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  And maybe, more than anything, I felt a little guilty because I should have treated her sister better. Blair had no doubt seen firsthand the pain Kate had experienced with my “death.”

  Blair rose from the couch, walking toward me, and then her arms were around me, her body shaking as she cried. I held her, a lump in my throat, her presence another reminder of the life I’d lost, of the disconnect between who I had been and who I’d become. I looked over Blair’s shoulder and my gaze connected with Kate’s.

  She stood a few feet away, her arms wrapped around her body, a smile playing at her lips, her eyes welling up with tears. All it took was one look. One look that anchored me and set me to rights. She was the constant, the one person who I knew would accept me no matter how lost I felt inside. She saw me, somehow carved through the parts of me that filled me with shame, and found the essence that had been in the boy before, the essence that I guessed hadn’t died after all.

  I was a mess, had become someone who no longer felt comfortable in their own skin, who didn’t recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror. But she did. And right now that was enough to give me something to hold on to, something to believe in, something that would keep me going until I could come out the other side.

  Blair pulled back, squeezing my arm, more tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “I’m so glad that you’re okay. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry about everything. Sorry about the trouble I’ve brought Kate. Sorry I lied to all of you for so long. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want you guys to be hurt because of me.”

  Blair shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything. You did what you had to do to stay alive.” Her gaze jerked to where Kate stood and then came back to me. She squeezed my hand. “Do right by her. You always did before. She deserves that.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” Blair smiled. “Well, I think I’m going to get out of your hair. I have dinner plans with Gray, and you guys look like you want some time to yourselves. Are you going to be around for a while?”

  “Yeah. I will.”

  “Maybe you can meet my boyfriend. You’d like each other, I think.”

  It was good to see Blair so happy. Before I’d left for Afghanistan she’d been dating Thom Wyatt, and after years of seeing them together, I’d never gotten the impression that they were a good fit. I’d heard about the drama surrounding her broken engagement in Capital Confessions, so it made a little more sense now, and it was good to see her finally in a relationship that brought that look to her eyes.

  “I’m sure I would. I’d like that. And I’d like to spend more time together.”

  We said our good-byes, and then she walked out, leaving Kate and me by ourselves in the living room. Her cheeks looked slightly pink—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Kate be embarrassed by anything—and I wondered if Blair’s big-sister talk was the culprit. Kate had never been comfortable with other people trying to take care of her.

  “Sorry to blindside you like that,” Kate said with a wry smile. “I didn’t realize you would be back so soon.”

  I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’m glad I got to see Blair. I’ve missed her, too.”

  We stood staring at each other, several feet apart, and suddenly the whole thing felt stupid and wrong. I’d thought that if I kept a tight leash on my emotions, if I tried to compartmentalize our relationship into tiny, manageable little boxes, I could deal with seeing her again, with being around her again. Obviously, the sex box had been blown open, and the friendship one, too, but I’d tried to convince myself that if I could just keep a lid on the emotional one, all would be well.

  I was scared. She was right; I was dealing with shit from Afghanistan that I couldn’t seem to let go of. The only way I knew how to stay alive, how to survive, was to stay in control. But there was nothing controlled about the nightmares that plagued me when my head hit the pillow or the way I felt when I was near Kate.

  My life had gone off the rails somewhere along the way and for now the only thing that made sense was to follow the ride.

  I loved her. Had always loved her. Would always love her.

  I wasn’t a romantic necessarily, didn’t know if I believed in soul mates, or much at all, but I believed in her. In us. In the feeling inside of me when I was with her. The peace and the sense that she made me the best version of myself.

  Afghanistan and everything after was this giant black mark over my life. She was the light.

  I closed the distance between us, wrapping my arms around her and hauling her up on her toes so that my lips came down on hers, a hum building in my throat as I kissed her, as my body relaxed into the familiar sensation of having her pressed against me. She was a key sliding into place, flipping a lock open with a flick of her wrist.

  She was everything.

  Kate pulled back first, her eyes wide, as though she recognized that the tenor of our relationship had once again changed. I waited to see if she would push, but she didn’t.

  “How did it go with your source?” she asked instead.

  “Good. Really good.” I wrapped my arm around her waist, leading her over to the couch. I tucked her body into the curve of mine as we sat down on the lumpy cushions. “He was working personal security for the Afghani warlord we were protecting. He saw my father meet with him on multiple occasions. And he saw your father.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “He signed a nondisclosure agreement and he’s definitely scared, so he’s not going to be a help in terms of being a named source, but he’s pointing me in the right direction. It looks like my father was selling arms that were supposed to go to the troops and instead diverting them to a group of Afghani warlords whose interests were definitely against the U.S.”

  Kate paled. “Fuck.”

  “Based on his descriptions of the meetings with your father, I think he was using his political connections to leak information. And to cover it all up.”

  Kate got up and paced the length of the living room. “But why? Why would he risk all of the things he’s built? He’s the head of the Senate Intelligence Committee. There’s talk of him running for president. Why would he screw up all of the political capital he’s amassed for himself?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know why my father would risk it either. Money? Power? Both?”

  “Because they’re constantly getting trod on? I mean come on, our fathers have enough of both to control this city and everyone in it.”

  She was right, but I didn’t know what other explanation there could be. Their motives didn’t matter beyond the fact that they were willing to do anything it took to get what they wanted.

  “Look, I gave up my seat at the table and enlisted in the military; I can’t necessarily say that I understand any of the decisions they’ve made. But I don’t really see another explanation for it. Money and power are powerful motivators. They’re the fuel this town runs on.”

  Kate was silent for a moment, her expression shrewd. “You’re right. Maybe we’re naive to think that there’s a limit to money and power. That there’s ever an enough. Maybe they just liked being kings and wanted to expand their kingdoms.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So what now? Where do we go from here?”

  “I think your father’s travel records are a place to start. If we could find a way to place him in Afghanistan, and somehow try to pinpoint his location—or an approximation, at least—it would go a long way to proving that they were together.”

  “I can look in his office like we talked about,” Kate suggested. “I can also see if Jackie has anything. It sounds weird, but when she worked for Capital Confessions she collected a lot of stuff on him. It was a project of sorts for her. And I can check with Blair to see if she remembers anything from growing up—when he was gone, where he said he was going, things like that. It might be a long shot, but it’s a start. Some of those trips might have even
been official. There’ll be a record of them.”

  “I can try on my end with my father. I haven’t quite figured out how to get into Intech since I’m supposed to be dead, but I’ll come up with something.”

  “It seems like a lot of the info would be with your father.”

  “Yeah, but I have no clue where he’d keep that stuff. We weren’t exactly close before. I don’t know his habits—”

  “Maybe not, but you did work at Intech. The summer before you were supposed to start at Princeton. Remember? That was the summer of my sixteenth birthday.”

  I did remember. That was the summer when I’d realized that I didn’t want to be like my father, that I didn’t want my life to be about chasing the bottom line, that I wanted to make a difference, wanted to help people.

  When I was a kid, I’d thought he was a hero. I’d been in awe of his military service, thought there was nothing cooler than getting to make weapons that would go to our troops. I’d wanted to be exactly like him until I saw that all of the stupid speeches he made and causes he supported really meant nothing. He used the military to garner support when he needed it, to increase his power and wealth, knowing that defense spending—especially defense spending for the kind of equipment and services he provided—would never go out of fashion.

  He exploited fear and patriotic duty for his own greed, increasing his wealth while others bled and died for what they believed in. He wasn’t a hero, wasn’t someone to look up to. He was a greedy motherfucker who’d sold his soul to the devil to get ahead. It wasn’t about providing for his family, or anything other than his own lust for more.

  “I might be able to figure out some of their security protocols. Might remember some things from when I worked there. I’ll think about it and see what I can come up with.”

  Kate nodded. “It’s not much, is it?”

  “It’s a seed. It’s a start.”

  “But where are we headed?” she asked.

  Kate’s phone rang, interrupting the question she left hanging, the question I desperately wished I could give her a definitive answer to.

  She stared down at the caller ID. “It’s Blair. Do you mind if I take this for a second? I just want to make sure it isn’t anything important.”

  “Of course.”

  I didn’t mind the reprieve. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to talk about us as it was the fucking frustration of not being able to be someone she could lean on, someone who could assure her that everything would be okay. Our dynamic had been developed for so long now that it wasn’t easy feeling like I was impotent in her eyes.

  We had a plan, but it didn’t feel like enough.

  I got up while Kate talked to Blair and grabbed a beer from the kitchen, taking note of the meager contents of her fridge. We were going to need to make a grocery run soon. By the look of things she lived off of takeout and she still wasn’t big on cooking; I wasn’t much better. I’d never had to learn to cook when I was a kid since we’d had a chef, and my time in hiding and on the run hadn’t exactly lent itself to being domestic.

  I shut the door to the fridge and turned as I heard her footsteps walking toward the kitchen.

  “What do you want to get for dinner?”

  Kate stood over the threshold, her face pale, the phone clutched in her hand.

  “Is everything okay?”

  She shook her head, her voice strained, a weird choking noise coming from her throat. Her arms wrapped around me.

  “I’m so sorry; your father was killed tonight.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Our condolences go out to the Ryan family. James Ryan is survived by his wife, Janet Ryan. Their son, Matthew Ryan, was killed in Afghanistan nearly four years ago. While details are still trickling in, we have learned that Mr. Ryan was killed in an attempted home invasion. At the time, his wife was vacationing in Switzerland and he was alone in the home. His good friend Senator Edward Reynolds was quoted as saying, “James was a great man and a great friend. He will surely be missed by all who knew him.”

  —Capital Confessions blog

  Kate

  Well, that was a new low. My father had a way of taking the worst things you thought people could be, and somehow, impossibly surpassing even those benchmarks. Having a man killed and then fake-mourning him ranked pretty high on my list of how to be a horrible person. It was just one more part of this that felt like we were living in a nightmare.

  The aftermath of Matt’s father’s death had left us reeling. Matt was not good.

  He’d left shortly after I told him about his father and I had no clue where he’d gone. The look in his eyes had terrified me. Sometimes it was easy to pretend that we hadn’t really changed all that much, easy to slip into the relationship we’d had for years. I would have known what to do before, but times like this, he felt like a stranger.

  He hadn’t been close to his father, to either one of his parents, really, but I could tell his father’s death had rocked him. The more details that began to emerge, the clearer it became that whoever had killed Matt’s father sounded a lot like the person who’d broken into my apartment. The only difference was that I’d gotten away with just having my stuff stolen. I didn’t know why I hadn’t been killed, but I was beginning to feel like it was just a matter of time, as though we were all little more than names to be crossed off of some hit list.

  But why was James Ryan’s name on that list?

  By all accounts, he’d been my father’s coconspirator. Was he taken out in an attempt to tie up loose ends in the face of my father’s potential presidential bid? Or did he do something to spark my father’s ire? Was he the one who had ordered the break-in and my stabbing? Was this my father’s way of retaliating? Was I off-limits? Or was it something else we just didn’t know about?

  There were so many questions and virtually no answers.

  The sound of a key opening the front door lock had me turning, my heart pounding, my hand on the baseball bat I’d grabbed when Matt left. The sane part of my brain told me that an intruder wasn’t likely to use a key, that it was probably just Matt returning from wherever he’d gone, even as the part of my brain that had spent way too much time in the path of danger freaked the fuck out.

  The door opened and I breathed a sigh of relief as Matt walked over the threshold, his face weary, his shoulders hunched, exhaustion dripping from him. He locked the door behind him, careful to flip the extra deadbolt he’d installed after the break-in.

  His gaze drifted from me to the bat. His eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he let out an oath. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I’m okay.”

  Right now I was more worried about the stamp of defeat etched all over his features.

  “We’re going to the shooting range tomorrow,” Matt interjected. “You need to know how handle a gun.”

  I’d never had an interest in firearms, had always been a little freaked out by guns, but considering recent events, it wasn’t the world’s worst idea. The bat would only take me so far.

  “Where did you go?” I asked, noticing that his hair was wet as though he’d brought the elements inside with him.

  Matt crossed into the living room, sitting down next to me on the couch, his big body pressing into mine.

  “I went to my parents’ house.”

  Fuck.

  I’d been afraid of that. Afraid that his reaction to his father’s death would make him reckless. I understood the anger and confusion swirling inside of him—no one could relate to confused parental emotions like I could—and yet we couldn’t afford any mistakes, couldn’t chance the risk that someone would realize he was still alive—if they didn’t already know.

  “With the police there?” I squeaked.

  “It was so chaotic that I figured it would be the best way to try to blend in. The security was down so it was the easiest time to get in there to see if I could find anything incriminating. I picked the lock on the balcony door out
side my old bedroom.”

  He’d used the second-floor balcony to sneak out so many times when we were younger. I shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d go that route again, but the fact that he did it when the cops were there …

  “You went into the house?”

  I’d sort of been joking when I’d asked him to help me figure out how to break into my father’s office, but apparently he had skills beyond any I’d ever imagined. Not to mention a propensity for living on the edge that terrified me.

  “Yeah.”

  Fuck.

  “Did you find anything linking him to your friends’ deaths in Afghanistan? Or to the arms sales?”

  I figured it was a lot to try for a signed confession somewhere, but a girl could hope.

  “No. The place had been tossed. Completely. We can scratch searching his office off of our list. Whoever killed him did a thorough job.” Matt stood abruptly, turning away from me, his stance tense. He ran his hand through his hair, his voice strained. “He didn’t die well.”

  A chill slid down my spine. “What do you mean, ‘he didn’t die well’?”

  He was silent for a beat. “They wanted something from him. My guess? Whatever evidence he had that implicated his partner. They tortured him to get it. By the look of it, for a while. Then they killed him.”

  Oh my god.

  I closed my eyes, fighting the bile rising up, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  It was woefully inadequate, but I had no clue what words would suffice in a situation like this.

  I stood and wrapped my arms around him, some of the wet seeping from his clothes to mine. I leaned up on my toes, stroking the base of his neck, running my fingers through his hair, trying to bring him whatever peace I could.