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“Don’t be mad at you!”
“Fine. Yell. Repeat my words back at me.” Now I’m out of my chair, yelling right back at him, fists at my sides, head pounding. “Did the operation get compromised?”
“No.”
I pick up my glass of water and my phone and pad to the back of the house. The most important thing is that the operation isn’t compromised. I need some aspirin. It doesn’t matter if Dad knows I’m seeing Fisher. He’s still alive and—I halt at the entrance to the master bedroom. The king bed is rumpled on one side, with the comforter pulled back and the pillows stacked. Fisher had been in here, lying back on the bed. His phone sits on the dresser.
Fisher follows me down the hall. The overhead light shines on a purplish raised cheekbone.
“He punched you?” He blinks a couple of times in acquiescence. “Why’d you tell him?”
It’s hard to fit those pieces together. Going from being worried about where I am to telling my dad about us.
“Ava figured it out.”
Ah. She’s good at reading people.
“Rafael is in San Diego. We thought if they were torturing you, or…” He runs his hand through his hair, and his pained expression says he can’t go on. My stomach sinks and my chest aches as it hits full force what he feared. “Ryan met up with the surveillance team monitoring Rafael. I went to make your dad aware.”
“Oh, shit.” I close my eyes, and they burn. I’m bone-tired. “Dad thought I was missing?” My chest quakes thinking about what that must have been like for him. Knowing what he went through before when I was fifteen. “I should call him.”
I remember I’m holding a phone and flick it to life.
“He knows you're okay.” There’s resignation in his tone.
“What do you mean?”
“Rafael finally returned my call. I asked him point blank where Gemma had taken you. Turns out Gemma wasn’t returning his texts either.”
“We spent the whole day drinking.”
“Well, your driver had his head on his shoulders and kept Ivan updated.”
My chin itches, and I scratch at it. “He had signal?”
“Apparently. Or he called from another location. Was he with you all the time?”
“I really…” I stop speaking to prevent myself from admitting that I wasn’t keeping an eye on Tree the whole time. We went to Opus One, which happens to be my favorite of all the vineyards. “Rafael doesn’t suspect anything?”
“No. I think my reaction was in line with what he would expect it to be, given I didn’t know where the hell my wife was.”
Guilt and exhaustion twirl around me. I head over to the bed, scoot up onto it, and let my feet rest on the footboard below the mattress. Holding my face in my hands, I try to think through it all.
He comes to stand before me, and I raise my gaze to his. The light is dim in the bedroom and there’s no color in his irises, leaving only pools of black and gray.
I reach up and gently caress the bruised skin. One bruise. Dad could’ve done far worse if he’d wanted. Actually, in that situation, two highly-trained men—it could’ve been brutal. But neither Dad nor Fisher would go animalistic, especially in front of Ava.
“He’ll get over it,” I say.
“I didn’t plan on telling him.” I look up into his eyes and see he’s speaking the truth. Of course he is. Why would he tell him the truth when what’s going on between us is temporary?
“It’s just as well. You don’t need to worry. He needs to stop seeing me as a little girl.” Perhaps if he sees me as an adult woman, he’ll stop manipulating my career.
His hands fall to my shoulders, and he leans closer. His chest rises, and I get the sense he’s breathing me in.
I reach for him, wanting to hold him. He respects my dad. It must’ve crushed him for my father to lash out at him. And if anyone had been with my dad other than Ava, a woman who is insanely intuitive and hears what’s unsaid, he probably could have informed my dad and never had to come clean. And shit. Arrow was his transition plan out of the CIA.
“I’ll talk to my dad. This won’t block you from getting a job with Arrow if that’s what you want.”
