Find Me (Corrupted Hearts Book 3)

by Tiffany Snow

  “Was telling me that you’re not my biological father part of putting those affairs in order?” I asked.

  “China,” Jackson said sharply. He was frowning at me.

  “What?” I asked. Had I said something wrong?

  “It’s a legit question,” Clark said, shooting him a look. “She has a right to know.”

  Dad was quiet, staring into his coffee mug. “Can you and I talk in private?” he asked me.

  I nodded at Clark and Jackson, who both rose and left the room.

  “I always thought, smart as you were, that you’d figure it out sooner,” he said.

  “It wasn’t something I was ever looking for, so why would I think such a thing?”

  He didn’t respond right away, and I had the sense that he was lost in memory. “Your mother,” he said at last, “she was somethin’. Beautiful. Smart as a whip. When we met, she’d just finished up college and moved back home to teach. I don’t know what she saw in me, but we married about six months later.

  “Your brothers came along, but we had some trouble,” he continued. “Couldn’t get pregnant again, though she wanted a girl. It was years later when you surprised us.”

  “I thought you went on a trip,” I said. “And that’s when it happened. My name. China.”

  But he just shook his head. “Your mother went. She was gone for a few months, wanting to be part of a missionary trip over there. When she came back, she was pregnant with you. Not far along, but it was pretty obvious when you were born that you weren’t mine.”

  “She was unfaithful, but you didn’t divorce?” I asked.

  He looked up from his mug for the first time. “I loved your mother. If she found someone else to give her what I couldn’t, I wasn’t going to punish her for that or deprive the boys of being with their mom.”

  Two things were becoming abundantly clear: 1) my dad had loved my mom, and 2) he had no idea she’d been covert CIA. At this point, I thought I could safely assume that my mom had been a sleeper agent, needed only for a particular set of circumstances. I didn’t know what those were, but apparently they’d sent her into Mark Danvers’s orbit long enough to produce me.

  I wasn’t about to disillusion Dad about what Mom’s real job had been. He’d done enough over the years, raising me after Mom died, all the while knowing I wasn’t his.

  “I guess that explains why you’ve never particularly warmed to me,” I said.

  His eyes were sad when he looked at me. “I’m sorry, China. I tried to provide for you and raise you the way your mom would’ve wanted. I’m not the most . . . emotional man under the best of circumstances. You were never mine, but you were hers. And I tried my best to honor that.”

  The truth was painful, but it was also freeing. I’d never known why I’d been treated differently, and, honestly, this was at least a more understandable reason than feeling as though I was blamed for surviving the car crash.

  Dad sighed, the lines on his face looked deeper, and I noticed his hand shook slightly with a tremor as he held his mug. I reached out and covered his hand with my own.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Mom would’ve been pleased that you took care of me.”

  “I want you to know,” he said, “that I’ve never mentioned any of this to Bill or Oslo. If you want to tell them or not, that’s up to you. But I gave you my name, and I’m not going to take it away just because you found out the truth.”

  “Okay. Thank you. Why don’t you go lie down for a while? You look tired. I know my way around.”

  His smile was faint. “That obvious, is it? Can’t keep going like I used to.”

  “It’s okay. Truly. Go rest.”

  With one last squeeze of his weathered hand, he rose and left the kitchen.

  I stayed at the table, the coffee getting cold, staring out the window. I felt an odd sense of peace—unusual, given the circumstances. Now I needed to figure out what we could do to help my dad.

  Footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned to see Jackson had returned. He took the seat next to me.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” I nodded, then told him the story.

  “It makes sense,” he said. “I take it you didn’t say anything about your mom?”

  “No. I didn’t see a need.” I hoped my mom had loved my dad and hadn’t just used him as a cover for years. “Is there anything we can do about his condition?”

  “I can make some calls, see if we can get him seen by a specialist.”

  I nodded. “That would be good. I don’t know what kind of insurance he has, but I doubt it covers much.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Clark’s getting the luggage from the car.”

  “Oh?” I scooted my chair back. “I’d better show him where to put it, then.” I left the kitchen as Jackson was taking his phone out to begin making calls.

  Clark had just stepped inside when I reached the foyer. Flakes were falling outside and had landed on his hair and shoulders. He was carrying my suitcase.

  “Where do you want it?” he asked.

  “Upstairs. I can take it.”

  He moved the suitcase beyond my reach. “Nice try. Lead the way.”

  We went up the creaking stairs and all the way to the end of the hall. My door was shut, as were most that we passed, and it was really cold. Dad must’ve shut off the vents upstairs to keep the gas bill down.

  I opened my door and flipped on the light.

  Everything was just as I’d left it, from the aqua-blue bedspread with brown polka dots to the dust-covered trophies on the shelves. There was a poster of Albert Einstein on one wall. The rest were bare.

  Clark set down my suitcase, looking around curiously. “What’re the trophies for?” he asked.

  “Math team, science fairs, that kind of thing.”

  My gaze was drawn to a photo on my desk. My mom and I, at the circus. I’d been about two at the time, and she’d sat me on the back of this big ceramic lion. She was standing next to me, and someone had taken our picture. We looked happy, both of us smiling. I’d had glasses even then.

  “Everything okay with your dad?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s fine. I just want to do what I can to help him.”

  “I take it Coop is calling in favors.”

  I nodded. “He’s doing what he can.”

  Clark turned me around, settling his hands on my shoulders. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” I said with a sigh. “I got a nap in the car and my head feels okay. I need to show you to Bill’s old room. You can sleep there.”

  Clark’s gaze was too penetrating, and I had to look away. His hands were still on my shoulders, but I didn’t feel solid underneath his touch. I felt as fragile as glass.

  “Look at me.” His voice was a low rasp that went right through me.

  “If I do,” I whispered, “I’m afraid I’ll fall apart.”

  There was a knock on the door, and I hurriedly moved away from Clark as Jackson poked his head in. “The rest of the family’s here,” he said.

  “Great. I’ll be right down.”

  Jackson gave Clark a look of warning, then closed the door.

  “What do you need?” Clark asked. “Just tell me.”

  “I need . . . I need . . . normal.” I looked up at him. “Just . . . normal.”

  His lips twitched and he reached behind me to my ponytail, tugging it a little tighter. Then he adjusted my glasses, pushing them up on my nose from where they’d slid down.

  “Normal,” he said. “No problem. Let’s go be normal.”

  17

  Heather, Oslo’s wife, had gone all out for dinner, hauling over two lasagnas, salad, garlic bread—the works. Mia had helped her, she said, which I took to be a good sign. Mia and her stepmom hadn’t always had an easy time of it, which was one of the reasons she’d been living with me.

  I expected conversation to be stilted and awkward around the table, but to my surprise, it wasn’t
. Dad sat at the head of the table, and Oslo took the other end. I sat next to Dad.

  Plates were passed and filled, and the low hum of conversation filled the dining room. It was a room we’d rarely used except for formal occasions, but it had more chairs than the kitchen table. The clink of silverware was punctuated with compliments to Heather on her cooking skills.

  Jackson was exchanging small talk with Dad while Clark teased Mia and charmed Heather. Bill was quiet for the most part, chiming in now and then with Jackson. Oslo seemed to be studying everyone, taking it all in. His eyes softened whenever they landed on Mia, and I thought he was probably glad to have her back home for a while, and seeing her and Heather get along.

  “So, have you and Jackson set a date yet?” Heather asked, dishing up a second helping for Bill.

  “A date for what?” I added more salad to my plate.

  Everyone went quiet. I looked up to find all eyes on me.

  “Dum dum dee dum, dum dum dee dum.” Clark sang the “Wedding March.”

  “Oh. Of course. The wedding.” My face got hot and I caught Jackson’s eye. “Um, no, not yet. We haven’t really . . . gotten that far.”

  “Will I get to be your maid of honor?” Mia piped up.

  I smiled at her. “Absolutely.”

  “Yesssss!”

  Everyone laughed at her enthusiasm, and I breathed a sigh of relief. As usual, Mia had saved me from my own awkwardness.

  The dishes were cleared away quickly since everyone pitched in and Dad retired early. He looked tired but happy, too, as though being around the whole family for something as simple as dinner had eased his physical pain.

  Mia approached me in the kitchen. “Aunt Chi, can I talk to you?”

  “Sure,” I said. We were alone for the moment as I dried some dishes and put them away. “What’s up?”

  She seemed nervous as she shifted from one foot to another.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked. Surely she hadn’t already had a fight with Heather. She’d only been home for a few hours.

  “Yes, it’s fine. It’s just that, I was wondering if you’d still want me around. You know, with you and Jackson getting married. You’ll be newlyweds and I’ll be a third wheel.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “I realize it may look like that from your perspective, but I love having you live with me. At first it took some getting used to, but now I don’t know what I’d do without you. Who’d make me eggs in the morning, or curl my hair?”

  Her smile looked relieved. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “But what about your parents?” I asked. “Surely they want you to move back home.”

  “I said I’d come home for the summer,” she replied. “I’d hate to switch schools in the middle of a semester anyway.” She paused. “I think it’s been good to have some space. Heather and I haven’t argued at all.”

  “Jackson said you and Oslo were arguing last night.”

  She nodded. “He was giving me the third degree about who my friends are, what I’ve been doing, how my grades are—you name it.”

  “He just worries about you.”

  She sighed. “I know. It’s just that my inner eight-year-old comes out when I’m with him, and even though I know I’m doing it, I just can’t stop.”

  “It’s the curse of being a teenager.”

  Mia sighed. “You’re right. But that means I’ll grow out of it, right?”

  I grinned at the long-suffering look on her face. “I’m sure you will.”

  Eventually, everyone left, and it was just Jackson, Clark, and me. We’d moved into the family room, and Clark had built a fire in the fireplace. It was the old-fashioned, real-wood-burning kind, and the sound and smell brought back childhood memories.

  “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” I asked, watching the flames dance.

  “Buckton’s security firm is in downtown Omaha,” Clark said. “We’ll go pay him a visit.”

  “Do you think he’ll know anything more than you do?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Maybe not. But at least we can warn him. If he agrees, we’ll set a trap. Lie in wait until he shows himself.”

  “If Mark Danvers is my real father, why would he want to kill me?” It was something that had been bothering me. “Both of you acted as though I wasn’t safe in the hospital. But I didn’t have anything to do with Operation Gemini.”

  “Right now we’re assuming Danvers is the shooter,” Clark said. “But that may be wrong. Whoever is targeting people, they’ve seen you with me and Coop. Better safe than sorry.”

  “The sooner we find this guy, the quicker we can get on with our lives,” Jackson said.

  I turned to look at him. “Were you a part of Operation Gemini, Jackson?” He hesitated. “No more lies. Not from you.”

  He cast a glance at Clark before returning his gaze to mine. “Yes.”

  “Tell me.”

  Jackson sighed as he took a seat on the sofa next to me. Clark sat opposite in a chair. The fire crackled merrily, and I wanted to hold my breath, almost afraid of whatever it was Jackson had been keeping secret.

  “It was six . . . seven years ago, something like that,” he said. “I’d just sold SocialSpeak and started Cysnet. There was a government contract. Top secret, like so many of them are. A real-time hack on a third-world government, so a team could infiltrate a secure facility.”

  Clark’s body went tense and I glanced from Jackson to him, then back again. Jackson was staring off into the distance as he spoke, as though reliving it.

  “There were two teams,” he continued. “Though neither of them knew about the other. My job was to disable the security so the teams could enter undetected. But there were two facilities. One team was essentially used as a decoy, to draw attention and any potentially lethal response.”

  He paused for a moment, seeming to need to collect himself back into the present. “During the mission, something went wrong, and I was told to trip the alarm on the decoy team. I didn’t want to. Everything seemed to be going well for both teams to get in and get out. I argued against it because . . . I was afraid men would die. Their blood would be on my hands.” He stopped again.

  “So what happened?” I asked, though I was afraid I already knew the answer.

  “They held a gun to my head. Literally. So . . . I did what I was told. And it all went to hell.”

  “That was my team you sentenced to die,” Clark said. “Only four of us made it out.” His voice was as cold as the arctic. “I had to leave my brother behind.”

  “I know,” Jackson said, his gaze finally resting on Clark. “I was there, listening as men were killed, as they ran for their lives. The other team was cleared. They achieved the objective and retreated without anyone knowing they were there.”

  “It was a setup?” I asked, dumbfounded. “They let those men go in there, knowing they were just . . . just Redshirts? Just cannon fodder? And you helped them?”

  No one spoke. My questions were rhetorical, but I was reeling. I didn’t think I could be surprised anymore by the things people did, and yet . . .

  “And Danvers was in charge of this?” I asked. “You know him? You met him? You’ve met my father?”

  Jackson’s gaze was steady. “He’s the one who held the gun to my head.”

  “You are such a fucking coward.” Clark was seething, his hands tightly fisted. “You killed those men—my brother—the same as if you’d pulled the trigger yourself.”

  “What would you have done?” Jackson lashed out. “Getting my brains blown out wasn’t going to help anyone.”

  “Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?”

  “Men lost their lives, and that’s a tragedy,” Jackson said. “But they also knew what they signed up for. They weren’t going to fucking Disneyland.”

  “They signed up for a government that’s supposed to have their backs, not treat them like they’re disposable—”

  Their voices were loud and getting
louder. I didn’t want them waking or upsetting my dad.

  “Both of you, knock it off,” I interrupted sharply. “You can duke it out later. Right now, it still makes no sense for Danvers to be the one deciding to off everyone years later. To me, it sounds more likely that one of the four members of the decoy team who escaped found out about it—like Clark just did—and decided on his own revenge.”

  “Taggert and Williams are both dead,” Clark said. “Me and Buckton are all that’s left of that team.”

  “Then it has to be Buckton doing this. And if he’s been running a security firm, then he still has the skills and equipment to pull this off. He’s been ‘out of the country,’ which could mean that he’s just been out of the office performing these hits. You two can’t just go waltzing in there when he gets back tomorrow. You could be walking into a trap.” My head was starting to hurt again, and I used both hands to rub my temples.

  Both men were quiet, thank the heavens. My glasses felt as though they weighed ten pounds, and I pulled them off, rubbing the bridge of my nose where they’d sat.

  “You need to rest,” Jackson said softly. “It’s been a long day.”

  For once I didn’t argue with him. “Okay. I guess we can figure out tomorrow what we’ll do.” If Buckton was the shooter, I could give that information to Dennon. He could send in the posse to round him up rather than Clark.

  Jackson stood and reached for me, but I pulled away. “I need to be by myself tonight,” I said. “I need to . . . not think. I’ll see you in the morning.” Trying to wrap my head around what decisions he’d made . . . it was hard. And playing armchair quarterback was easy, especially in hindsight.

  I left them both in the family room and went upstairs. My bedroom was slightly warmer, though I added an additional blanket for the bed and dug out a pair of fuzzy socks to go with my new pajamas. Victoria’s Secret has nothing on me, I mused, staring at myself in the mirror.

  With my hair down, I could see the bandage again. My glasses made me look as nerdy as ever, combined with the kid pajamas and tiger-striped fuzzy socks, I’d be carded buying cigarettes, much less alcohol.

  I stood at the window, looking out at the snow. The moon had come out briefly, lighting up the night so that it was as beautiful as a picture. I’d stood at this same window many times when I was younger, wanting a way out of the life I was living. Where no one understood me and I was a freak of nature.