“Of what, exactly?”
“Of the whole ego thing. Guys have a different kind of ego than women. I think. Anyway, Mavis claims it’s connected to the dick. She’s usually right about stuff like that.”
“I don’t know how I feel about you discussing my dick with Mavis.”
“I always say you’re hung like a bull and can go all night.”
“That’s all right, then.” But since the direction of the discussion made him feel just a little exposed, he reached for his pants.
“What I’m saying is you’ve got a… powerful ego. You needed it to get where you are, and, I must be feeling sloppy because I’m going to say you’ve earned it. You’re confident, confident enough in yourself, in who you are, to back away from a fight because it was important to me. You don’t agree with me. What you said before, that you’d be able to live with the consequences, is true. You’d have felt justified. You’d have felt right.”
“There was complicity in their neglect. They’re guilty because they ignored you. More guilty because they were in a position of authority.”
“I’m not arguing that.” She tried to put her thoughts into cohesive words as she dressed. “You understood me enough to know if you took action in that direction it would damage me. Us. You put that first, subjugating your own ego. It takes balls to do that.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I wonder if you could formulate metaphors that didn’t include my genitalia. It’s beginning to weird me out.”
“You’re courageous enough to do something that in some part of your heart you see as cowardly.” She stepped toward him when he stopped buttoning his shirt, when he looked over at her. “You think I don’t know that about you? That I don’t understand the nasty little war this waged?”
She tapped a finger to his heart. “And what it cost you to surrender? It makes you the bravest man I know.”
“There was nothing courageous about hurting you. And I was hurting you.”
“You put me first. That was brave and that was strong. You didn’t circumvent the issue by pretending to go along, then going behind my back to do what you wanted. You didn’t want a lie between us.”
“I don’t want anything between us.”
“No, because you know how to love. You know how to get the job done. How to be a man. How to take care of the people who matter, even those who don’t. You’re really smart, and you’re capable of very scary behavior, and incredibly kind behavior. You see the big picture, but you never miss the details. You have power, more than most people could dream of, but you don’t trample the little guy with it. Do you know what that makes you?”
“Words fail me.”
“It makes you the exact opposite of Blair Bissel.”
“Ah. So this entire praise fest was just your way of getting back around to your investigation. That certainly crushes my ego.”
“You couldn’t crush your ego with a hydrovice. That’s part of my point. His is fragile, because it’s based on smoke. He’s not really smart or clever, he’s not even talented. His art is just crap, trendy and expensive crap. He doesn’t have relationships. He has conquests. He got sucked into this, initially, by a woman who undoubtedly got hooks in his cock, and therefore his ego. ‘Aren’t I iced? I’m a fricking spy.’”
“And?”
“He should never have been recruited. Look at his profile. He’s unstable, immature, reckless. But those are part of the reasons Kade and Sparrow wanted him. He has no genuine ties to anyone. He’s attractive, can be charming, has some arty connections, knows how to travel.”
“He also has no conscience. It seems to me that would be useful in some areas of covert work.”
“That’s right, as long as they controlled him. But Sparrow got greedy, and asked for more than Bissel could deliver. He used Bissel to kill, and never figured that Bissel would do more than scamper away with his tail between his legs when he realized he’d been set up just as Reva was. And if he caused any trouble, well, they’d keep it in the HSO, and he’d tag Bissel as rogue, schedule him for termination, or feed enough intel to Doomsday or some other group to have them do it.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but I also think neither of them figured on you. They, or Sparrow at least, would have had some idea you’d be involved in some way. Using Reva meant using me, which meant you. But, it would seem, neither of them understood how far you’d go, not just for me or Reva, but for the emblem you’re currently wearing over your heart.”
“So it got sticky. Sparrow does what you’d expect. He uses his position in his organization, tries muscle first, then reason, then cooperation, but always behind the shield of the HSO.”
“If Bissel hadn’t put him in the hospital, he’d have tried to kill you, or, from what you say, have you killed as he didn’t have the stomach for doing the job himself. That would have been his next step.”
“I’m sure that was in his pack of contingencies. But a last resort. He should’ve been smart enough to factor in what it would do to Bissel’s twisted ego when Bissel’s hands got bloody. He’d killed. He wasn’t a stinking level-two now. He’d succeeded in two terminations, and I guarantee he liked the rush.”
“But the rush doesn’t last.”
“No, then you’re out in the cold. Isn’t that what spies call it? Out in the cold.”
She focused, with some surprise, on the plates Roarke set on the table in the sitting area. “Are we eating?”
“Yes.”
Thoughtfully, she pressed a hand on her stomach. “I could eat.” She sat down to eggs, crisp slices of bacon. “So anyway, he’s out in the cold. His direct supervisors are either dead by his own hand or hunting him. He’s been betrayed, used, fucked. Cops are looking into the murders in a way he’d been assured they would not, and sooner or later he’s going to get squeezed from that side, too. There’s nobody to tell him what to do, what to think. He kills twice more to protect himself, to cover his tracks. Both are unnecessary, and mistakes, because the murders only serve to lead the police investigation to the fact that he’s still alive. What would you have done?”
“In his place?” He spread jam on toast as he considered. “I’d’ve gone under, deep. Accessed some of the funds I’d squirreled away, and buried myself until I could plan a way to either kill Sparrow or expose him as a traitor. Wait and watch. A year, two, maybe longer, then hit him. One way or the other.”
“But he won’t. He can’t. He can’t suppress his ego that long, or think that clearly. That coldly. He needs to slap back at everything and everyone who had a part in screwing this up for him. At the same time he’s scared, like a little boy whose mommy and daddy left him home alone. And he needs to feel safe. He’s still in New York, somewhere he feels safe. And he’s going to make a move.”
She could almost see him, almost see him. “Bigger, more violent, more reckless. Each of his kills was a degree away from the bull’s-eye. And each was less carefully thought through, and with more risk of collateral damage than the last. He doesn’t care who gets hurt now, as long as he proves himself.”
“You think he’ll go after Reva.”
“Sooner or later. She didn’t cooperate. She’s not curled up in a cage crying over her dead husband and proclaiming her innocence. But we’re not going to give him a chance to go after her.”
She took the toast Roarke handed her, bit in. “We’re going to lock him down before that, before he starts contacting the targets again. He’ll try for Sparrow again sooner. I’m not averse to using that schmuck as bait, but I don’t like the idea of taking Bissel at the hospital and risking civilians. We need to track him down, take him in his hole, with minimal risk to civilians. Where would you hide? If you were staying in New York?”
It soothed his soul to sit with her like this, sharing a meal and the work that drove her. It settled, and it comforted, he found, as much as the lovemaking. And when he smiled at her, she smiled back.