Miami, Florida
Erin needed to run, to clear her head so she could think.
Instead, she walked with Bill back to the parking lot, her thoughts jumbled and unfocused. Some part of her knew he was still talking, trying to convince her or give instructions. She didn’t know. Or care. Her thoughts had taken a different path.
They were with her father, with Emilio Diaz.
For twenty-seven years, she’d tried to put him out of her mind. Yet sometimes at night, just before sleep claimed her, she could still hear his voice with its soft melodic accent. Faded and muted by time, those memories rose up now unbidden.
When she was little, Emilio would put her to bed, telling her stories about Cuba, always in his native tongue. She’d fall asleep, his lyrical words in her ears, the image of a tropical island paradise behind her closed eyelids. She had adored him. Then, he’d left.
Now the CIA was offering her the chance to ask him why.
“I know it doesn’t give you much time,” Bill was saying.
Erin realized she’d totally shut him out and forced herself to refocus on his words.
“I need an answer by midnight,” he said.
Around them, the Florida night crept in, the light fading and the sweet smell of night-blooming jasmine stirring the air. It must be close to seven. Not much time to decide.
Less than five hours.
In the years since her father had left, she hadn’t seen or heard from him. She knew he’d returned to Cuba, but that was it. She realized she hadn’t even known whether he was still alive. Until now. She had so many unanswered questions. How could she turn down the chance to see him again?
How could she not?
Claire was doing well, but she was still fragile. How could Erin expect Marta to take care of her alone?
“Hire someone if you need help at home,” Bill said, obviously well prepared for her every argument and hesitation. “Or we’ll find someone for you. Someone qualified. And the Company will cover all expenses.”
As if having a stranger in the house would make everything okay for Claire. The stability she’d found since Erin had moved them back to Miami had come from family, from living with Erin, Janie, and Marta. How much damage would it do if Erin suddenly started running off to do the CIA’s bidding?
No. Erin stopped that thought.
She wouldn’t be returning to the life of an active CIA officer, taking off at a moment’s notice whenever the Agency demanded. This was a onetime deal. For Joe Roarke. Dead maybe. Or not. Either way, Erin owed him her life. And she wasn’t sure she could trust someone else to find out what had happened and bring him home. And there was her father, a hazy image beckoning to her from the past, her emotions mixed and unsettled at the thought of seeing him again.
“We have a narrow window of opportunity to get you into the DFL camp,” Bill said. “One of their teachers has just returned to the States due to a family emergency. You’ll take her place.”
“Teaching?”
“English. To children from the nearby town. It’s one of the things DFL does.”
She couldn’t digest it all, much less make any decisions.
Again, her thoughts slipped to her father. She had spent most of her life suppressing not only her memories of him, but also the questions and the hurt. And the anger. He had left his family without looking back. She wanted to know why, and might never get another chance like this.
“We have no reason to believe . . .” Bill hesitated. “We don’t know that your father is in any way involved with Roarke’s disappearance.”
Erin knew he wouldn’t tell her even if the CIA did suspect her father. Not when they wanted her to go in, dig around, and possibly expose him as a conspirator. Better to let her discover the truth for herself.
“Of course,” Bill slipped his hands once again into his pockets, obviously uncomfortable with the situation, “If Diaz is involved . . .”
“You expect me to ignore the fact he’s my father.” It wasn’t a question. They were playing one connection against the other: her loyalty to Roarke against her confused feelings about the father who’d deserted her.
Bill’s jaw tightened and she knew she was right. First and foremost he would always be a Company man. Complete the mission, no matter the cost. And don’t let a little thing like blood ties get in the way. He may as well have said it aloud.
In a way it surprised her that they’d come to her at all, even with all the factors that made her a good candidate. When it came to family, people were unpredictable. And she’d already proven herself capable of breaking the rules when it came to hers.
Of course, she had none of the normal feelings for her father. How could she when she didn’t know him, wouldn’t recognize him if she saw him on the street? Something the CIA knew only too well. They were gambling on her sense of justice, and her loyalty to Roarke, to override whatever lingering attachment she still had to the man who’d once been her father.
“There’s a charter flight to Havana at noon tomorrow,” Bill said. “We need you on that plane.” They’d reached his car and stopped, and he looked her over, an expression of genuine concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
It set her off, the fresh roll of anger finally clearing her head. She’d like it better if he stopped pretending to care, to worry about how she was taking this. He was here, following orders like a good little soldier.
“Does it really matter? As long as I accept this mission?”
She saw a flash of hurt in his eyes, but it was quickly squelched. “We all do what we have to.”
“Spare me the platitudes, Bill. I’ve heard them before.”
“Then you—”
She cut him off. “I’ll let you know what I decide.” She needed to think. She had the facts. She would make her decision, and nothing else he had to say would make any difference one way or the other.
For a moment he didn’t say anything, and she thought he’d make another plea for understanding, for friendship. Instead, he handed her a blank business card with a number written in black ink. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
She nodded, and he hesitated before saying, “It was good to see you, Erin.” Again, there was that flash of regret. “No matter the circumstances.”
Erin backed away, not ready to grant him the absolution he sought for his part in this. Besides, her mind was already racing down paths she didn’t want to travel. And as she watched Bill pull away, she turned to her car and the duffel bag she kept in the trunk. The beach was a short five-minute drive away. She needed to move.
To run.
At the best of times, it kept her fit. At the worst, it kept her sane.