Vivi stared at the wall in her room. During their trip the previous afternoon to see the “compound”—the term she had started calling it in her mind—someone had hung a painting of a pair of lovebirds on her wall.
Invasion of privacy, sure. Some hidden meaning? Possibly. Regardless, birds made her happy, so she wasn’t going to complain. Come to me, my little bird. She could still hear her father’s voice, after all these years. If she hadn’t been so upset at the compound, she would have loved trying to identify many of those in the nearby trees. She wondered who she should talk to about getting some bird books for the library.
And then, she smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. What am I thinking? No one here cares about birds, except me, and I won’t be staying.
So far, she was living at this headquarters rent free, which bothered her, but she didn’t like being manipulated either. She was going to suck it up and see what she could do for Sloane, but she had no hope of helping. Hell, with her luck right now, she might make things worse.
Which was why she’d said no in the first place. Not because she didn’t want to help, but, as she’d reminded Beatrice, she wasn’t a child psychologist, nor was she sure of her own sanity at the moment. The past six months had tied her up—emotionally, mentally, and physically. Secrets bored into her. Gaps in her memory racked her with fear of what she’d forgotten.
And then there was Ian. Talk about nightmares.
He was so opposite of her. Tough, strong, courageous.
His comment had stung more than if he’d actually struck her. The disappointment in his eyes had nearly felled her.
Once she’d been his lifeline. Now, it seemed she was his anchor.
Vivi sighed—she’d been doing that a lot the past few days. Amends needed to be made, debts repaid. Figuring out how to do both was the problem. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
The puzzle about Sloane’s dreams had been consuming her. There had to be an answer, a root cause to the fear chasing the girl in her sleep.
Her brilliant, if currently unstable, mind insisted Vivi knew the reason she was fascinated by that cause. It might answer her own questions. What was she hiding from herself? Why couldn’t she remember what had happened that night?
Leaving her room, her first stop was to see Rory. “Don’t bother with my money,” she told him. “You can bet the agency I used to work for has eyes on it. You touch it, they’ll trace it—and my fake death—back to Beatrice and SFI.”
The bearded man scoffed. “Nobody traces my magic.” He wiggled his fingers in the air.
So cocky. “They will. Please, for all our sakes, let it be.”
He sat back in his fancy, ergonomic chair and appraised her. “You’re rich as Midas, and I know you earned every penny, even though you and I never crossed paths while I was a spook. Why let them have it?”
“It’s the devil’s money. I sold my soul for those pennies. Each and every one is tainted and I don’t care that they have it. I certainly don’t want it.”
He made a capitulating gesture with one hand. “All right, but you are seriously underestimating my skills.”
“I’m sure you’re the best. I simply don’t wish to bring any unwanted attention to your organization.”
He nodded and his expression softened. “We’ve all been there, you know. Danced with the devil.”
She hadn’t simply danced with him. She’d been his puppet. There was no changing that. It was time to move forward and make up for it. “Since I’m broke, I could use a job. Any suggestions?”
He frowned, perplexed. “The Queen B offered you one.”
“Not as a therapist.” She swallowed her reservations and stiffened her resolve. “I’ll do that for free. What I mean is, is there anything menial around her I can help with? Paperwork? Laundry? Cleaning?”
“A Ph.D. scrubbing toilets?”
“It’s honest work.”
His expression took on a look of approval. “We clean our own. Do our own laundry, too. Actual paperwork is mostly nonexistent—our internal system is paperless—but I could use someone to comb databases for me.”
“Requirements?”
He grinned and showed her his collection of dirty coffee cups. “Keep me caffeinated and know how to use a computer.”
“What’s the pay? I need to make rent and buy a wardrobe. Nothing fancy, but some jeans that actually fit and shirts that aren’t white and read Hanes on the tag.”
A rough laugh. “Not up to your standards, Doc?”
“They’re men’s t-shirts, and while I’ve been known to throw one on in the past”—specifically Ian’s, after a round of lovemaking—“I’d like to feel feminine again after the prison jumpsuit.”
“I need you for six hours a week to start, more if you’re adequate at it. That will cover your rent.” He handed her a cup. “We mostly barter around here, our skills in exchange for a decent place to live and work. As far as the wardrobe, you’ll have to talk to Beatrice about that.”
Of course she would. She took the mug, found the nearest breakroom and scrubbed the stains out of it. Menial work, indeed, but it felt good to focus on something so simple. She returned with it clean and full a few minutes later. “Okay, boss, what’s next?”
Two hours later, the data she’d been scanning endlessly had made her eyes bug out. She’d impressed Rory, though, finding two different links he’d been searching for to a terrorist organization on SFI’s radar. “I need a break,” she told him.
“I’m surprised your pointman hasn’t already swooped in to get you.”
“My what?”
“The person Beatrice assigned as your liaison.” At her blank look, he went on. “For your first thirty days, you get an instructor, a guide, who coaches you. They walk you through how we do things here and make sure to answer your questions. We’ve found that assimilation back into civilian life goes smoother if there’s someone you can talk to, and who checks on you regularly. None of us likes to ask for help, but you can, you know. Ian hasn’t been here long himself, so he may not have all the answers. You hit me up, if need be.”
“Ian?” She thought it over. “Why do you assume he’s my pointman?”
“Uh, by the way he’s keeping an eye on you?”
This was said with a tone suggesting she was dense. Maybe she was. She honestly hadn’t been aware of him, but then he was a former SEAL. He knew how to move in the shadows and go unnoticed. And here, she thought she was doing that to him. “No one has informed me that I have an official guide, but thanks for the offer. Would it be possible for me to do some personal research this week?”
“Within limits, sure. As we were just discussing, it’s imperative I keep our system secure.”
“Of course. I certainly don’t want to jeopardize that. I’ll run everything past you, okay?”
He nodded, then gave her a look filled with scrutiny. “If you want to dig into your past, let me do it.”
She shook her head. “My past, my research.”
“I’ll make sure you don’t trip any wires or fall into any traps set up by Command & Control. You feel me?”
Once again, she struggled to hide her surprise. “You know about C&C?”
He gave her a cunning smile as his response.
“Okay, then. I also need to research info on child psychology and dream analysis.”
“Give your eyes a rest and when you come back, I’ll set you up with internet access.”
“Thanks.” Before she lost her nerve, she took the plunge. “I could use some intel on…”
Her throat locked up. Why couldn’t she say the name? She needed to know what had gone down that night from the reports. What had been written about it afterwards. All of it would be classified.
Rory didn’t miss a beat, grabbing his crutches and hauling himself up. “I’ve got a file you might want to look at.”
“Don’t go to any trouble,” she started, but he sent her a silencing glance.
He retrieved a laptop from a nearby workstation and handed it to her. “Your pointman was supposed to check this out and give it to you. You can access the SFI intranet to file reports, share data, that sort of thing. No web access, but it’s yours for whatever you need. You’ll find copies of the classified reports in a folder marked with the date. These aren’t on the intranet, only this laptop and mine.”
Accepting it, she felt the tightness in her chest loosen a fraction. Another part, however, squeezed at the thought of going down this road.
He pulled a manila envelope from his desk drawer and tossed it at her. “Your new identity. It’s still malleable and you can fill in the backstory in more detail any time. Enjoy.”
Would she ever be able to feel normal if even her very name was different? So much to process.
She pointed at his coffee, the third refill she’d gotten for him. “Drink that before it gets cold. I hope my assistance today was helpful.”
He sent her off with a grunt that seemed to pass as “good job.”
After depositing the laptop in her room, and reviewing the documents that contained her new identity, her next stop was Beatrice’s office.
She didn’t burst in this time, going through the chain of command and waiting until Connor, Beatrice’s office manager, told her she could enter.
Inside, the head of SFI motioned her to a chair.
“I need an office,” Vivi said.
Although she hadn’t offered to talk to Sloane, Beatrice instantly sat up straighter. “The only one I have empty isn’t much. At the new SFI, things will be—”
Vivi stopped her with a raised hand. “I’m not staying with you permanently. I’m doing this for Sloane, and for you, but no one else, are we clear?”
Beatrice’s lips quirked as if hiding a smile. “Whatever you want.” She stood and grabbed her cell. “Let’s go see your office.”
She was right, it wasn’t much, but the corner workspace had a window overlooking the street and a door she could close when necessary. Good enough. “Needs paint, a desk, and a file cabinet.”
At Beatrice’s request, Connor had accompanied them. He tapped on his computer tablet. “What color, what type, and what size?”
Vivi imagined herself in the space, the way it would look inside her mind palace. “Pine green, a corner desk with lots of drawers, preferably white and as big as you can get.” She didn’t even know what that would be used for, but it would seem familiar, and maybe the set up would trigger her brain to remember that day.
“Roger that,” he said, and with a nod from Beatrice, turned to go.
“One more thing,” Vivi called after him. “I want a nice espresso machine, and a set of mugs. Nothing skimpy. Diner size with good handles.”
He disappeared and she and Beatrice strolled around the small space. “Do you need a couch, or a couple visitor chairs?”
Nice try. She was not going to get sucked into seeing patients. “No, but I would appreciate one of those playmats, like you have in your office. Construction paper, crayons, a few new toys that Sloane hasn’t seen before. Dolls that resemble you, Cal, and her.”
Beatrice peered out the door, as if she wished Connor would return and make a new list. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“I’m going to ask things of you that you’re not going to like.”
Beatrice returned her attention to Vivi. “Like what?”
Parents were usually the reason children were screwed up. Didn’t take a Ph.D. to know that. “Have you considered that it’s something you or Cal are doing that is causing these nightmares?”
“Of course. I have a daily tracker and I keep account of everything she is exposed to so we can compare that to when she has them.”
“Good. I’d like to see those records.” She studied a scuff mark on the wall, scrutinized the ceiling. She could hang a bird cage from it, or get a standing one. “I assume Cal suffers from PTSD, as do many of your employees.” She was still considering going to that peer support group meeting. Processing what had happened to her in prison was going to take time, and while she was no hero like he and the others, being able to share her story with them might help. “Is it possible he’s had an episode that scared her?”
Beatrice’s face blanched. “Cal would never hurt our daughter.”
“I believe you, but it’s one of the ugly areas I have to look into. If you want answers, Beatrice, I have to explore every possible avenue.”
The rigid shoulders softened. “I know.”
“I’ll need to see the personnel files of all those who have regular contact with Sloane. Bring her by first thing tomorrow. In the afternoon, we’re having a group meeting in your office. You, Cal, and anyone else who is close to Sloane.”
“I’ll rearrange schedules and make sure everybody attends. As long as we are addressing uncomfortable subjects, you need to see Cassandra Donovan, my chief operating officer. She’ll have paperwork for you to sign. Nothing like what you did with NSA, but a few legal documents. The standard.”
The thought made Vivi itch. She glanced out the window, grateful that it was coated with a reflective film that kept anyone from seeing her. She craved light, yet felt too exposed to go outside. “Is there a reason I don’t have a pointman?”
Another inquiry Beatrice was not expecting. “If you have questions, you know you can come to me.”
She pivoted slowly and sat on the dusty window ledge. “I have a lot of damn questions, and unfortunately, neither you, nor anyone else here, has the answers. You can tell me this, why did you recruit Lt. Commander Kincaid?”
“Why are you using his former rank to refer to him?”
A question for a question. Fair enough. “Addressing him as ‘Mr. Kincaid’ seems wrong.”
Beatrice seem to smother an eye roll. “I didn’t recruit him. He came to us after you were declared dead. Whoever sent him to drug you and sneak you out of Lawrence’s camp didn’t tell him you survived. They let him think he’d killed you. I suspect they didn’t want him tracking you to that black site and busting you out.”
“They tried to use that as leverage, in fact, to get me to talk. The agony of knowing a SEAL like him believes he killed you when you’re actually still alive is pretty damn good torture. Unfortunately, I literally could not tell them what they wanted to know, and the truth is, they would’ve killed me anyway, if I had. But you knew I was alive.”
“He didn’t take it well that I didn’t tell him before sending him in.”
Ian had always been cold steel under those intense green eyes and fiery Irish spirit. “You believe letting him rescue me will bring him some kind of peace? I’ve got news for you, I’m pretty sure he hates me right now, because he still assumes I’m a traitor.”
Beatrice appeared mildly amused. “I sent him on this assignment because he had the skills. He refused bodyguard work and I didn’t want his first job for us to be in the field on an undercover mission, since his last went sideways with you. Eventually, he might be a good operative again, but if he chooses not to test those waters, there are other positions available. Your exfiltration was a straightforward in-and-out. I knew he could handle it.”
“Pretty words, and I don’t doubt that your strategic mind did, indeed, decide that was the best option, but I don’t believe you. You’re playing psychologist, thinking that breaking me out will fix the trauma he went through believing he killed me.”
“Not to mention the fact that he married you, and he’s been beating himself up for not keeping you safe in the first place.”
Vivi went very still. They’d kept their marriage a secret, planning to reveal it when they felt safe. Had Ranger spilled the beans after she called him husband the night of the rescue? “Why would you think we’re married?”
“Dr. Montgomery,” Beatrice emphasized the moniker, “I know everything about you, except the reason you went to Berlin six months ago. It makes no difference to me, but you must’ve been trying to contact Ian. For you to take that risk, and possibly blow his cover, is completely unlike you, so I assume it was a life and death matter. Only you know the truth. I’m no matchmaker, but the way that man looks at you? He’s still very much in love.”
The hits just kept coming. She wanted to cover her belly with her hands, but she forced them to stay by her side. Never show weakness, it was something she learned in prison. “You are one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met.” Vivi moved away from the window. SFI was probably more secure than NSA headquarters, but she suddenly felt vulnerable. Exposed. “But let’s get something straight. Nobody outside of this room can ever know that about him and me. Mick Ranger already does and that’s not good. The marriage was a mistake. I want your word, Beatrice. Absolutely no one. It could put him at risk.”
“How do you know?”
She didn’t, but everything felt dangerous right now. “Deductive reasoning. Like you said, I would never have gone to Lawrence and risked exposing Ian if it hadn’t been a life and death situation. I just don’t remember the specifics.”
Beatrice headed for the exit. “I won’t say anything, but you need to talk to Ian. He might have the key to unlock the memory.”
The clamp around her lungs was back. That’s what I’m afraid of.
But fear had no place in her life anymore. Gritting her teeth, she straightened her spine and went to confront him.