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“Maybe we could use that to our advantage?” I raise a brow in question, and she continues. “Maybe we could use something to draw him out of hiding. What does he need more than anything to get out of this mess? Can we use it against him?”
I think about her question, of the things Anton needs, and really, he needs freedom. He needs people to get him his freedom because otherwise, he’s fucked. “He needs safe passage. He needs help.”
“So maybe we can use me to get to him?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if we go out in public, maybe we can get his attention and entice him to walk into some sort of trap?”
I think about it for a second before shaking my head. “No, I’m not putting you in his path again.”
Margaret’s eyes hold a gleam of interest backed by a determination I’m sure is supposed to make me back down, but I can’t risk putting her in danger. She’s had enough trauma to last a lifetime; she doesn’t need one bit more. “Margaret.” My voice holds a warning, but she doesn’t look away.
“Let me help,” she says adamantly. “I want to help.”
“It’s not safe.” My voice hardens, and I see her eyes flicker, a brief sign of doubt crossing her face.
“I know it’s not, but none of this has been and I’ve managed to survive this long. I’m fine. Let me help you finish this.” She grabs my hand and squeezes. “So we can get to that normal you talked about.”
She’s using our conversation against me and I sigh, closing my eyes and thinking about how I can make all of this work.
“I have the perfect idea,” Ford says, his eyes shining with mischief. I know I’m going to hate whatever he’s about to say. “You guys get married.”
“Uh, I’m sorry, Agent Dimples, say what?” Margaret sputters.
“Agent Dimples?” Ford asks. I can tell he likes that Margaret called him that, but I have more important questions to ask.
“What do you mean, we get married?” I ask, wondering what elaborate scheme Ford has circling in his mind. I’m surprisingly not against his plan so far.
“It’s perfect. We get the agency to rent a church, one of the cheesy Elvis ones. You guys go there and pretend you’re getting married then Anton will get word of it and will try to use it against you.”
I think about his asinine idea. “I love it,” I say. It’s not a bad plan. Anton wouldn’t be expecting it to be a trap. He knows—somehow realizing it before I did—that Margaret is important to me, and he has been using that against me this entire time.
“You do?” Margaret’s eyes flick to mine, dubious astonishment lacing her voice.
A smirk forms on my lips. “I do.”
She busts out laughing.
