of American diplomats who’d come to the Embassy to sign an agreement with the U.N., but the agreement had a direct impact on weapons sales across the Mediterranean.”
I nod. Following.
“It was one attack after another. Since we were attacked, we sent an airstrike, which killed dozens. So when I got word the militia was preparing for a counterattack, I sent our men to ward that off.” His lips thin. “Their initial attacks cost us twenty million in fire damage, and we lost two dozen of our soldiers, not to mention dozens of innocents. I couldn’t let more devastation happen.”
“Of course not,” I say, squeezing his knee. I hate that he bears this burden, to this day.
“So we attacked them before their counter strike, and we killed the entire militia. It’s the worst memory I have, and one I wish I could erase forever.”
“I understand. I have a few like that myself.”
We’re only a few blocks away from the bar now.
“There are ways of erasing bad memories,” I say gently.
He reaches for my fingers and gives my hand a little squeeze. “Yeah? How?”
“You replace them with new ones.”
We drive by the business section of town, where the office parks are lined up near restaurants and retail shops. Something flashes by my window, and suddenly, a spark fuses in my brain and I have the answer, with lightning clarity.
