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Only it wasn’t just the kids who wanted him.
First of all, it was Ben who turned up with Oreo becauseOreowanted to see Ethan, apparently. Ethan grabbed both my son and the cat and swung them around as if he was a fairground ride, and didn’t put them down for a long time.
It was heartening, made me smile, but I was jealous of my own son and one scrappy feline.
Not that I wanted to be swung around until I was dizzy, but I wanted to be back in Ethan’s arms, clinging to him, and never letting him go again.
But what happened when he stopped spinning and was faced with me again, and the immediate declarations of love became serious talks about future things? That was when the nerves kicked in. Everything we’d had was a result of the case, of Rouxier, of that single night leaving the bar, and maybe when things went quiet we wouldn’t have anything anymore?
At last he settled Ben to the floor, laughing, and that was when the second person to get in my way was right there, Kayden crouching by a laughing Ethan who was fussing Oreo.
“Ethan? It’s encrypted—it took a while but we’re getting in. You need to be in the room.”
Ethan’s smile slipped as he handed Oreo to Ben, but it was back again when I caught it next.
“Sure,” he said, then he held a hand out to me. “Come with me?”
He laced his fingers with mine, and tugged me with him. I waved back at the kids who were done for the day anyway as Ben and Oreo joined them and they all headed straight to the kitchen to find snacks. A couple more of them were going home tomorrow, and soon, what had once been twenty-one would soon be eight. I missed them when they left one by one, but I was happy for them all at the same time, and Sanctuary had packages in place for each family, support, education. I had a lot to think about when the owner of Sanctuary asked if I’d be interested in a role in their foundation to work with kids like the ones that they’d helped.
I said it depended on Ben.
And Ethan.
But maybe Ethan would be swept off to more saving lives, and then it was me and Ben.
And Ben’s mom I guess—the same woman who’d been vocal in social media this morning defending Charles Rouxier and telling the world they were wrong to judge Rouxier and that he was a good man. When I’d watched it, I didn’t even recognize her as the woman I’d thought I could be happy with. Ben saw the news and shrugged, but I knew I’d need to keep an eye on him, get him counseling, help him work his way through what his mom was to him and let him choose what part she played in his life.
He’d thank me one day for making sure she had the chance to be with him.
I hoped.
We stepped inside the house, Kayden long gone, and as soon as the door shut Ethan pressed me back against the wall and kissed me, then buried his face in my neck.
“I missed you,” I murmured.
He seemed to sink further into my hold, and I wondered what horrors he’d seen, or what he’d had to do to keep safe. I gripped the back of his jacket and held him close, and we stood there in each other’s arms for the longest time, only separating when someone cleared their throat. I let Ethan go with reluctance.
“You’re going to want to see what was on the drive Mitchell gave you,” Kayden said, with no apology for splitting our hug up.
“I’m guessing it’s a target? Someone Mitchell wants me to kill?” Ethan asked in a dead tone.
I’d kept up to date with everything Ethan while he was away, even the darker moments when he was with that Mitchell guy—bad guy number one, most wanted, a connection to a cartel that was elusive and frustrating for Sanctuary to track down.
Kayden opened the comms room door and ushered us inside. Every single screen was open with various pictures of Mitchell, or documents. Nik was tapping away furiously, and then he huffed in exasperation.
“So much is redacted,” I heard him say, as Kayden slid into a chair next to him. “That’s as deep as we can go for now.”
Kayden put up a photo of the Mitchell we knew from surveillance. “Meet the man you know as Aubrey Mitchell, and now, meet someone else.” Another photo slid in next to it.
Next to me Ethan stiffened, his hold on my hand tightening. I followed his gaze to the largest of the screens where Mitchell was front and center. But not the Mitchell I would recognize—this photo was of a man laughing, grinning, holding a blond toddler in his arms, a taller man peering over his shoulder. The laughing man with the kid looked very much like the Mitchell we knew—short, muscled but toned, dark hair, slate-gray eyes—but at the same time was nothing like Mitchell at all.
And next to that, another photo of the same man.
This time he was in uniform with five other men, all in fatigues, and all of them taller than him. He was front and center, arms crossed over his chest, a weapon in his arms, a stare of determination showing through the lens of the camera.
“And this is who hereallyis.” Kayden sent another photo to another screen, this time a document heavily redacted with black stripes all over it.
Really is?
