The Only Reason: A Novel (Trident Trilogy: Book Two)

by Donna Schwartze

  I reach up to try to catch him. “Dad! Dad! Daaaaaaadddd . . .”

  “Millie. Wake up.” I open my eyes to see Mason inches from my face. He’s shaking me gently. “You’re having another bad dream. It’s okay, baby. Wake up.”

  I take a sharp breath in and look around the room quickly to see if my dad is there. He’s not. I’m in my bedroom in San Diego. Mason is here. Dad isn’t. I have to remind myself Dad is still dead.

  Mason pulls me up and presses my shoulders back against the headboard. He’s still shaking me gently. “Mills. Look right here at me. You’re awake now. The dream is over.”

  As my eyes start filling with tears, I nod my head so he knows I heard him. He pulls me to his chest and wraps his arms around me tightly. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. It’s over. No one is going to hurt you.” He kisses the top of my head as he rocks me back and forth slowly.

  My head is spinning as I try to remember what’s happening. I used to have these nightmares almost every night. I’ve only had a few in the two months Mason has been practically living with me. I was beginning to think they were leaving me for good. The thought of them returning makes me shudder. Mason squeezes me tighter.

  “Do you want to talk about it? You were yelling for your dad. You haven’t done that before,” Mason whispers gently in my ear. “Was the dream different from the other ones?”

  I pull back from his hug and lean against the headboard again. He wipes away my tears and reaches down to hold my hands.

  “I haven’t had this one before. Dad’s never talked to me in the dreams. It’s always just him blowing up in a house. You know? The way he died. And it always looks like it’s in Iraq where it actually happened. This dream was this house blowing up, and he was yelling at me to find him. I tried to get to him, but I couldn’t move. What do you think that means?”

  He brushes the hair out of my face and strokes my cheek gently. “Mills, I don’t think it means anything. It’s just a dream. Your subconscious is mixing past and present. You know how weird dreams can be sometimes. Most of my dreams don’t make any sense at all.”

  “Yeah. I know,” I say, curling my legs up against me. “It felt like he was trying to tell me something. Do you think it’s possible for dead people to talk to you in dreams?”

  “I don’t know, Mills. It’s never happened to me. I used to dream about my mom all the time. She talked in the dreams, but I never really felt like she was trying to send me a message. It was like I was reliving a memory or something. But you know, she didn’t die violently like your dad did, so maybe your dreams about him are more powerful than mine were.”

  “Yeah. I feel like it was an omen or something. It’s creepy.” Just as I finish saying it, a loud banging noise makes me dive under the covers.

  “Mills,” Mason says, pulling the covers back from my head. “Babe. Breathe. It’s just someone knocking on the front door.”

  “What time is it?” I say, looking for my phone.

  “Just before six. Are you expecting anyone?” He pulls the nightstand drawer open, where he keeps his loaded pistol.

  “No. Not at six in the morning.” I reach for his hand to pull it away from the gun. “I’m sure you don’t need that. Right?”

  He gives me a stern look, but closes the drawer without getting the gun. “Stay here. I’ll see who it is.”

  As I get out of bed to put on my robe, I hear a familiar voice coming from the living room.

  “I’m looking for Millie Marsh. Does she live here?”

  “Who’s asking?” Mason grumbles.

  “What are you, her bodyguard? Does she live here or not?”

  Before Mason has a chance to reply, I fly around the corner. “George? Oh my God. What are you doing here?”

  “You haven’t returned any of my phone calls, so I thought I’d come find you,” he says as he unsuccessfully tries to move around Mason.

  “That’s called stalking, George. It’s against the law.”

  Mason pushes me behind him instinctively.

  “No, Mase. Bad choice of words. He’s not really stalking me. Like in the dangerous sense, anyway. This is my old boss from the agency, George Chapman. George, this is my boyfriend, Mason Davis.”

  Mason’s still blocking the entrance, but somehow George squeezes his body into the house and hugs me. “Your boyfriend? Really? What happened to Dave back in DC?”

  “His name was Drew, and we broke up a long time ago,” I say, pulling out of the hug. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

  “Can I sit down?” George says, eyeing Mason cautiously. “Or is your new boyfriend going to try to kill me?”

  “You can come in, but no guarantees on what Mason’s going to do. He’s a free spirit.”

  George sits on the couch and pats the cushion on the seat next to him. I purposely sit in the chair across from him.

  “Haven’t changed a bit, have you? Still as obstinate as ever.” He pauses for a second, and looks up at Mason who’s standing behind my chair. “Is there any way the bodyguard can leave? What I have to say is classified.”

  “He’s a SEAL. He has clearance. He can stay.”

  George lets out a huge and unexpected wave of laughter as he takes off his glasses. “Wait. What?” he manages to get out. “You’re dating a SEAL? A SEAL? After everything you went through with your dad. Seriously? I thought you disavowed everything about the teams.”

  Mason takes a large step toward him. I grab his leg. “Mase. He’s harmless. Will you sit, please?” Mason takes the chair next to me, his eyes not leaving George. I’m suddenly very relieved I made him leave his gun in the bedroom.

  “George, why are you here?” I say with frustration and fatigue dripping from my voice.

  “I really can’t talk about this, Millie. Not in front of him.” George motions toward Mason. “It’s for agency ears only.”

  “I don’t work for the agency anymore.”

  “Since when? You’re still getting paid.”

  “And I’ve asked you to have that stopped. The money is sitting in my bank account, ready to return to the agency. I’ve sent you two letters of resignation.”

  “I didn’t accept your resignation and I still don’t. As far as I’m concerned, you still work for us. For me.”

  “Well you can think anything you want, but I don’t.” I stand up to get some coffee. It’s way too early in the morning for George.

  George stands up and follows me. “Millie. This has to do with your family,” he whispers. “Your overseas family . . .”

  I turn around to see George right behind me and Mason right behind him. “Mason knows everything about my Bosnian family. You might as well start talking if you want to tell me something. He’s not leaving.” Mason purposely bumps George as he walks by him to hand me the hazelnut creamer out of the refrigerator.

  “Fine.” George sighs. “What do you know about Azayiz Custovic?”

  “Nothing. I’ve never heard that name,” I say, taking a long sip of coffee.

  “She’s your mother’s aunt—your great-aunt.”

  “Okay. So is she dead? Why do I care about this?”

  “She’s not dead. She’s originally from Pakistan. She had an arranged marriage with your great-uncle, and moved to Bosnia after the wedding.” George starts tapping his fingers on the kitchen counter. Finger tapping is his tell. He does it when he’s about to embellish something.

  “I’m still not seeing what this has to do with me,” I say cautiously. “You know I don’t want anything to do with that side of my family.”

  George looks warily at Mason, still clearly not comfortable with him being a part of this conversation. “After you eliminated Sayid Custovic and Yusef Hadzic, there was a lull in the action from their network. We thought it was dead. But now, we’re starting to see an uptick of activity from them aga
in. We think Azayiz’s son, Fareed, is running the show now. He grew up with Sayid and Yusef.”

  “Well first, I didn’t eliminate anyone. Sayid had one of his people kill Yusef and then killed himself. And second, you’re the one who taught me these networks never really die, they just get new leadership. So find Fareed. This has nothing to do with me.”

  “Unfortunately for both of us, it does have something to do with you.” George’s finger tapping is so loud now that it sounds like he’s just been given a drum solo in his high school band. “Long story short, Azayiz has been working as an agency informant since 1995. In 2011, Yusef found out and put a bounty on her head. We’ve had her in hiding since then.”

  “Still not seeing where I come in.” I walk to the back patio and take a seat directly in the sun. I close my eyes and try to wish George away.

  “Mills,” Mason says. I open my eyes to find him standing in the doorway behind George. “I need to jump in the shower. You okay with him?”

  “Yeah, babe. He’s just annoying, not dangerous.”

  “I’m standing right here, Millie,” George says. “And do we have to sit outside? You know I don’t like light.”

  I inhale deeply and close my eyes again. I hear him noisily pull one of the chairs to the shady side of the patio.

  “As I was saying,” he continues, “we’ve had her in hiding, but she disappeared last week.”

  I open my eyes. He has me mildly interested. “What do you mean disappeared? Did she leave on her own? Or was she kidnapped?”

  “We definitely thought she was taken because we couldn’t imagine why she would leave. She knows all too well how dangerous it is for her on the streets. But now we think she might have left on her own. We don’t know why, but we need to find her. If she gets in the wrong hands, the best thing that can happen is that they kill her. She knows so much about our Middle East operations. If they interrogate her—and break her—it would be devastating to our work over there.”

  “So you want me to find her? I’m sure you have agents on the ground there who are in a much better position to do that.”

  “No. We don’t want you to find her. We want her to find you.” He looks at me like he’s just given me the final clue to solve a puzzle.

  “George. I don’t know what that means. Does she even know who I am?”

  “Oh she knows. Azayiz was very close to your mother, particularly after your grandparents died. She became almost like a big sister to her. When your mother was killed, she was devastated. It was Azayiz who alerted your dad of your existence and arranged for him to take you out of Bosnia.”

  “Amar Petrovic called my dad. I confirmed that with him when I interrogated him in Sarajevo.”

  “Yes. Amar made the call, but Azayiz initiated it. She was the only one who knew who your dad was. She told Amar and asked him to call. She wanted to get you out of Bosnia—far from your uncle Sayid.”

  “Well I owe her for that, but I’m still not seeing what I can do to help you find her.”

  “Millie. She hasn’t see you since you were a newborn. You’re the only thing that remains of her precious niece. We think she would do anything to see you again.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Walk up and down a bunch of streets in Pakistan until she sees me?”

  “Who’s going to Pakistan?” I look over to see a freshly showered Mason standing in the doorway.

  “Apparently I am,” I say, rolling my eyes. “To act as bait to lure my great-aunt—who I’ve never met—out of hiding.”

  Mason walks over and hands me a fresh cup of coffee. “Yeah. That’s not happening.”

  “Maybe we let Millie decide for herself,” George says, scooting his chair back to get his legs out of the sun.

  “Millie has decided for herself,” I say as I grab Mason’s arm to stop him from moving any closer to George. “And it’s what Mason said—definitely not going to happen.”

  I look over to see George vigorously massaging his left temple with his ring finger. That’s our old signal for ‘Can’t talk about it here. Meet me in the elevator.’

  George stands up abruptly. “Well if you really don’t want to work on this, I guess I can’t force you. I can show myself out.”

  I definitely know he was giving me the signal now because he’s never given up that easily on anything. George walks out the front door without saying another word. Mason closes the door behind him.

  “That’s who you reported to at the agency?” Mason says, laughing. “He doesn’t seem like he’s all there. I’m glad you got away from him.”

  Mason heads to the kitchen as I say as nonchalantly as possible, “Hey. I think I’m going to get changed and go for a run.”

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “No. I’m good. I won’t be very long. I need to clear my head after all that,” I say, waving my hands at the door.

  He makes his way back over to me. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m good. Really.”

  He hugs me and kisses the top of the head. “Okay, babe. Take your phone in case I need to find you.”

  “Mase. I’m not going to get kidnapped. That was so six months ago,” I say, trying to make a joke. From the look on his face, I’ve failed miserably again.

  “That’s not funny, Millie. Take your phone. Please.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Millie

  San Diego, California

  2020

  George’s car is nowhere to be seen when I leave the house, but I know he’s lurking around somewhere. I start jogging down to the beach in case Mason’s watching. When I turn the corner to take a shortcut through a parking lot, someone grabs me from behind and shoves me into a town car. I don’t fight because I know who it is. I land in the back seat and see George smiling up at his driver, who I now recognize as Ted—George’s henchman from the agency.

  “Hey, Millie,” Ted says calmly. “Hope I didn’t hurt you. George didn’t want to take any chances of you ignoring him again.”

  “All good, Teddy,” I say as he closes the door.

  I turn to George. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you not remember I was shoved into a car at gunpoint less than a year ago? You’re going to give me PTSD.”

  “Wait. Do you have PTSD? Really? Because if you do, I can’t tell you any of this. You know the old agency saying: ‘Only sound minds can hear the crazy stuff.’”

  “That’s not an agency saying. It’s a George saying. And I don’t have PTSD yet. But years from now, I’m sure I’m going to fall to the ground shaking and crying any time I hear the name George.”

  “I think my ex-wife already does that. I can put you in touch with her if you want to know when to expect the onset.”

  “George,” I say impatiently, “why did you give me the ring-finger signal? What more do you have to tell me?”

  He looks away and sighs. He can’t even make eye contact with me. That hasn’t happened once in all the years I’ve known him. It must be something really good. Or something really bad. I’m not sure I want to hear it either way.

  “Are you really dating that caveman back there? Seems like you could do better,” he says, trying to change the subject.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s not a caveman. He’s kind and gentle and thoughtful. And he’s amazing in bed.”

  “Ahh, Millie!” he says, covering his ears. “C’mon. I’m like your work dad. I don’t need to hear that.”

  “You brought it up. And I already have a dad—well, had one. And he was perfect. I don’t need you to fill in for him. Now what is it you want to tell me so badly that you had Teddy practically assault me?”

  George sighs again—deeply this time—and then turns to face me with a wide-eyed expression I’ve never seen from him. “Well, speaking of your dad . . .”

  ***


  I’m standing at Chase’s front door. I have no idea how I got here or how long I’ve been staring at the doorbell. Did I ring it yet? I press it because it seems like the right thing to do, but I’m not sure what to say if he opens the door. Why am I here? My brain feels like it’s frozen. I shake my head to try to clear the fog, but that makes me dizzy. When Chase opens the door, I’m struggling to stay standing.

  “Hey!” he says cheerfully. “I didn’t know you were coming over today.”

  Yeah, neither did I. I was hoping he would be able to fill me in as to why I’m standing at his front door, but it looks like we’re both clueless. The smile on his face quickly disappears. He takes a step toward me. I still don’t think I’ve said anything to him.

  “Millie,” he says as he grabs my shoulders. “Are you okay, sweetie? What’s wrong?”

  The dizziness is starting to take over. I close my eyes and start to fall backward.

  “Millie!” Chase yells as he pulls me into a bear hug to steady me. As I let my body fall into his, I feel him lifting me up. The next thing I know, I’m lying on his couch shivering. He grabs the blanket hanging over the back of the couch and covers me with it.

  “Millie.” He’s shaking my chin lightly. “You fainted. Can you focus on my eyes? That’s good. Just relax. You’re okay.”

  “Where am I?” I try to sit up. He pushes me gently back down.

  “You’re at my house. How did you get here? Your car isn’t in the driveway. Did Mason drop you off? And you’re soaking wet. How did you get so wet?”

  I’m just starting to feel the pain radiating through my knees and ankles. “I think I might have jogged here.”

  “What do you mean ‘you think’? And where did you jog here from?”

  It’s starting to come back to me a little. I remember leaving my house to go jogging. I remember Mason telling me to take my phone. “My house. I think,” I say, looking at Chase and hoping he can confirm that for me.