by Meli Raine
“How’s your daughter?” I ask Silas, suddenly remembering the call I overheard but realizing too late, in the throes of hazy waking up, that I just revealed I was listening to him on the phone last night.
“Daughter?” His eyebrows shoot up like stomp rockets.
“She screamed into the phone last night,” I scramble, trying to cover my tracks. “Uh, I could hear her.”
“Oh. That. She’s fine.” Silas holds one finger up to me and points to his phone, as if he has an important call. Alice stands, smoothing the front of her colorful caftan. I’m about to ask Silas more about the little girl, but Alice gives me an inscrutable look that suddenly makes me think it’s not so wise to pry.
“You must be hungry,” she says to me. “Silas, when your wife wakes up, do you bring her coffee?”
“What? Wife? What?” he asks, his reaction so brutally honest and completely befuddled I can’t help laughing.
“You don’t have a wife?” Alice asks, definitely prying.
“No.”
Alice pats my hand, smirks, and walks away, leaving me with a tense silence that is now painfully awkward as well.
Silas pours me a cup of coffee from a carafe and walks to the fridge, pulling out a small platter of cheeses and olives. On the counter, there’s a small plate of crackers. He puts it all together in front of me, urging with a nudge for me to eat.
“She didn’t ask me whether I had a husband.” One corner of his mouth goes up.
“Do you?”
“No. What about you?”
“You seriously think I could hide a husband from you? From Drew? From anyone in government? Oh, that’s right. I forgot to mention him. He’s back home refinishing the deck and taking care of our pug puppy. That husband I’ve been ignoring all this time.”
“Good point,” he says, plucking a piece of cheese from the plate and popping it in his mouth.
I take a long, shallow sip of my hot coffee and give him what is supposed to be a withering look. He grins back and says, “Hey. I’m sorry about our conversation on the plane. It won’t happen again.” He seems genuine. Authentic. Silas never struck me as the kind of man–unlike Drew–who would lie easily for the sake of a greater mission.
It’s not that Silas wouldn’t lie. Any well-trained person in his position would–and should.
It’s just that it isn’t second nature.
“Why won’t it happen again?” I ask, truly curious.
He takes my question as a challenge. “You make it very hard to be nice to you.”
I recoil in surprise. “What?”
“You do. I get that you’re defensive. Anyone in your shoes would be. But you–”
“I want to know why. Why would you decide to change how you treat me?” I continue, pressing him.
He bristles. “I’m not changing. I was never set on a particular way to begin with.”
I make a hooting sounds of mockery. “Right.”
“New evidence makes logical people change course,” he adds, trying again.
“What new evidence do you have about me?” I ask, eyeing him with suspicion.
“Plenty.”
“Documents? Pictures? Records?”
“My own two eyes.”
“Those aren’t going to help me in the court of public opinion.”
“Good thing I don’t care about what other people think,” he says softly. It has more power than a shout.
“How old is your daughter?” I ask, the question lingering in my head.
“My daughter? I don’t have a daughter.”
“But you said–”
“You assumed. She’s my niece. And she’s five.” His whole face transforms when he talks about her, every part of him going paternal and sweet, like he can’t help himself.
“Five is the best age! Is she into princess stuff?”
“Yes,” he says, starting to hum the song “Let It Go” from the movie Frozen.
I hum along, too.
“What’s her name?” I ask when we’re done.
“Kelly. She’s my only niece. Mom’s only grandchild, and the apple of her eye.” This is the first time Silas has offered up information about himself that I haven’t asked directly.
It’s nice.
“Does she love Candyland? Does she make you let her paint your nails and put your hair in bows?”
Silas reaches up and brushes his fingers through his hair. “I plead the Fifth.”
We share a laugh that feels so good. I am groggy from too much sleep but still feel a thrill at the friendliness. I wonder what’s making him thaw, but I won’t ask more questions about his state. Sounds like talking about Kelly is fair game, though.
“Do you have a picture of her?” I ask.
He’s suddenly wary, and I realize my mistake.
“It’s okay,” I say, holding up my palm. “I get it. Privacy.”
“Yes.” As if he’s having second thoughts, his eyes drift to the right and he frowns slightly. “She looks like you.”
“She does?”
“Same shape of eyes.” He studies me. “Same full-faced smile. It’s a little uncanny.”
“Is she your sister or brother’s child?”
“I only have one sister.”
“And does your sister look like me?”
“No. Not really. Same hair color -- not your dyed hair. That’s it.”
“Genetics are a roll of the dice.”
“I guess so.”
I look outside, where the moon is blending with the last streak of pink in the nighttime sky. I nod toward the outdoors and he leans past me, opening the door for us both. I grab my coffee and prepare to walk outside barefoot, not caring.
“When I was a freshman in college, I almost went into early childhood education. I would love to work with little kids.”
“Why didn’t you?” he asks.
“Money. My mother used to say, ‘You have to be well off or marry well to live on a nursery school teacher’s salary.’”
“Sounds old-fashioned.” Chin tipping down, he looks up at me with a playful, chiding expression.
“She was practical. I liked math, loved coding, so... computer science it was.”
“And now?”
“And now? Now I can’t get a job scooping dog poop. No one wants me. I’m blacklisted everywhere.”
“How do you plan to rebuild?” Silas asks, the question casual.
“I don’t know. It’s been suggested I change my name. Move to another country. Completely reboot my life. Erase my hard drive and start anew. But... could you do that?”
“How can you not? I see what you go through. I see the stuff we filter so you don’t have to read it. I know how many people are actively talking about raping and killing you. The bounties people are offering for nude selfies of you.” He peers at me. “Are there any out there?”
“How did we get from me teaching little kids to naked selfies?”
“This is a job about information, Jane.” His eyes flash with amusement. “It’s a tough job, but someone has to find your naked selfies. For security purposes only, of course.”
Is he flirting?
Is Silas Gentian actually flirting with me?
Bzzzz.
He looks at his phone, his entire demeanor changing. It’s like an icy wind hitting you on a balmy day.
“Work. Need to get back. Talk to you later.” Turning on his heel, Silas leaves me, jogging around Alice’s studio and toward the main house, his body fit and his pace all business.
And nothing but.
Chapter 19
To my surprise, the half-cup of coffee I drank doesn’t keep me up. When I return to the house, I find a note from Alice:
* * *
I’m old.
Don’t get old.
Off to bed.
See you in the morning.
* * *
It’s written in an old-fashioned hand, the kind people say Millennials can’t read, cursive with a practiced stea
diness that makes the writing almost a work of art.
By midnight I’m in bed.
At some point, my eyes close and my subconscious drifts off, leaving me with a second dreamless night’s sleep.
Maybe–just maybe–my life is improving.
The burst of sunlight that greets me when I wake up is blindingly simple. It’s just light. The sun came up. The world didn’t end. My problems are just that–problems. I am not a problem, though.
The guest wing at Alice’s ranch has a lovely kitchen in it, and as I walk into the living room I smell the telltale scent of perfection.
“Coffee?” I ask, my head pounding from caffeine deprivation.
Silas pulls the nearly full pot from the coffee machine and pours me a mug. “Cream and sugar on that tray,” he says, motioning toward the table. A few bagels, some cream cheese, and a small bowl of oranges grace the tabletop.
“Thanks.”
“Alice says that’s not a proper breakfast, so not to eat too much. We’re expected for brunch at eleven.”
“This is a big breakfast by my standards. I usually just drink coffee until lunch.”
Silas smiles. “Same here. Intermittent fasting?”
I shake my head. I’m not even sure what that means. “Too lazy to cook.”
The laugh he offers is much appreciated. So now I get friendly Silas. Nice.
Seriously.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” he asks me.
“You tell me. You’re in charge.”
“I’m not the boss of you.”
The air feels different with those words, his intensity out of place, eyes burning for me as he says them slowly. There’s a double entendre I don’t get, but it instantly drives a pulse between my legs, my skin exquisitely sensitive everywhere, my arm brushing against my nipple and making me struggle not to show my arousal.
We’re looking at each other, and I keep thinking he’s about to say, “But I want to be.” An impulse so strong, I can barely control it washes over me, trying to make me take the next step, push this forward, be bold.
But no.
I can’t.
I just... can’t.
“Jane,” he says, his voice so rough, so layered. He takes a step toward me and my hands fly up to my hair as it dawns on me I must be a mess.
“Silas, I–”
He’s next to me, his face impassive, eyes full of emotion as we stand, suspended in place, trying to find our way to each other. As seconds roll by, he moves closer.
I can’t. I can’t bridge the distance between us. I can’t take the chance and be rejected.
I just can’t.
It would kill me. Like a car bomb, it would burn me to the ground before I even knew what happened.
He moves, though, an answered prayer, a ray of sunshine on a dismal day, a double rainbow in the distance after a storm. We’re inches from each other and he touches the back of my hand, his mouth starting to move to ask a question.
Or maybe to come in for a kiss?
Bzzzz.
I jolt, flailing so much I dump my coffee on its side, Silas looking away and digging in his pants pocket quickly. He looks at his text. The expression on his face is so filled with disgust.
All the attraction, the ripe potential in the air between us moments ago, is gone. He’s flat again, all business.
What was in that text?
“We need to get back to California. I need to take you to The Grove.”
“What? Why?”
“Need-to-know basis.”
“Well, I need to know!”
He shakes his head. “Duff will get everything ready.”
“This isn’t another psycho physical exam they’re making me do, is it?”
He ignores me, his attention on his phone.
“Silas?” I go to grab his arm, to tug on his shirt, to make him look at me, but he moves out of range.
His phone is buzzing like crazy.
“No. But we need to go. I have to transfer you to a new team.”
“Why? Can’t you leave me here with Duff?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He doesn’t answer.
He just walks away.
Twenty minutes later, Duff’s carrying my tiny bag and Alice is hugging me goodbye.
Again.
“I do not understand why I need to go back, Silas. This is really unfair.”
He gives a tight-shouldered shrug.
Alice frowns at him, then turns to me. “Something’s wrong.”
“I know!”
“No. I mean with him. Whatever those texts are, they have nothing to do with you.”
“Then why am I being made to go with him? Why can’t I stay here?”
“Probably orders. You know how it all works. He has to hand you off to someone with enough seniority or security clearance or–or–or–”
“Or they’re all just being assholes,” I declare.
“Then there’s that,” she agrees. Her face changes, going contemplative. “Look, Jane, I had a talk with Silas while you were asleep. He’s a good man. It’s very hard for me to call him a man, given that he looks like a twelve-year-old to me, but then again, so do you. I’ve been alive for nearly seven decades longer than you, and everyone seems like a child.”
I laugh in spite of myself.
“But he’s a good one. Whatever has gone on this past week, it seems to be changing his view of you from the wrong one to a bit closer to the right one. Time is what people need to see the truth. Time with you is showing his true character. But he also has a mission. Men who do what Silas does are married first to the job.”
“You’re thinking about Milt, aren’t you?”
She gives me a saucy look. “You were listening in.”
“You knew I was there?”
She taps the bone behind her ear. “Hearing aids pick up ambient sounds.”
“You little snoop!” I giggle.
“I’m not the snoop. You are!”
“So when you asked Silas about sex, that was–”
“That was an old lady being nosy.”
Silas taps on the main door frame. “Time to go. Your bag is packed.”
“What bag? I don’t own anything.” I roll my eyes.
“Come back again,” Alice urges. “The door is always open.”
One more hug and I’m out the door with Silas, arguing as I try to match his fast pace while we walk around to the main house where the SUV is waiting.
“I don’t understand why I couldn’t be left there with a different team. Duff is–”
“Not part of our team.”
“What? Duff is perfectly fine.”
“On what basis do you make that determination? Because he’s ‘nice’?” Silas uses finger quotes. “Nice people do some of the worst damage.”
“You don’t trust Duff?”
His face twists with frustrated fury. “Look,” he says, grabbing my arm hard and pulling me aside. “Someone killed the driver who was transporting your lab samples. All the samples are gone.”
“I know. You told me. I -- ”
“The full report came in just now. Drew said it was done in such a professional way that it took more than twelve hours to figure out it was deliberate sabotage.”
“Sabotage?”
“I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”
“Why not?” I match his outrage.
He gives me a flat look. “Why do you think?”
“Because you think I had something to do with it? You’ve been with me the entire time, Silas! You monitor my phone, my movements, my everything. I haven’t touched a computer since I’ve been here. I’m under 24/7 surveillance by you–physically! And you still think I’m plotting behind the scenes, in a way that killed a delivery driver so the bloodwork the doctor took yesterday can’t be processed?”
He just blinks.
“If I had that kind of power,” I say through gritted teeth, “you idiot,” add
ed for good measure, “do you really think I would be standing here arguing with you? You’d be dead already.”
“I know that.” We’re at the black SUV, Duff in the driver’s seat, the vehicle running already. Silas jerks the back door open but I ignore him, moving around his big body and grabbing the passenger seat door.
I open it, climb in, and slam it for good measure.
“Hi, Duff,” I say, smelling his aftershave, the brisk scent of lemon and old wood a nice change from being surrounded by acrimony and deceit.
“Hello, Ms. Borokov. Back to The Grove?”
Silas is in the back seat, his door closing with a quiet, controlled snick.
“I have no idea where we’re going, Duff.” I close my eyes as he pulls away, down the long, lonely driveway toward the airport. “But wherever it is, I’m sure whatever’s going on is all my fault.”
* * *
When it’s you plus a person who thinks you can order other people to kill lab couriers, a pilot, and a co-pilot, and that’s it on a plane, a few hours in the air with nothing to do and no way to sleep feels like being a little kid at the oil change shop, bored out of your mind.
Mid-flight movie? A suspenseful Jason Bourne flick that hits too close to home.
Books? More military thrillers.
Conversation? Let’s make that a solid no.
Silas sleeps half the time, seated in the other cluster of chairs on the plane, a thick down throw blanket over his shoulders. I’m livid, and I shouldn’t care, but I have to admit that he looks so sweet when he’s asleep. I’m assuming the vigilant part of him that needs to protect nonstop feels safe falling asleep at thirty-five thousand feet, in a plane filled with just us and the pilots.
And then I stop and think about that for a minute.
If I’m so evil, would he let his guard down like this? If he really thinks I’m some part of a plot where I enacted a plan that led to the murder of a lab courier, would Silas really fall asleep in front of me, leaving himself defenseless? I could kiss him right now, if I wanted to.
Kill. I meant kill.
I laugh and shake my head at my own wandering mind. What is wrong with me? First of all, I’m the last person anyone wants to get entangled with, and second, he’s the last man I should get involved with.
And third, he’s hot.
