Chương 8
Mercer’s expression changed.
“You don’t?”
“He requested compartment separation after Prague.”
“You agreed?”
“He had earned it.”
Mercer swore under his breath.
Shaw looked at him.
“Can we reach him?”
“Not through normal channels.”
I glanced toward the hallway.
“Which means if Kessler recognized him, Collins may have no idea.”
Mercer pulled out his phone.
“I’ll have headquarters initiate a restricted contact trace.”
“No broad alert.”
His eyes lifted.
“Kessler may still have access somewhere inside the system.”
“That is speculation.”
“Yes.”
“Useful speculation?”
“I think so.”
Mercer considered it.
“Fine.”
He typed with both thumbs.
Diane sat very still.
Her hands had stopped trembling.
That worried me more than when they had.
“Emma.”
I looked at her.
“Did my daughter put that man in danger?”
“I don’t know.”
“She sent the picture.”
“Yes.”
“So she did.”
“Intent matters.”
“Not to the person who gets hurt.”
There was nothing to say to that.
She looked toward the door Lauren had disappeared behind.
“I taught her not to open attachments from strangers.”
The absurdity of the sentence almost broke something in me.
Diane gave a tiny laugh that turned into a breath.
“I spent twenty years telling my children not to give personal information to people online.”
Mercer looked away.
“She’s thirty-one years old, and apparently I should have added war criminals to the list.”
“Kessler was never convicted of war crimes,” I said automatically.
Diane stared at me.
“That is the least comforting correction anyone has ever made.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Sorry.”
It was the first ordinary word I had said in several minutes.
A security officer entered with a tablet.
“Major.”
Shaw took it.
The photograph appeared on the screen.
I did not need to zoom in.
There we were outside the courthouse in Tacoma.
Michael looked younger and slightly terrified.
I wore a cream dress that cost ninety dollars because I had refused to spend more on something I would wear once.
Diane stood beside us holding a bouquet she bought at a grocery store after the florist lost the order.
Collins was behind my right shoulder, pretending he had wandered accidentally into the frame.
His sunglasses were ridiculous.
His tie was crooked.
I stared at his face.
Seven years of hidden architecture had been reduced to pixels on a screen sent by a woman who wanted to impress a recruiter.
Shaw zoomed in.
“Could Kessler identify him from this?”
“Yes.”
“Even after this long?”
“He would identify the posture before the face.”
Diane looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
“Collins injured his left knee before I knew him.”
I pointed.
“He compensates when he stands.”
Shaw studied the image.
“To me he looks like a man at a courthouse.”
“To Kessler he might look like a man he spent two years trying to find.”
Mercer took the tablet.
“Was Collins officially listed as dead?”
“No.”
“Presumed?”
“Operationally.”
“That is not a legal status.”
“I know.”
Diane rubbed her palms over her dress.
“Does anyone in this family have a normal job?”
Nobody answered.
The door opened again.
This time Lauren appeared.
Two investigators stayed behind her.
She had removed her heels and was carrying them by the straps.
Her makeup had smudged under one eye.
For once, she did not look polished or amused or superior.
She looked young.
“Mom.”
Diane stood.
Lauren started toward her.
Diane did not move.
That stopped her.
“Why did you send him the photograph?”
Lauren’s mouth opened.
“I didn’t know.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I thought he was helping me.”
“With what?”
“A job.”
Diane shook her head.
“Four months of messages for a job?”
Lauren looked toward me.
The old resentment flickered back because resentment was easier than shame.
“He knew things.”
“About me?”
“Yes.”
“What things?”
“That your work history was fake.”
Michael’s voice came from the hallway.
“Stop.”
Everyone turned.
He stood beside a security officer who looked as though he had lost an argument about whether a captain could walk ten yards without permission.
Michael entered.
His face had changed.
The anger was still there, but it had settled into something quieter.
More dangerous.
He looked at Lauren.
“Stop talking about her like this is still some family gossip.”
Lauren’s eyes filled.
“I didn’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I didn’t.”
“You sent a stranger our marriage license.”
“He wasn’t a stranger.”
“You had never met him.”
“We had video calls.”
“That makes him a stranger with good Wi-Fi.”
She flinched.
Under any other circumstances, I might have appreciated the line.
Michael saw me almost react.
For a second, something familiar passed between us.
Then he remembered why we were here.
It vanished.
Lauren looked at me.
“He said he could get me into Graydon Strategic.”
I knew the company.
Large enough to sound prestigious at a dinner table.
Small enough to hire people who liked proximity to classified work.
“What position?”
“Director of government partnerships.”
Michael blinked.
“You’ve been in your current job four years.”
“I know.”
“You’re a senior associate.”
“I know.”
“And somebody offered to make you a director?”
Lauren’s face hardened.
“You don’t have to say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m too stupid to deserve it.”
Michael stepped forward.
“This is not about whether you deserved a promotion.”
“It always is with you.”
“Lauren.”
“No.”
She pointed at him with one shoe still hanging from her hand.
“You got Dad’s approval without trying.”
Michael actually laughed.
“Are you insane?”
“At least he respected you.”
“He respected the uniform.”
“That sounds convenient now.”
Diane closed her eyes.
There it was.
The old family argument surfacing inside a national security investigation because families do not become different people just because the stakes improve.
Mercer looked at me.
I could tell he wanted to interrupt.
I shook my head slightly.
Lauren needed to keep talking.
Michael took a breath.
“What did Kessler tell you about Emma?”
Lauren looked at me again.
“That she was lying to us.”
May you like
“Specific.”
“That her employment records were manufactured.”
