Jose glanced at Stella and saw the answer in her eyes. There was no question for people like them, intel, and special ops. They were here for a mission and they had to see it through to completion.
He’d always understood that part of his mission.
But this need to take Stella and tuck her away somewhere—anywhere—safe and to hell with the cost to everyone else? That distraction was a hundred percent new.
***
“Henry, we have one final mission for you and then your debt will be paid.”
Cell phone pressed to his ear, he watched Jose James stand guard outside the room where Stella Carson spoke with her mother. James’s determination, his protectiveness damn near vibrated through the air.
He understood the feeling well. There’d been a time he’d thought he could protect his family from anything by sheer force of will.
“Hold on. I need to get somewhere I can talk.” Henry marched toward the hangar exit, trying to give off the air that he was working and to back the hell away.
Shoving through the door, he blinked at the harsh sun. God, he missed his little house in Virginia, the snowy winters, all the shit he’d griped about, taken for granted. “Why should I believe this is ever going to stop? That I’ll ever be free?”
“Because you’ll die on this mission, Henry. You won’t be a danger to your family ever again.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, holding onto that image of building a snowman with his wife and kid. “Or I could eat a gun now.”
“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.