Mitch set his stance and pushed his hands into his hips. “Well, someone’s tune has certainly changed.”
Cash had already dropped his head back into that damned notebook again. But he lifted it to pin Mitch with a suddenly clear gaze. “That’s what happens when someone risks their own life to save my kid’s. She didn’t have to think about ordering Dex to protect the kids. Didn’t have to pull Mateo into that huddle when she went down. Doing that added an extreme amount of risk to her own life.”
Cash gestured with the hand holding the pencil. “You can measure people’s sincerity, integrity, and character in a million different ways, and maybe it’s because of my military background, maybe it’s because of what I went through at the Castle, but when someone is willing to risk their life to save someone else’s, they get an A plus in my book. That’s the kind of character that comes from the soul. You can’t teach—or fake—that shit.”
Mitch’s shoulders slumped. He lifted his hands out to the side. No point in debating the point of whether the means justifies the end. Because in this case, of course it would have been justified. Mitch just had to suck it up.
“Well.” He let his hands fall against his thighs. “This is all moot, isn’t it? That leaves me with one question.” He pulled out his phone, opened the picture of Halina he’d just taken, and handed the phone to Keira. “Is she going to leave me?”
Keira glanced at Luke, who met her gaze for a moment, then shrugged. Keira took the phone and put her fingers to the glass, tracing the image. Mitch waited a moment, but finally turned his back and rubbed his forehead.
He tried to realign his mind with the case and turned to Kai. “Anything different on the other footage?”
“No,” Kai said, expression solemn. “Just a lot of threats to kill you if you exposed Classified. And to kill her if she failed to stop you.”
He dropped his head back and let his gaze blur over the ceiling for a moment. Then drew a breath and turned his gaze to Keira.
The moment her eyes met his, he had his answer, and his stomach ached from the hit. “She’s going to run again,” he said, his voice rough. “I can see it on your face.”
Keira nodded. “She is . . . possessed . . . by the need to get away.”
Gil flipped news channels to try and catch every angle of what the media was calling “the chemical conspiracy of the decade.” Whoever had released that bomb in Syria had killed over a hundred people and left another couple hundred with radiation burns over most of their bodies. They would soon be added to the casualty list.
“Dumb fucks,” Gil swore at the screen.
A knock sounded on the door, but it didn’t open.
“Go away,” Gil yelled and flipped to another news channel.
The door creaked open an inch and the face of a young girl peeked in. Behind her one of the Secret Service agents pushed the door open.
The girl was about sixteen, wore bright blue scrubs, and carried a bouquet of flowers.
“What the fuck is this?” Gil asked, making the girl’s smile fall. She glanced over her shoulder at the agent.
“Flowers, sir,” the agent said with a use-your-eyes tone. “I’ve checked them for explosives and bugs. They’re clean.”
“I don’t want any fucking flowers. Where’s Peggy? She shouldn’t have let this come through.”
“Peggy’s on her dinner break, sir,” the agent said. “The other nurse is in another patient’s room.”
“It’s o-okay.” The girl’s face had gone white and she backed out of the room, right into the agent. “I’ll . . . j-just bring them to the children’s ward—”
“Get the card, Agent,” Gil said.
The girl pulled out a clear plastic stick holding the card and the agent took it from her shaking fingers. She scurried away as the agent walked to Gil’s bedside and handed him the card.
“Great security in this place. Who the hell knows my alias?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Go find out how this happened.”
The agent left the room and closed the door behind him. Gil looked at the front of the card—the gift shop downstairs. He knew who it was from. She’d done this a couple times before. Fury burned beneath his skin as he pulled the card from the envelope and read:
My dearest Gil,
You are constantly in my thoughts.
Never doubt my commitment to our prior arrangement.
Forever, Halina
Gil tossed the card aside and swiped his phone from the side table. He speed-dialed Young and listened to it ring, his gaze still on the television. The call rolled into voice mail.
Gil barked, “Call me.” He disconnected and stared out the window for a long moment. He thought of Abernathy, of what would happen to the program if Abernathy got Beloi’s research. Of what would happen if he got Beloi’s other files. Of what would happen if Abernathy were caught and talked.
Sweat trickled down his temple.
He made another call.
“Yes, sir?” the man answered in a low, cool voice.
“Your new target is Bruce Abernathy,” Gil said. “Major Bruce Abernathy.”
“I’m still working on—”
“Change of plans,” Gil said. “This is more important.”
“I’m close to Torrent,” the man said, his voice deep and slow. “If I find Torrent, I’ll find Abrute.”
“I understand,” Gil said. “And, as I said, this is more important.”
“You’re the boss.” He disconnected.
A weight fell instantly from Gil’s shoulders. A smile turned his mouth. He was powerful enough to order a kill even from a hospital bed.
He pushed the nurse’s call button and after a moment a harried, “Yes, Senator, this is Carla. Peggy’s still on her dinner break. What can I help you with?”
“Cake, Carla. I want chocolate cake.”
SIXTEEN
The mood on the plane was light—at least with everyone other than Mitch. If she didn’t know him as well as she did, she would have fallen for the cool veneer he’d been using to cover complex emotions he wasn’t sure what to do with.
He wanted to talk, she could tell by the occasional thoughtful looks her way, by his restless fidgeting. But he obviously wasn’t ready, because he hadn’t spoken a word to her in the hour since he’d herded her into the private space in the front of the plane, gestured for her to sit beside the window, then trapped her there by sitting in the aisle seat next to her.
He’d played with Kat, read to Mateo, talked strategy with the team, and was now talking on the phone to Owen Young, whom Halina had known in passing when she’d worked at DARPA all those years ago. But Mitch hadn’t said a word to her. Nor had he looked her in the eye. And though they used to be able to sit in comfortable silence forever, this wasn’t comfortable. She loved the feel of him close. Hated the turmoil bubbling just beneath the surface. Loathed the millions of miles of distance between them.
But Halina stared out at the clouds and reminded herself it was better to have the distance, because unless something drastically changed soon, she’d have to leave.
Mitch disconnected and put his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “Owen and Quaid are going to pick us up at the airport.”
Halina recognized the opening to a conversation for what it was. But she wasn’t anxious to take it and remained silent.
“Are you going to tell me when you’re leaving me,” he asked, staring blankly across the seating section at the faux-wood wall. “Or are you just going to leave?”