Almost Home: A Novel

by Pam Jenoff

  I hesitate, calculating the least I can say that will satisfy him. “Yes, but it’s not connected to Jared. It’s something else, Chris. Something to do with work.”

  “But I thought…” His expression changes, a deep crease forming across his brow. “Is that it?” he asks eagerly, stepping forward. There is an intensity to his voice that I have never heard before.

  I step back, puzzled. “What?”

  I notice then that he is pointing to my left hand. “The ring,” he asks, moving closer. “Can I see it?” he asks, reaching out his hand.

  A chill passes through me. How does Chris know about the ring? He must have seen me coming out of the bank and somehow figured out what I found in the safe-deposit box. But why does he care?

  I look nervously over my shoulder. Duncan won’t show if Chris is here; I need to get rid of him quickly. “Here.” I turn away slightly and start to slip off the ring. As it passes over my finger pad, I notice for the first time the ridged, uneven texture of the underside. I hold it up to the light. There are dark lines on the inside of the band. The ring is engraved. Did Jared inscribe our names on the inside, or perhaps a message of endearment to me?

  Drawing it closer to see the engraving, I gasp.

  I know then why Jared never gave me the ring. It is more than a declaration of love—it is a message to me, a voice from beyond the grave, left behind in case anything should happen to him. Inscribed on the ring is a series of numbers. The numbers I am sure are somehow connected to the bank account that Jared found, the one linking the KLA to the Nazi fund.

  I turn back toward Chris, flooded with disappointment. Now I understand his turning up here, his interest in the ring. Chris never cared about finding Jared’s killers. The whole thing was a set-up—he tricked me into finding the information Jared had hidden so he could confiscate it for the mob, or whoever he is working for, before I could turn it over to the government. My anger grows. Everything Sebastian said is true. But for how long had Chris been a traitor? I remember then what Tony said about Jared and Chris fighting at the boathouse. Was Chris somehow involved with Jared’s death as well?

  But Chris is still watching me expectantly, unaware that I am onto him. I slip the ring tightly back on my finger, then hold out my hand like a newly engaged fiancée, hoping the glance will be enough. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I manage. “I guess Jared was planning to surprise me but he never got the chance.”

  He reaches for my hand, trying to slide the ring from my finger. “What does it say?” he asks. “Can I see?”

  I pull back, covering my hand. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “But you said…” Chris steps toward me, hand outstretched for the ring. I cannot let him have it. I move backward, trying to put as much space between us as possible. My back brushes against the pillar of the bridge, blocking my retreat.

  “Chris, stop.”

  He is nearly on top of me now, his thick arms blocking me on either side. “It’s okay Jordie. Just give it to me and everything will be all right.” Putting one hand on my shoulder to hold me in place, he reaches for his back pocket. He has a gun, I think, panic seizing me. Desperately, I reach around and pull out my own pistol, closing my finger around the trigger. “What are you doing?” Chris catches my arm, trying to keep me from raising the gun, and as I struggle to pull away, my finger presses down harder. A shot rings out. He jerks back with a grunt, a stunned look on his face. Red seeps across the front of his shirt. “Jordie…?”

  “Oh, Chris,” I cry as he slumps against the wall. I am seized with relief and remorse at the same time. Dropping my gun, I help him to the ground. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to…”

  “Then why?” he asks weakly, grimacing.

  “You came after me. You were trying to take the ring, to give the information to the Albanians. I couldn’t let you.”

  “Albanians?” he gasps, a mixture of confusion and pain twisting his face. “No. I came because you asked me to…”

  Cold terror shoots through me. “What?”

  He pulls his hand from beneath his body and I see then that he was not reaching for a gun but for his mobile phone. “Your text,” he pants, his face a deathly gray. “You asked me to come here, to take the ring for safekeeping.”

  I take the phone from him and open it. There on the screen is a text message, asking Chris to meet me here, telling him I have found information inside the ring. My initials are at the bottom. But the sender’s number is not mine—it is the same number from which I received Duncan’s text message. And I had not known about the information inside the ring until just now.

  Someone had summoned Chris here, too, and tipped him off about the ring, pretending to be me. But who could have possibly known? Was it Duncan? I turn to Chris, but his eyes are closed, head rolled back. “Chris!” Dropping to my knees, I shake him but he does not move. I’ve got to get help. I open the phone, but the signal is too weak, blocked by the overpass. I do not want to leave him, but I have no choice. “Hang on. I’ll be back in a second.” I look in both directions down the deserted path, then start for the road. But a dark figure appears in front of me, blocking my way. Duncan, I think, but as he steps into the glow of the streetlight, my jaw drops.

  There, standing in front of me, is Sebastian.

  “Sebastian?” I stop, staring at him in disbelief. What is he doing here? This time I had not called him for help. “Thank God you’re here. I received a text from Duncan and came here to meet him, but Chris showed up instead somehow. And Chris’s been shot, that is, I accidentally shot him.”

  “I know.” He smiles. “Thank you for that. Saved me the trouble.” I notice then the pistol, drawn low at his waist.

  “I don’t understand.” A chill shoots up my spine. “You…”

  “Sent you the text? Yes. Did you really think that coward Lauder would come back to London?”

  My stomach twists. “And you texted Chris too.”

  He grins, his face a twisted mask I do not recognize. “Poor fool really was just a guy who cared about his friend. Wrong place, wrong time.” I can tell from the casual way he glances over his shoulder that he thinks Chris is dead. “But I’m afraid the time for explanations is running short.” He holds out his hand. “Ring, please.”

  Sebastian knows about the ring—but how? I hesitate, not wanting to acknowledge the realization that crashes down on me like an icy wave. Sebastian set Chris up, tried to make me think that he was the traitor, when in fact it was Sebastian all along who was working for the mob, trying to get Jared’s information before I could turn it over to the government.

  “I don’t understand.” I pause uncertainly, eyeing my gun, which lies on the ground by Chris where I dropped it, too far away for me to reach. I need to stall him, figure out how to keep him from getting the ring. But Chris needs help now, before it is too late—and if he moans or does anything to give away that he is alive, Sebastian may finish him. I lick my lips, stalling for time. “I thought we—”

  “Liked each other? You’re an attractive woman, Jordan. I’ll give you that. Under different circumstances, we might have had something. But here you were just in the way.”

  “Sophie, too?” He does not answer. “But why?”

  He hesitates and I can tell he is wondering how much to say. Then he shrugs. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now.” And in those six icy words, I know that he means to kill me as well. “We had to stop the information from getting to the government.”

  “How long have you been working for the Albanians?” I demand. Had he developed some sort of allegiance to the mob during his years in the Balkans or did it go back even further?

  A harsh laugh rips from his throat. “The Albanians?” Without warning, he lunges for me, pinning me against the bridge pillar, slamming the back of my head against the stone, the very same spot on my head I’d hurt just a day earlier. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to cry out against the fireworks of pain, not wanting to rouse Ch
ris. Sebastian presses his body hard against mine, pinning my arms to my sides as he reaches into my pocket, then my bag, searching for the ring. I can feel every inch of him against me, the desire that this power brings out in him.

  He takes the box from my bag and opens it, his eyes widening slightly as he realizes it is empty. “Where’s the ring?” he demands and before I can answer, he draws his hand back, slamming me across the face with his gun. Blood spurts from my lip and splashes across his cheek. I close my eyes, bracing for another blow. The ring is the only thing that is keeping him from killing me. Then a look of realization crosses his face and he reaches down and grabs my hand. I struggle to pull away, but it is too late: he pulls the ring from my finger and holds it up to the light. “You sentimental fool. That’s the key to forty-six million dollars and you’re wearing it like a lovesick schoolgirl.”

  He shoves the ring into his pocket. Then he looks over his shoulder in both directions and I can feel him calculating the risk of another gunshot, the attention it might bring. Still holding me firmly in place, he brings his hands to my throat, feeling around my neck for my carotid artery. He’s trying to find the pressure point, I realize, panicking. With the right choke hold, he can cut off the blood supply to my brain. I will be unconscious in seconds, then dead in less than a minute.

  I try to kick but it is useless. His fingers are pressing down harder on the base of my neck. My vision begins to blur, dark spots appearing in front of me. “Just let go,” he says softly, as though rocking a baby to sleep. For a second I see Jared hovering beside me.

  In the distance, tires screech faintly. It’s a dream, I think. But there are footsteps, growing louder and more real. Sebastian loosens his grip slightly as he turns in the direction of the noise, and as he does I inhale sharply, then slam my forehead into his nose. He cries out as he falls away from me. I look toward the direction of the footsteps. A man I faintly recognize as one of the security detail from Sarah’s hospital room scrambles down the hill, his weapon trained on Sebastian, who has recovered and is climbing to his feet.

  “Glad you’ve arrived, mate,” Sebastian says brightly to the guard. “Sebastian Hodges, Serious Organised Crime Agency. I’ve just caught this American diplomat passing classified material to this bloke.” He gestures toward Chris with his head. “He came at me and I had no choice but to shoot him.”

  “He’s lying.” I cry out. The officer looks from Sebastian to me, then back again and for a minute I think he is going to believe Sebastian. “You’ve got to stop him. Please.”

  “All right, folks,” he says. “Let me call an ambulance and then we’ll all go back to the station and sort this out.” But Sebastian is moving now, raising his gun. I lunge after him, but it is too late: he points the gun at me, backing away.

  From the road above come sirens, growing louder. “It’s over, Hodges,” the officer says, his gun trained on Sebastian. “Give yourself up.”

  But Sebastian stares at me evenly, a man undefeated. “Sorry Jordan,” he says, raising his gun to his mouth. Then, his eyes not leaving mine, he puts it inside and pulls the trigger.

  chapter TWENTY-TWO

  I SIT UP AND stretch, blinking my eyes against the sunlight that streams in through the window, trying to figure out where I am. From behind the sofa on which I lay comes the sound of glasses clinking, wheels rolling on linoleum floor. Sarah’s flat, I remember.

  I stand and walk to the kitchen, where Sarah is pulling silverware from a drawer. “Good morning.”

  “Morning?” She laughs lightly, gesturing to the window. “It’s nearly dinnertime. I ordered us some Chinese takeaway. It should be here soon.”

  I look at her, confused. “I slept all day? I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “You needed it,” she replies. She’s right. Last night was the first time I’ve gotten any real sleep in weeks. She points to a cabinet above the counter that is out of her reach. “When did you get back, three, four?”

  “Sometime before dawn.” I pull down two plates from the stack she indicates. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “I didn’t even hear you come in. How’s Chris?”

  “Better. He’s conscious now.” I swallow over the lump in my throat. “The doctors say that he’ll be fine.”

  It has been more than a week since the confrontation at Embankment. Chris had emergency surgery to repair a tear in his colon where the bullet passed through. But he developed an infection as a complication from the operation and drifted in and out of consciousness as the doctors struggled to bring down his fever. I spent almost every minute at the hospital, leaving only to check in once at the embassy for debriefing and to attend the memorial service held for Sophie at a nearby church. As I kept vigil by Chris’s bedside, listening to him babble deliriously, my heart broke. I did this to him. He had to be all right.

  Finally, last night, as I lay half doubled over against the edge of his mattress, my head buried in my arms, I felt movement, his fingers brushing against my hair. “Jordie.”

  “Hey,” I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “You’re awake.” I ran my hand over his brow, which was palpably cooler.

  He paused, considering. “My stomach hurts.”

  “You’re in the hospital. You had surgery, but you’re all right now. Do you remember what happened?” He nodded. My eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry. I never should have doubted you.”

  “It’s okay,” he replied, stroking my hand. “I can see how you might have thought it was me. I mean, I was kind of obsessive, you know?” He breathed hard, determined to speak. “When we were at college, I was on top of the world. But after Jared died, things just seemed to fall apart. My career, my relationship with Caren—I couldn’t make anything work. I kept thinking if I could go back to that night, change what happened…”

  “I know.” It’s a place I’ve been a thousand times in my own mind. But Chris let it take over his. “It was Sebastian all along it seems, working for the Albanian mob. They killed Jared, for knowing too much about the Nazi money they had, for trying to tell the truth. But we were able to turn the information about the bank account that Jared found over to the government. They’ll be able to use it to freeze the mob’s assets, prosecute those who have been laundering money for them. Jared’s mission will be accomplished at last.”

  “So it’s over now?”

  “It’s over.” I watched as first relief, then uncertainty, washed over his face. The quest that consumed him for so long has been fulfilled.

  “You should go get some rest,” he said. “You’re welcome to use my place.”

  I stood to leave. “Thanks, but I need to check on Sarah. She was discharged a few days ago.”

  “That’s great news.” He hesitated, then released my hand. “Good-bye, Jordan.”

  “I’ll check on you later,” I promised. And though I knew I would, I also knew that things would be different now.

  Afterward, I came back to Sarah’s, collapsing onto the couch and falling into a deep sleep. “It will still be a while until the food gets here,” Sarah says now. “I left out a fresh towel and some clothes, if you want to have a shower.”

  Noticing then my wrinkled clothes, I walk to the bathroom and undress. Then I turn on the hot water tap in the shower full blast, welcoming the scalding pressure against my skin. Sebastian appears in my mind. I see his face, twisted in the moonlight, ready to kill me to get the information he wanted. I still cannot believe it was him. I always prided myself on my instincts about people. But I liked Sebastian; I thought we could be close. How could I have been so wrong? I have only spoken to Mo a few times briefly since the night of the shooting, but she seemed as surprised as I was by Sebastian’s betrayal. I am eager to get to work tomorrow, to find out more about why he did it, what they’ve learned about the person he really was.

  A few minutes later, I step out of the bathroom in the too-long cotton shirt and jeans Sarah left for me, still towel-drying my hair. I carry the plates of Chinese food she pr
epared from the kitchen to the living room and set them down on the coffee table, then refold the blanket Sarah placed over me when I was sleeping.

  “So how are you doing?” she asks between bites of fried rice.

  I hesitate, considering the question. “I don’t know. I mean, for the past week, all I could think about was Chris. But now that he’s all right, there’s everything else. Like Sebastian. How could I have been so wrong about him?”

  “Jordie, there was no way you could have known.”

  “Maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact that I blamed the wrong man. I almost killed Chris. And I would be dead myself.” I pause. “If not for your boyfriend.”

  “Oh, Jordie!” Sarah’s cheeks color. At least one of my suspicions had proved correct: Officer Ryan Giles has a crush on Sarah. The night I left her hospital room so abruptly to meet Duncan, she’d been concerned and asked him to send a colleague after me to check. The guard arrived just in time to stop Sebastian from killing me. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she adds.

  “Well he’d certainly like to be.” Even through my concern for Chris, I’d noticed how attentive Officer Giles was to Sarah in the hospital, how he insisted on escorting her home when she was discharged. A bouquet of tulips from him sits in a vase by the window.

  She shakes her head. “We enjoy each other’s company, that’s all. Besides, what kind of future can he expect with me?”

  “A wonderful one,” I reply quickly. “Full of love and family.” She does not reply. “Anyway, he said he’d take leave to accompany you to Geneva. Have you given any more thought to that program?” Another good thing besides Officer Giles came out of Sarah’s hospital stay: a visiting doctor told her about a promising new Swiss clinical trial for ALS patients. He thought she’d be perfect, offered to refer her.

  She shrugs. “I completed the paperwork, but there’s a waiting list so it’s a long shot. We’ll see what happens. Anyhow, you were saying about Sebastian.”

  I slump back in my chair. “I never expected it, you know? I mean any of it, this crazy assignment, the link to Jared. People getting killed. I mean, when I got your letter, I thought I’d take the transfer to London and spend a couple of years pushing—”