Anna squeezed his hand and nodded, not trusting herself to speak, as Dugan went on.
“I know now her sister did the best she could, but I wasn’t rational. I said terrible things to her. I apologized later, but scars remain. I don’t hear from her.”
“Oh Tom, I’m—”
He ignored her, as if having started, he couldn’t stop.
“My shipmates found me crying on the dock. The first thing I remember is my sister, Katy, packing up my stuff. She took me home and moved in and commuted to school. I drank. She tried to help, but she was a college kid with no idea how to handle a morose, nutty drunk. I got it in my head Ginny was murdered. I needed a target for my hate, I guess. I went down and demanded a copy of the autopsy report.”
Dugan took a ragged breath as a tear leaked from his eye. “It took a bottle of Wild Turkey to get through it, but I found Ginny’s surprise. She was pregnant.”
“Oh God. Tom, I’m so sorry.”
“I was in a drunken rage, still convinced someone had killed her. I read it all again and again — date, time, and cause of death — until I understood. Until I found the bastard.” He turned, his anguish unbearable, as he revealed a dark secret he’d shared with no one, not even Alex, in twenty years.
“It was me,” he whispered. “I killed them.”
Anna sat entranced as it poured out. His realization that Ginny died near the time of their last call. His image of Ginny irritated at the disconnection. Of an impatient wait for a callback and a slip on the rug as she rushed to answer.
“If I hadn’t kept trying,” he said, “Ginny and our baby would be alive.”
Anna sat, unsure how to respond, but knowing grief, survivor’s guilt, and failure to share these terrible thoughts had solidified this horrible notion. No words could heal this. She hugged him awkwardly as he hid his face in her shoulder, ashamed of his horrible secret.
After a while, he lifted his head. “Sorry,” he said with an embarrassed smile.
She kissed him tenderly, and he tensed. She stood and tugged him to his feet.
“Anna, wait.”
She placed a finger on his lips and pulled him toward the bedroom. Sex was slow and tender as they explored each other with the wonder of new lovers, mingled with an inexplicable familiarity. Afterward, Anna lay in the crook of his arm as she toyed with his chest hair.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
“I’m wondering why women always ask that after sex.”
He jumped as she jerked his chest hair. “Ouch. That hurt, damn it.”
“Serves you right for spoiling the moment.”
Dugan hugged her close. “Lady, it would take a lot more than that to spoil this moment.”
They lapsed into silence, each thinking their own thoughts.
“Ah… actually,” Dugan said, “I may spoil it. What about Mr. Walsh?”
“Who?” She raised her head, confused.
“You know. Your husband.”
Anna began to laugh. “My God, Dugan. You are a bloody Boy Scout, aren’t you? Ex-husband, Tom. I’m long since divorced.”
“But you said—”
“Cast as a slut,” she said, “I needed to discourage you. Actually, I was pleasantly surprised I wasn’t forced to use a knee to the groin.”
“So what happened?” Dugan asked.
“Not much to tell. We met in school, both studying forensic accounting. You know, finding people ‘cooking the books’ as you Yanks say. We married, and I joined MI5 and David went to a private firm. After training, I joined a firm supplying temps, basically a front to place me in companies under investigation. In time,” she continued, “my job seemed to upset David. I guess it was emasculating, like he was a stodgy accountant and I was a spy. He hinted and then demanded I quit, but I quite liked my job.”
She sighed. “Perhaps I was selfish. I might have dealt better with his insecurity, but I didn’t. He grew cold and had frequent — and open — affairs, as if advertising he was a stud. We divorced, and last I heard, he was married for the third time and living in the Midlands.”
“Is the offer of a penny for my thoughts still open?”
“Sure.”
Dugan hugged her tight. “David was a fucking idiot.”
Anna smiled into his chest.
“I’ve often thought so myself,” she said.
Chapter Ten
Braun sat in Alex Kairouz’s favorite chair and watched over steepled fingers. Alex sat on the sofa, ashen faced and trembling as he digested the news. Ibrahim’s body was found in an alley, throat slashed and wallet missing. Metro Police considered it a random street crime, as did the media. There was a small story on an inside page of The Daily Telegraph and a thirty-second mention on the morning news shows. Braun was pleased.
“Quit sniveling, Kairouz,” Braun said. “It’s your own bloody fault.”
“M… my fault. You basta—”
“Of course it’s your fault,” Braun said. “Didn’t I warn you what would happen if you didn’t control Ibrahim? As a matter of fact, please note I spared his wife and children. For now. I’ll remedy that if you don’t quit whining and get back in the game.”
“What do you want?”
“Your renewed participation. Does it surprise you to know your friend Dugan has been snooping about? He and Ibrahim became fast friends, unfortunately for Ibrahim. Dugan is out of control, and I’m holding you responsible for putting him back in the box.”
“I warned you this would happen,” Alex said. “How can I possibly control Thomas?”
“To start, get closer to him,” Braun said. “Play on his friendship and find a way to keep him ignorant and out of the picture. You’re a clever fellow. I’m sure you’ll come up with something. I don’t care how you do it, but contain him.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then Mr. Dugan and the family Ibrahim will all meet with accidents. Are we clear?”
Alex gave a stiff nod, and Braun rose and walked out.
He was pleased with his solution. Delegation was the mark of a good manager, and surely Kairouz could control Dugan for a week or two. After that, it wouldn’t matter.
Anna awakened and lifted her head from Dugan’s chest to peer at the lighted alarm clock. Dugan stirred, his soft snoring interrupted as he shifted in his sleep. Anna smiled down at his sleeping face, barely visible in the light of the clock. She had never before mixed her professional and personal lives. She knew she should regret it. She didn’t.
She shook his shoulder.
“Wh… time is it?” Dugan’s voice was thick with sleep.
“Ten thirty. Almost bedtime.”
He smiled. “Again?”
Anna poked him in the ribs. “Separate bedtimes, I mean. Come on. Get up. We need to go over a few things before I go back my place.”
Dugan pulled her close. “What’s wrong with staying right here? We seem to communicate just fine.”
Anna laughed and pulled away. “You’re too easily distracted. Up.”
Dugan sighed and sat up to grope for his boxer shorts.
“I’m gonna grab a beer. Get you anything?”
“Just a glass of wine,” Anna said. “I’ll be out after I visit the loo.”
Anna came in, wrapped in a silk robe, and joined him on the sofa. Dugan was staring at his beer bottle, lost in thought.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” she said.
He shook his head. “Yeah, it is. Ibrahim trusted me, and it got him killed. I should have left it to you guys.”