Page 76 of The Wrecked One

His brows tightened as if putting two and two together, fully grasping what I was implying. “Right now, I’m wherever you need me to be. So yeah, I’m here.” His glossy eyes had me fighting back more tears. “So, talk to me. Let’s get through this together, okay?”

Together. A solid plan. All I’d wanted for months. So, I gave him a small nod of concession.

“My parents aren’t Collective-rich, but they’re wealthy and very, very connected. My dad may not have a seat at the table, but he could still be a high-profile member.” Bullet point one checked off. “My dad golfs with a lot of billionaires. Belongs to the same clubs. He’s close with Sydney’s dad, and her dad is the one who gave us the trackers in Thailand.” Point two had Oliver’s eyes narrowing as those dark and ugly dots probably began to connect into a line for him as they were for me.

“Mom was excited about me taking the job at FYVM. She thought it’d be a great move for my future. My parents obviously had no clue I was going undercover since they didn’t know about Falcon, but maybe that’s why they kept calling to check in. Asked if I’d met the owner yet. I just thought they were being nosy like always. What if they wanted me to work there because they hoped for a matchup with Hugo, especially if the Sorens are near or at the top of the food chain like we suspect?”

Oliver continued to quietly stare at me, allowing me to talk and work my way through this. Gentle squeezes of my hand to let me know he was hearing me—maybe even agreeing with me.

“It wouldn’t be the first time my mom pushed for a union like that. When I was in my twenties, she pressured me to marry Mason after catching us . . .” I made an awkward choking sound before continuing, “. . . kissing one time. And, um, I’m sure you remember Mason and his brother inherited their father’s defense company when he died. Heck, for all we know, maybe their dad was even Collective.”

Oliver’s jaw clenched at that part, and it was obvious I’d struck a nerve.

“I mean, Mom wanted that union with Mason for a reason, and doubtfully because of Mason’s inheritance. Maybe my parents have their foot in the door with The Collective, but since they’re not billionaire-rich, they can’t secure a seat at the actual table.” Similar to how things went for that asshole senator, Craig Paulsen.

“If your parents were clueless we were undercover, and they are part of the organization, what tipped them off we were after The Collective? Why the listening device before we were intercepted? Why set the trap to draw out our team?”

“Paranoia? Or maybe Hugo planned to bring me into the fold, knowing I was Tony Vanzetti’s daughter, but he had to be certain he could trust me first. He couldn’t risk tapping my room, but having a guy bump into me and plant a device en route to our meeting . . . yeah, I’d never suspect that.”

And I hadn’t. I blinked rapidly, everything adding up more and more now.

“That’s how those Interpol guys knew I wasn’t using an alias. There was never a doubt about my real name as there was with yours, because they knew my parents. Well, know them.” I was speaking fast, but I knew he could keep up with me. This wasn’t his first verbal-vomit-all-the-ideas rodeo with me. “My parents probably vouched for me when I applied for the job at FYVM. And who knows what other conversations they’ve had since then.”

“They had the police on standby. Corrupt Interpol agents there, too.” He let go of me. “This was thought out beforehand.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly a Collective thing to do. They cover all their bases and have contingencies for their contingencies, just like we do for every mission.” I waved my hands in the air, channeling my second-generation-Italian parents and how they always talked. “If Hugo wanted to bring me in, that’d be a huge deal. He’d have a backup plan to take me down if he decided he couldn’t trust me.”

“Make it look like you’re a tourist getting arrested and passed over to Interpol from there.” He glowered the second he uttered the word Interpol. The memory of what happened to us both in his mind now. “Freeing themselves of what happens from there like always.”

“Listening device or not, if I’d turned him down at our scheduled meeting, he’d need to handle me. So, yeah, officers on standby regardless.”

“They were going to blow up Carter’s jet, though, and you would’ve been on it.” He tore his hands through his shaggy hair. “And do you really think Hugo would’ve given a heads-up to your parents that he’d planned to have you taken back in Bangkok? No, The Collective kills people that get too close. It doesn’t matter if they’re within their own group, either. They’ve proven that time and time again.”

“So, if my parents are connected, they’re not the reason those men didn’t shoot at the plane today. They’re not trying to keep me alive.”

“That all makes sense, but too many other things don’t add up.”

“I guess so, but . . .” But my gut told me I wasn’t wrong. Not about this, at least. That nagging nightmare-memory had to mean something, too.

“Have they said or asked you anything in the last four months that’d be a red flag? Anything that wasn’t obvious before but maybe is now that you’re thinking this . . .?” His voice dropped lower, trailing off at the end, clearly hating this idea of their involvement as much as I did.

“Aside from scolding me about lying to them about my job and what I’d been up to the last several years? Not that I can think of. But that’s typical parent stuff.” Right? “And that’s not enough of a reason to take them off our suspect list. There are too many other red flags to consider.”

He nodded. “Let’s talk to the team. See if Teddy and Easton got anything out of that guy, too.”

I arched a brow, trying not to be encouraged by his words, but I’d latch on to anything positive I could. “Our team, or my team?”

Hands to his hips, he blew out his cheeks as if contemplating how to answer. “Our team,” he confirmed, but then poked a hole through my hope and added, “But it’s my last and final mission. I want to be back with the team, and with you, trust me.” Eyes closed, he added somberly, “But I can’t rewrite the past and what happened that day in Thailand, which means I’m done for good.”

30

OLIVER

Why does this feel like an ambush? Or worse, an intervention?

Julia Maddox Finnegan could give one hell of an evil eye, and she was giving it to me through the camera on what was only supposed to be a call with Falcon.

She was pissed. Glaring at me, and clearly so mad she’d yet to work up the ability to even yell at me.

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