“Adler,” he says, as the last person leaves. He walks over and closes the door. “I’m sending you to Puerto Rico.”
Sitting perfectly still, I practice what they taught me—don’t ever show anyone how much a certain piece of information affects you. “Okay. What’s in Puerto Rico?”
I think of Kandahar. Before that, I was in Syria. Before that, Lebanon. I’ve lived all over, actually. My first job was in Mexico. I wonder what awaits me in Puerto Rico. I look at Sandler, an older guy with curly grey hair and round glasses.
“You’ve done good work in Afghanistan, Adler. Very good work. But we need a station lead in San Juan. The current guy was… let’s just say we lost an asset. The cartels are getting ruthless, and some very dangerous men are using Puerto Rico as a base right now. The drug situation isn’t normally our forte, but the government has requested our help. You’re our best, so we’re sending you.”
I nod and place my hands together on the table. Don’t let him see how much this affects me. “And Kandahar?”
Sandler nods and walks to the door, opening it and effectively ending our meeting. I realize now that he never sat down. “I’m sending Deirdre.”
Steve Deirdre is one of the most incompetent men I know in my department. He’s going to fuck up everything I worked hard for during my three years there. But, like I said, no feelings anymore. Kandahar is no longer my problem. Giving Sandler a curt smile, I reach my hand out and shake his. “Sounds great, Sandler.”
Don’t show them how much this affects you.
“I’ll send the transfer information later today.”
I nod and leave through the open door. I nod at everyone I meet in the hallway, resisting the urge to ball my fists and/or punch the next smiling face that I see. I scan myself out of the building quickly, grabbing my car key from my front pocket. Walking in long strides, I get to my car—a small, white BMW—the complete opposite of my dad’s black SUVs and trucks. I turn the engine on, driving away as quickly as possible without seeming too reckless.
Once I get a few hundred feet away from the gated entrance, I pull the car over and begin to punch my steering wheel over, and over, and over. Letting out a guttural cry, I feel the tears begin to sting my eyes. This is my only time to let loose—away from the cameras, away from the bugs and the smiling faces. I worked so hard… and now I’m fucking powerless. Again. I can’t control it, and needless to say, I prefer to be in control. All my hard work… down the drain. I punch the steering wheel so hard my knuckle splits and begins to bleed.
Like I said, I don’t do well with change.
E L E V E N
Ben—Two Weeks Ago
San Juan, Puerto Rico
I SAW HER. Nina Cosway. I was sitting in a café, sipping a cappuccino, and she damn near walked right by me. I nearly choked. The sight of her undid me more than anything I’ve ever experienced. First, I went numb, my limbs in shock. Second, I stood all too quickly, knocking the cheap, wicker table over and causing a scene. My legs burned for her, my chest expanded and contracted, her name on my lips. Third, shame and regret, so potent it caused me to sit down on the curb a few feet away and rock back and forth.
Nina, my best friend. The one I betrayed. The one I yearned for, every day and every night. I’d been with other women. Of course I’d been with other women. I loved Nina with deep-rooted vigor, but I wasn’t a saint. And anyway, Nina and I were just friends when I left. There was never any indication of anything else. We were kids. But my God, I loved her with so much force that even today, seventeen years later, I could still feel her soft skin, and the sound of her cackling laugh. I wonder if she still has the same laugh.
She is my home, and after seeing her, all I want to do is go home.
The next day, I sit in the same café, at the same time, and she walks by. Long, ruby hair, pale skin with freckles—more freckles than she had seventeen years ago—and a deliciously curvy body. I can appreciate that now—now that we’re adults. I can appreciate and admire the woman she’s become, and if we do ever meet again, I hope she can appreciate the man I’ve become.
I repeat this process several times until one day, she doesn’t walk by. I panic, the thought of losing her again is too great. I walk around the whole city, keep an eye out for a white blouse and dark grey slacks. She must work somewhere that required the same uniform—a hotel, maybe? I pulled her file up on the work computer. She’s listed as an important asset because of her dad. We usually keep tabs on all family members, regardless if they’re active or not.
I found out about Henry’s death a few weeks after I started working for the CIA. I knew my father was involved intrinsically. Nina’s reports of a truck tailgating them, causing them to veer off the road, were made public. If he weren’t in federal prison for embezzlement, I would’ve killed him. Nina went on to live with her paternal grandparents, who also lived in Denver. Another rush of guilt floods me when I think of everything she had to go through that month. Both had everything to do with me. I was the reason for Henry’s death.
Shaking my head, I continue to scour the city for Nina. She works at the St. Regis in San Juan as a reservations manager, which is basically a nice term for receptionist. She’s not working today—I was able to download her current schedule—which is why I’m trekking all over the damn city to find her. I’m trailing a woman with a white blouse when I hear my phone ring.
“It’s Sandler,” he says quickly. “I don’t have much time to talk, but I thought you should know your father was just released on parole.”
My head spins. Parole? “I—but—” I falter. Don’t show him how much this information affects you. “How is that possible? He was sentenced to twenty-five years.”
Sandler doesn’t seem to notice my hesitation. “Good behavior. Overcrowding. And it was a white-collar crime.”
Feeling sick, I run my hands through my hair. “Keep an eye on him, Sandler.”
I hear Sandler mumble something in agreement, and then he says goodbye and hangs up. I pocket my phone and look up. The woman in the white blouse is gone. Turning around, I make my way back to the safe house, where our headquarters are. Now that my dad is back out in the world, I have important things to worry about.
He’s going to come after Nina. Just like he said he would when he was on trial. He said it cryptically, but I know. I understood.
“Mr. Adler, do you have any final statements before we read the sentence?”
He relaxes. He knows what’s about to happen. The court system isn’t nice to those who embezzle. It’s a very serious crime, and there is proof—lots of it. Dad never knew about the bugs. Thank God for Henry Cosway. He’s already confessed. He knows there’s no way out now. Vengeance is the only thing on his mind. I have no doubt it’ll fuel his time in jail. He stands and looks back at the camera, as if he knows I’ll watch this footage one day.
“Yes, thank you, Judge.” Brown-nosing asshole. “I just want to say that even though I’m sure that I’m about to spend the better part of my life in jail, and that my corporation days are over…” he hesitates and looks back at the camera again. Sick fuck. “There was once a man who had a daughter. They took everything from me. So while I may not be able to tell him how I feel when I get out of here, I will make sure I tell his daughter one day.”
It had given me chills. Thinking about it now, it still gives me chills. It was only a video—a video Sandler had given me upon recruiting me. It made me sick to see him again—I’d had a visceral reaction to the television screen. He’d gone after Henry. He’d gone after Nina. I was horrified. Unfortunately, there was no way to convince Sandler or the judge, both of whom I talked to, that he was referring to Nina, or that it was a veiled threat. But I knew.
Seventeen years of built-up tension—seventeen years of worry works its way into my veins, and I feel so physically sick. They should’ve kept him locked up. He’s a savage. He’s a vile human being, and if he comes anywhere near Nina, I’ll make sure I kill him first. I always
wanted to protect her from him. I always worked to keep that part of my life away from our friendship. Nina was so good. She didn’t deserve to know what I went through—what that monster did to me.
What that monster did to her father—the very person to save my life.
I will avenge Henry’s death. My father won’t lay a single fucking finger on Nina, now that I know he’s coming after her. Surely, he doesn’t have the resources to find where she resides? Even if he does, I’m here now, and he’s getting nowhere near her, even if I have to hire someone to watch her myself.
No, he won’t get near her. Ever.
I’ll make damn sure of that.
T W E L V E
Ben—Present
Isla Culebrita, Puerto Rico
AS MUCH AS I want to tell her everything, I stick with the highlights and leave out the night I murdered my father. I’ll tell her eventually. Besides, I’m sworn to silence regarding certain matters. And do you know what? She’s crying. She’s actually fucking crying. I choked her three goddamn times, and she’s crying for me.
“So you lived out the rest of your life in Montana? All because my dad helped you start a new life?”
I shake my head. “I lived in Montana for four years. By the time I was seventeen, I’d been approached by some people in the CIA. Your dad had put in a good word. They were waiting for me. Orphans like me make the best agents.”
Her pale grey eyes go wide, and fresh tears spring from them. “My dad died two weeks after you… after your accident.”
I’d heard as much. I didn’t find out for years, and by then it was too late. I was engrossed in the program, and I assumed Nina was happy somewhere, attending college or traveling the world. I thought about her every damn day.
“I know.” There’s so much more that I want to say. “Your father helped to put my father in jail.”
She sighs and shakes her head. Her forehead has a single crease going down the middle of it. She’s concerned. About me.
“I didn’t know your dad was in jail,” she whispers. “I never saw him around after you…”
“I guess your dad put the guys on his tail. He was arrested for embezzlement a year after I disappeared. He was released two weeks ago.” And then I killed him.
Now she looks thoroughly confused. “Why was he in Puerto Rico?” She sits down and puts her arms around her knees, bringing them into her chest. “What were you doing in Puerto Rico?”
Ah, the golden question. “I can’t really discuss it because of my job.” I clear my throat. I love using my job as an excuse. Things like—Sorry babe, I can’t stay the night and I can’t do commitment because of my job. Is that okay with you?—they’re lifesavers sometimes. Though now I’m not even sure if I have a job to go back to.
Seeing Nina in the flesh really threw me off my game. Touching her skin, feeling her again. Normally, I’m composed and diligent. I’ve tortured a man by slicing his fingers off one by one, all the while remaining perfectly calm. My co-worker Deirdre, on the other hand, was trembling like a leaf in the wind. Some people can handle it. I was handling it. Then everything went to shit.
The body isn’t even an issue. I left no trace of my DNA. My father was inebriated at the time. The local authorities will think he got into some sort of bar brawl, where knife violence was just a way of life, and wandered over to the resort, finally succumbing to the waves. No, they wouldn’t trace me to his murder. Sandler might, because he talked to me that night.
I’m pretty good at my job. It’s Nina that became my red herring—my aberration. By now, the hotel will have sent a search party. Again, I covered our tracks, even grabbing her purse and shoes from the trail as she lay unconscious in the sand. She seemingly disappeared from thin air.
I feel disgusted for throwing that rock and knocking her down. Touching her violently like that… I had no choice. Still, it went against every part of my core, every fiber of my body. It woke something up in me—some protective instinct that I thought would lay dormant for the rest of my life. Feelings I thought had perished. Being with her made me feel again.
I have to grit my teeth and think about something else whenever I think about what I almost did to her. But again, my job is cruel sometimes. It requires that I remove my humanity and only see it as one thing: a job. She witnessed a job, and by protocol, we must eliminate all innocent witnesses, no matter the case. The only exception are children under two. It’s a grim job, but it saves our asses most of the time. I’ve never done it before. Usually, my jobs don’t bear witnesses. I’m not sloppy. I’ve never been sloppy, until her. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t kill her. It’s one thing to torture a war criminal or a terrorist. It’s another thing to kill an innocent human being. To kill her.
Nina hasn’t said anything for a while. I’m watching her from across the room. God, this awful room. I would’ve gladly switched with her if I knew she wouldn’t try to escape, but I have a feeling she’d die trying to swim to the other island. She hasn’t changed. She’s still stubborn as hell. She’s cradling her knees, making her seem so fucking vulnerable.
“Can you let me go now?” she asks quietly, a strand of cinnamon-colored hair falling in front of her pixie face. Her eyes are slanted up at the outer corners, and her lips peak up as well, looking as though she’s always smirking. Her high cheekbones have become more pronounced with age. She’s gorgeous—more so than I ever could’ve imagined.
Her words cause me physical unease. I want to let her go. I want to trust that she won’t say anything. I know that this is all my fault. I should’ve walked away when I saw her sitting on that bench. I should’ve pretended that I didn’t catch her staring in horror. A part of me ran after her just so that I could touch that soft skin one last time. But she screamed and fought. I really had no choice.
And the irony—the one person to see what I was doing was her. The killing of the man intent on killing her.
My plan ended there. I disposed of the body, and knocked her unconscious when she endangered everything by yelling. I had to—I had to protect us from another witness. From there, things get a little hazy. My dad owned Isla Culebrita. His mother passed it down to him. It was one of his many prized possessions. Because he was grandfathered into the lease, which is good for one-hundred years, no one else could touch it.
The island, part of the archipelago of Puerto Rico, is named after its big sister island—Isla Culebra, or Island of the Snakes. Isla Culebrita translates to Island of the Little Snakes, though I’ve never seen any around. Thank God. Culebra is only 1.5 kilometers away. Isla Culebrita houses the oldest lighthouse in the Caribbean—the structure we’re now inside of. Accessible only by private boat from Culebra, it’s remote enough to keep us safe for a little while, but I don’t have an endgame in mind.
“No, I can’t let you go,” I say sternly.
I can tell she’s angry because her cheeks redden and she narrows her eyes in my direction. It’s terrifying, actually. She’s a spunky little one.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she groans, placing her face in her hands.
“Just because I told you my story, and just because we have a past, does not mean you have any power over me whatsoever. Are we clear?”
She snorts into her hands. Fucking ridiculous. “Benjamin Adler, you’ve turned into a real prick. Do you know that?”
Rage courses through me. Maybe it’s the fact that she knew me before, or maybe she just knows the right buttons to push. Either way, she’s downright infuriating. I wish I could tell her everything—the details of the night I took her. I was protecting her. She has no right to be mad at me. My job is thankless. Nina is thankless. The anger I feel about that bursts out of me.
“Eat your food. Or don’t. I don’t fucking care.” I kick the tray over to her, sending more of the food flying. She cries out and wipes her clothes off. I’ve managed to get the soup all over her. A small part of me feels remorseful. But I leave. I walk away, close the door, and jog down the stair
s—away from the girl who once told me she loved me in the dark.
T H I R T E E N
Nina—Present
Isla Culebrita, Puerto Rico
I FEEL THE fever start on my skin before I know it’s really there. Do you know that prickly feeling, the overly-sensitive feeling of your flesh when you have a fever? At first I think it’s the humid, sticky air. This air—I can practically feel it sucking on my skin. It’s not until a few hours later, when my shirt is wet from sweat, and my hair is sticking to my neck, that I actually think there might be a problem.
When Ben comes in to bring dinner, the smell of the fish causes me to vomit up all of the water I drank today. I know I’m not drinking enough, especially with a raging fever. I’m only going to the bathroom once a day. Of course my body is going to start shutting down.
I feel him hold my hair back as the rest of the liquid leaves my body. When I’m done, I crawl over to my blanket. Shivering, I lie down and close my eyes. I hear Ben clean up the mess, splashing water on the stone and sprinkling some sort of cleaning solution on it. My head spins. A minute later, I feel him force the tip of a water bottle to my lips.
“Drink,” he urges. “You’re sick. You need to stay hydrated. I’ll bring some soup up.”
I manage to take a few sips of water. When I’m done, I look at him with half-closed eyes.
“Why do you care? Let me die.”
I don’t hear his response. I feel his cold hand touch my forehead. That’s weird. It used to be warm. Am I that hot?
That Which Binds Us Page 8
