Authors: Cara Ellison
“I don’t know what it means for the future. Let’s just…”
“As I said,” Mark cut in, “you’re free to leave anytime you want.”
She nodded and slid from his embrace. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry I was exasperated last night.”
“Me too.”
“Okay. I’m going to the cabins. You sure you don’t want to come along?”
“No, I think I just want to hang out here today. Take it easy. Maybe when you get back, we can ride Bess and Millie.”
“That sounds great. I’ll be home in two hours or so.”
She nodded.
“You’re positive you don’t want to come with me?”
Aimee cracked the first smile he’d seen on her face all day. “I’m sure. Go.”
“Alright. I’ll see you soon.”
He kissed her, feeling her soften and melt a little with the warm contact. Then he walked back to the door and paused. He watched her pick up May’s ball and throw it out toward the wild grass. May and Aimee. His girls.
Mark arrived at the resort with a yellow legal pad and a pen. His main task today was just to compose a comprehensive things-to-do list. It was so late in the season, he doubted any work was going to get done on the cabins or the inn, but he wanted to at least know where he was on the project.
At the convenience store, he’d picked up some bear repellant, and he carefully stalked through the lower floor of the inn, ready to fight off ursus horribilis. It looked pretty clear of large animals, thankfully.
He stood at the large reception desk, trying to envision what he wanted. He wrote a couple of notes, then walked up the staircase, checking out the long golden corridor of meeting rooms and ballrooms. He walked inside the grand ballroom, noticing the old fashioned wall coverings. The crystal chandeliers were lovely, though filthy. And for a grand ballroom, it felt cramped. He imagined it at night, with soft candlelight, the mountain looming outside the windows. A wedding. Maybe his and Aimee’s wedding.
He had never in his life willingly considered marriage with anyone. Shelby’s strident pleas to marry had completely put him off. But now, with Aimee’s words still in his head and the impression of her strong little body in his arms, he suddenly saw what marriage was for.
Not that he was going to spend a great deal of time thinking about it. She was leaving. He could love her, but he had to be willing to let her go.
He turned and walked out then jogged back down the stairs.
And there, a man was waiting for him.
Mark paused, looking down at the man. He was bald; built large, and wore an expression of amusement. Mark felt an urge to punch him in the face.
“What are you doing here, Fraller?” he growled and walked down the stairs.
“How have you been?”
“How did you find me here?”
“Your lady at the ranch told me I’d find you here.”
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Mark said.
Fraller shrugged. “You know how these things are.”
“What things?”
“I was asked to invite you to a meeting with the Director.”
“Not interested.”
“It wasn’t really a request.”
Mark squinted his eyes, sizing up the man, the real purpose behind the visit. Mark had always found him too much of an inside man, someone who loved the Agency because it was a means by which he could feel important. That need inside him was dangerous. It made him untrustworthy. “I’m still not interested.”
“I’ve been assured that what happened at the Salt Pit is not material to the agenda.”
Salt Pit, a placid Orwellian term for the CIA black site north of Kabul. It was a former brick factory, and had been the site of the murder of Abdullah 10.
Just hearing the name spoken so casually sent a wave of black sickness through his mind, his gut. He despised everything about Adam Fraller and everything he stood for. Mostly he despised the memories that flooded back to him. Some things he wished he could un-see.
“It is material,” Mark said evenly. “And I’m not interested.”
Fraller shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Look, Spanner, I can’t go back to Washington without you. If you want to tell Director Castanetta to go fuck himself, feel free. Hell, I’ll probably join you in that sentiment. But I have to take you back.”
“And if I refuse?”
He shook his head slightly. “You can’t refuse.”
Mark understood what was happening. If he refused, subpoenas would be issued. Scandals would ensue. Because he was no longer an employee of the Central Intelligence Agency, he would not be protected; his identity would become known. He remembered other occasions when supposedly-classified identities were leaked to the media. Those people’s lives were destroyed.
Mark’s fingers curled into a fist; he wanted to punch Fraller in the face. He didn’t like being compelled by anything, whether the forces originated from inside him or out. Being manipulated by Fraller or Castanetta was bad enough. Being jerked around by the shadow parts of the US intelligence apparatus was intolerable.
He was cast in the wrong role in this fucking Greek tragedy.
There was only one way he could make his past go away for good. One way to stare it down and absolve himself of all obligations. It was the only way he could make the memories go away and become clean.
“When?” he asked.
“Now.”
Aimee jogged up to her room with May on her heels. She yanked open the bureau and pulled out the canvas bag of money. Sitting on the bed, she dumped the cash out, and began to count it. One hundred thirty-four thousand dollars.
About half a million had blown away in the plane crash. But Seth didn’t know that and he would still come look for her.
She separated three thousand dollars and folded it into the black envelope purse that she’d purchased at Flowers Vintage. May looked at her curiously from beside the cedar chest and Aimee averted her eyes. “Don’t judge me,” she mumbled.
Aimee dressed quickly, then ran downstairs. She poured some kibble into a bowl for May then refreshed her water dish.
Lugging the canvas bag over her shoulder, she rifled through the drawers until she found a key to the old Jeep.
Aimee drove the speed limit to Whitefish, careful not to draw any attention to herself. Fears of being pulled over by a police officer and reported to Seth kept her driving just under the speed limit.
At the Whitefish Shopping Center, she walked casually through the hallways to the large ice rink across from the Coach store. Aimee approached the front desk and shellacked on a big smile.
“Help you?” The cashier was probably in her twenties but looked much older. Meth, Aimee thought. It had ravaged her looks and left her with a hungry, hollow look that made her uncomfortable. On the positive side, though, she would probably not remember Aimee at all.
“Hi,” Aimee chirped. “I’m interested in a skating membership.”
The woman pointed to the prices on a posterboard over her head. “Three days a week is seventy five dollars a month…”
“I’ll take the unlimited package,” she said. “I love to skate.”
“Okay that’s one hundred fifty dollars a month. You also get a private locker and two free personal lessons per month.”
“Great, what a bargain.”
She waited while the lady rang her up, and Aimee slid across the hundred and fifty bucks. In exchange, the woman handed her a receipt and a locker key. “You’ll be in locker 41C. It’s right through those doors.”
“Thanks so much,” Aimee said, holding the key in her ice cold fingers.
She walked through a narrow hallway to the changing room. It was empty, as far as she could see. Locker 41C was about the size of her high school locker, plenty big enough for the canvas bag. She shoved it in, wrapping the straps around the body of the bag, then slammed the door closed, locked it, and pocketed the key.
Sixteen
“I have to go to Washington,” Mark said. “I’ll be gone for two days.”
Suddenly he looked tired. All vitality had left his face. Something in his tone, not just the imperative but the fierceness of it gave her pause. “Why?” she asked finally.
“I’ve been summoned,” he said simply. The bitterness in his voice surprised her. Covertly she looked at him, at the harsh profile of forehead, nose, and chin, the eyes shadowed by the dark slashing brows. A face she loved. And right now it was in pain, though he tried to disguise it.
“That man…”
“Adam,” Mark said.
“I guess I shouldn’t have told him where you are. But he said it was a matter of national security and the whole world depended on him knowing your whereabouts.”
Mark laughed. “That’s Adam. A little dramatic. Probably charming though, right?”
“Yes, very charming,” she agreed. She actually hated that she had been so taken with his charm. It was, in retrospect, a lot like Seth’s smooth charisma.
“Well he found me.”
Something like pity moved within her. “Do you … do you want me to go with you?”
He turned to face her then. “I’ll be busy every minute I’m there. Besides, you aren’t safe in D.C. Seth is there. Not to mention you would have to fly.”
She smiled at his gallows humor.
“Will you be okay here for two days?”
“Sure,” she replied. The thought of being here alone was vaguely liberating. It would be like they were a normal couple, she supposed. She could do yoga, watch television and pig out with a plate of Carrie’s cream puffs and
éclairs
. Of course, she could do that with Mark home too. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “And besides, I don’t want to have to board May.”
Aimee followed him up the stairs to the bedroom. She sat on the bed as he went into the closet and pulled out his suitcase. She watched while he packed two suits and neckties. He held up a light blue tie and a red one.
“Red,” she said. “Go bold.”
He folded the red one into the suitcase. “You have great taste,” he said, then leaned over to kiss her before walking back into the closet.
She picked at the gold threading in the bedspread, thinking how nice that felt. How casual and natural all this felt. It was like they were any couple, and he was going out of town for a business meeting. A scenario repeated across America thousands of times every day.
She was having more difficulty keeping those feelings at bay. She had to force her fantasies of independence into the foreground, make them real because she was losing touch with them.
Mark walked into the bathroom and she glimpsed him packing a toiletry bag. “Just two days?” she said.
“No longer than that.”
“Okay. Can I drive you to the airport?”
He looked surprised by that. “Sure.”
Mark actually drove to Whitefish airport. She sat in the passenger seat, feeling nervous. It was not just the fact that he was flying and she firmly believed flying was a dangerous activity akin to base jumping.
It was something else, something she couldn’t quite name.
At the airport, Mark held her at the curb. “Just two days,” he said again.
“Okay.”
“I’ll call you tonight, so if the phone rings, pick it up.”
“Okay.”
He kissed her, lingering for just a moment. “When I get back we can figure out the FBI stuff.”