Page 45 of The Spy Who Ghosted Me

Cash laughed. “Not exactly. They don’t advertise. It’s not like the CIA or FBI trying to recruit people on college campuses. These guys are much more subtle. They bring in ‘counselors’ who take you to lunch and tell you about this amazing opportunity to do something even better than college. You get to travel the world and have adventures like you’ve never dreamed of. For a kid who’d gone nowhere, it sounded like a dream. Until ... you get far enough into the process, and then they tell you the truth.”

“What was the truth?”

Cash closed his eyes and sighed. “That I was perfect for the job because not only was I intelligent, but I had no family connections and basically no emotions.”

“That’s not true, at least the no emotions part.”

Cash opened his eyes and turned his head toward me. “It is true.”

“No. It’s not. I don’t care what you say; you feel things, Cash. I know you do. There’s no way you could have made me feel what I did in Bordeaux if you didn’t have emotions. And the fact that you’re here protecting me tonight, not expecting anything from me, says you are anything but emotionless. It’s a shame you bought the lie they sold you.” I didn’t know why I needed to tell him that. Clearly this relationship wouldn’t go anywhere. But how sad it would be to live your entire life under the guise of a lie. I couldn’t let that stand.

Cash stared blankly at me as if it had never occurred to him that these recruiters had lied to him.

“I’m sorry the adults in your life failed you. They should have protected you.”

“It’s my job to protect people,” he whispered.

My hand crept up his chest to his face, where I rested it on his stubbled cheek. “I know you think that, and maybe you’re right—it is your job. But don’t you ever want something outside of the job? Maybe somebody to protect you?” My voice hitched like I was asking for the position.

Cash ran his hand up and down my arm. “I can’t think like that. It’s deadly.”

“Cash, I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think you’re really living. To live a life without people to love and be loved by, that’s more deadly than anything.”

My words seemed to weigh heavily in the air as we just stared at each other in the semidarkness, the thump of my heart pounding against my chest, waiting for him to say something. His blue eyes swirled with every emotion from sadness to anger while his silence pierced the air.

Finally, he said, “I didn’t tell you tonight’s story had a happy ending.”

My hand dropped from his face. “No, you didn’t,” my voice shook. I turned away from him and threw the covers over my head, feeling as if someone had just hijacked my story and stolen my happily ever after.

Cash’s voice cut through the sadness. “On either side the river lie. Long fields of barley and of rye,” he recited “The Lady of Shalott.”

A tear rolled down my cheek. Dang spy. He did an excellent imitation of a man in love.

Cash

“WHY SO GLUM, SON?” MERCER shook me out of my thoughts. No one had ever called me son, and the affectionate name startled me. Not even my father had ever used the endearing term. To him, I was just a problem and a mouth to feed when there was money for food.

I looked up from the wood I was staining for the wedding arch the bride and groom were supposed to get married under in a few days’ time. It was a tradition in Sabrina’s family for the bride’s father to make the arch beneath which his daughter and son-in-law would become husband and wife.

Mercer needed to put the final touches on his handiwork and had asked for my help while all the women were getting waxed. I didn’t even want to know what that entailed. I should have been following Izan, but I couldn’t refuse when Mercer asked. So I had Ivy monitor Izan’s phone just in case any significant calls came in or he left the property, as it seemed important to Mercer that we spend this time together here in his workshop. Although my thoughts had been far from this moment. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Sabrina had said last night. She had me wondering if my entire life had been a lie, and it was disconcerting. Could I be more than I’d been led to believe I was? And even if I could, would Sabrina be part of my life? Could she forgive me?

“I just have a lot on my mind,” I responded, trying to avoid eye contact with Mercer. Something about the man made me feel uncomfortable in my own skin. Not because he was a bad person—it was the opposite; he was a good man, and I wasn’t.

“Care to talk about it?” Mercer laid his paintbrush across the open can of stain on the stool between us. His kind green eyes, much like Sabrina’s, had me wanting to say yes, even though it was foolish. What could I tell him? The truth was out of the question—at least most of it.

“I’m not good enough for your daughter, sir,” was all I could think to say. I felt like I needed to prepare them for my departure. The thought of Sabrina’s family hating me after how kind they had been to me didn’t sit well.

Mercer patted me on the back. “Son, of course you’re not. I wasn’t good enough for Callie either when we first met. I’m probably still not, but that’s part of the fun of marriage. It would be boring if she didn’t have something to complain about.” He winked.

I smiled, imagining from what I’d witnessed that Callie was a handful.

“Although Sabrina has never been much of a complainer,” Mercer added.

“No, she’s not,” I agreed. Even now, when she had every right to rail on me, she didn’t. Instead, she’d trusted me enough to let me watch over her last night. I’d loved listening to her gentle sighs as she soundly slept. A few times she had even whispered my name. I’d asked her what she’d dreamed about this morning after she woke, but she wouldn’t say. The blush on her cheeks revealed what she refused to admit—I’d had a starring role in her dreams. I wished I could make them come true, whatever they were.

“So what else is on your mind?” Mercer pulled up two stools in his immaculately clean shop. There was hardly even a speck of dust. When we walked in, I noticed the large flat-panel TV on the wall. I had a feeling he mainly came out here not to carve wood or build arches, but to escape.

I took the seat he offered and he sat close, but still gave me my space. It felt like he was offering me a man-to-man talk, a privilege I’d never had. The closest thing I’d ever had to it was when one of my foster dads sat me down and told me I’d better not get any girl pregnant while I was living under his roof, and then handed me a box of condoms. After that, he ignored me unless he was barking at me to mow the lawn or clean out his garage.

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