“Henry, you don’t want to do that.”
“Why the hell not?”
“We can’t let it be that simple for you or word will spread and others might get the same idea to escape their obligation to us,” he spoke patronizingly—and without the voice distorter. This truly was the end if he wasn’t worried about his voice being recognized. “Do what we ask and your daughter will live as a sign to others we keep our word—as long as you follow our orders.”
His throat clogged with the truth he already knew but had to ask. “And Charlotte?”
“Your wife’s already gone.”
He doubled over, grabbed his knees, and fought back the urge to vomit.
“But your daughter can walk away from this alive. Little Ellie can grow up with her cousins in your sister’s home where no one gambles with her future.”
Like he needed the reminder this was all his fault, how he’d justified his addiction, then justified the things he’d done to hide his secret. “What do you want me to do?”
“You will shoot the vice president’s wife. She doesn’t have to die, but an injury to her will create chaos. And continued chaos in that region equals free trade of goods and information. We don’t need to get into the gory details. You’re a smart man, Henry.”
A smart man? More like a dead man walking.
***
Stella squeezed the doorknob and searched for the will to pull the door open. Her mother waited on the other side and Smith had given them ten minutes to “talk” before they went to work. The reality still hadn’t settled in her brain. She’d barely had time to process her “dead” mother had worked for the CIA. Then to learn in such a shocking fashion that her mother was still alive? She should be rejoicing… if it weren’t for the searing betrayal. They’d even been given a body to bury…
What the hell had Melanie Carson been doing for the past fourteen years while her family grieved for her?
Anger fueled Stella’s feet. She opened the door and charged inside. Her mother sat alone in an industrial metal chair, the hangar walls and beams stark around her. Memories of a trip to the beach sucker punched her with the scent of peanut butter sandwiches and sunscreen.
She should sit. Should. But she stayed against the door instead. “Mr. Smith says we have ten minutes, so let’s cut straight to the chase. You’ve been alive this whole time.”
“Yes, Stella, I have,” her mother said, her voice a bit lower pitched than Stella remembered, but still familiar.
The last time she’d talked to Melanie, they’d gone to the mall, shopping for Stella’s school clothes. She’d tortured herself for years regretting her last words to her mom had been I hate you. Now to learn all this time her mother had been alive?
How dare she sit there so poised and regal as if they were simply meeting for lunch? “A postcard would have been nice.”
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t communicate with anyone in my former life.” Her mother swept her scarf off her head, fully uncovering her chestnut hair—and strands of silver that caught Stella unaware.
She pushed back distracting emotions, sliding into a chair, her shaking knees close to betraying her. “Are you telling me you were in witness protection?”
“In a sense, but deeper.”
Willing her heart out of her throat, Stella counted bolts in the beams…
Melanie smiled. “What are you counting?”
“What?” She sat up straighter, startled.
“You always did that when you were little, counting to calm yourself… crayons, stairs, roadside signs.”
Stella’s already thread-thin control snapped. “How would you know what I’m like anymore?” She smacked the table, leaning forward. “You haven’t bothered to speak to me since I was fifteen years old.”
“Would you believe me if I said I did it for your own safety?” She twisted the headscarf between her fingers.
That took a little wind out of her sails and made sense. Her mother had been an agent, and so many things could go wrong for operatives that would change life forever. But damn it, she didn’t want to feel sorry for her mother. “Where have you been all this time?”
“Teaching at an orphan school, here in Africa.”
“Of course. You always did love this place.” She couldn’t help the bitterness in her voice. Her mom had cared more about this country and its people than her own family.>“Well, trust me. Even I’m not that good of an actress.” Stella’s mouth tightened into a grim line.