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“I’m sorry.” Even as the words fall out, the inadequacy of the sentiment weighs down.
“To answer your question, yes, I think about it. But not every day. Not like I used to.”
With a loud, exaggerated sigh, she places her bare feet on the floor, stands, and stretches, hands high in the air, leaning from side to side.
“What’re you going to do?”
“What I’ve always done. I let my emotions infiltrate. I put words to them.” Her hands fall to her side, then she drops her gaze to meet mine. “Now I’m going to proceed. Plan. Move forward. What’s the other option?”
She pads softly to her bedroom but stops in the doorway. “Thanks for listening. I needed to just…verbalize.” She purses her lips, and I can’t help but think she’s holding something in. “See you in the morning.”
She closes the door, and the click reverberates through the room.
God, I am such a pathetic, fucked-up monster. I should’ve never thought about Sophia in a sexual manner. That was out of line, inappropriate, and wrong.
CHAPTER11
SOPHIA
In the privacy of the suite’s bedroom, I flip open my laptop. Not my CIA issued laptop, but my personal one, and I open Google Earth and enter an address I will never forget. I zoom in on the house and yards. He’s maintained it over the years. He had no choice but to maintain the grounds, as the HOA would’ve taken legal action if he didn’t.
There was a time when Arrow Security, one of my dad’s investments, had full surveillance on the property. But that was ten years ago. I doubt any of those devices remain active.
Has he paid enough? Is ten years sufficient penalty for his crimes? For upending my world view?
Will he go back to his old ways? Will he be a source of leads and information? He could be. It would be fascinating to learn who he reaches out to. Who visits his house. Who he calls.
There’s one man in particular I’ve been watching for years. A Texan senator who has eluded indictments for years. But Talbot’s too smart. He’s careful with what he says. Who he’s seen with. Who his political contributions trace back to. Over the years, we’ve had eight different informants who could tie Talbot to the cartels. All died quickly. I’ll get Talbot one day. But it probably won’t be through Killington.
In theory, ol’ Wayne found religion in prison. But that’s par for the course for a convict pleading for early release.Dear God, please forgive me for I have sinned. Parole boards are notorious for loving the converted.
I watch the video of his parole hearing without the sound on, paying close attention to Killington’s facial expressions and to his hands. His head is angled down, a sign of contrition. He doesn’t touch his face. The descriptive word that comes to mind is somber.
Does he truly feel guilty? If so, can I leverage that guilt?
Interrogation is an art. We studied it at Quantico. Langley too. Television shows might lead one to believe abuse leads to results. But one of my Quantico instructors taught a different approach. Get inside their head. Show empathy. Make them think you get them, even if it’s inconceivable you could ever be on their side.
It would be helpful if I could read Killington’s personal correspondence. If he had any personal contacts. But the guard I spoke to when I visited him years ago said he’s a loner.
A vibrating hum sounds on the bedside table. The screen lights up with a photo of Zane, Lauren, and me taking a selfie in caps and gowns.
I swipe to answer and lean back against a tall stack of pillows. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Oh, shit. You’re back on the East Coast? Then why’re you answering?” Zane’s puzzled, and he should be. If it was really two a.m., there’s no way in hell I’d answer.
“Because it’s you.” It’s a corny response, but it’s the best I can come up with on short notice. I’m known for not answering my personal phone. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to answer tonight.
“Aw, now you’ve got me blushing.” Zane doesn’t miss a beat. “When’s your next trip home?”
“Nothing on the calendar.” My screensaver flashes on my laptop, and blue jays fly into the edge of a Norwegian forest.
“Did you check out the event I sent you? The governor’s ball? I really need a date. I’ll owe you forever.”
“Pretty sure I’ve heard that before.” Zane’s one of my oldest friends. A classmate and a neighbor. He and Lauren are the only two I spoke to that first summer after the abduction.
“I’ll owe you in your next life too. And the one after that.”
“Fascinating.”
