Page 10 of Prodigal Son

“You’re a damn liar, is what you are. Did you kill the guy who lived here and stuff him in a garbage bin?”

“That’squiteenough,” Eden said, raising her voice just loud enough to be heard above theirs. She’d never been one for yelling or gesturing; she expended exactly as much force as she had to in any given situation. She was an effective agent, like that. “This is not the time or place for father-son bullshit.” She sent each of them the kind of look that made Fox want to curl up into the fetal position, thatstop pretending to be a man and actually be onelook. Even Devin fidgeted.

“Devin,” she said, turning to him, “my guess is whatever you stole is more dangerous than proprietary secrets. Yes?”

He sighed, but said, “Yeah.”

“Seeing as Pseudonym’s just fired me,” she went on, “I’m no longer obligated to protect them – especially if they’re doing something as bad as I think they might be. You’re about to be in deep shit, I’m afraid. Tell us what you did and let us help you.”

One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “And why would you do that, sweetheart?”

Eden sighed. “One part professional curiosity, one part owing Charlie a favor.”

Fox felt his brows shoot up.

“Also, if you ever call me ‘sweetheart’ again, you’ll be eating through a feeding tube.”

Devin laughed. “Foxy, why did you break up with this one again?”

Fox smiled wanly, noting the way Eden made a pointed effort not to look in his direction. Now didn’t feel like the right time to point out that it had beenherwho’d lefthim, and not the other way around.

Four

The folder looked innocuous enough, the standard brown kind that fit into a larger accordion folder. The tab read1966.

But then Devin flipped it open, and Fox felt the synapses in his brain light up like an electrical storm. His father’s face stared up at him from the first page – a shaved head, wild eyes set in his expressionless face, and fifty years younger.

Project Emerald, he read. And then:Subject Nine.

He was glad he was sitting down, his mind spinning so fast he was light-headed. When he glanced across the coffee table, Devin was giving him a wry smile that was almost sad. “Spoiler alert, kid. My name’s not really Devin Green.”

Not surprising, no, but the news was painful all the same. One more lie to add the heap that cast a long shadow over all his children.

Fox swallowed and said, “Alright,” hating the dazed sound of his voice.

He went back to the file. It listed Devin’s – not Devin’s? – age, height, weight, and blood type. Followed by a list that readTest 1, Test 2, Test 3, and so on, each accompanied by a checkmark or a dash. There were only two dashes; the rest were all checkmarks.

“What are these tests?” Fox asked, and thankfully his voice had returned to normal.

“They vary. Some were actual medical tests. Some skills training shit. Torture training. All that fun shit.”

Fox swallowed. “Okay. What for?”

When he risked a glance, he saw his dad raise a single brow. “Where do you think I learned all the shit I taught you?”

“You didn’t teach me. Abe did.”

Devin rolled his eyes. “And where do you think Abe came from, huh? You think there’s just a shop where you can buy Israeli special forces soldiers to mentor your son? There’s not.”

Eden, like always, cut right to the heart of the matter. “You were a hired gun.”

“Oh darling, I was more than that.”

“Don’t call her that,” Fox said the same moment Eden said, “What did I say about nicknames?”

Unperturbed, Devin said, “There were thirteen of us. Orphans, all, pulled out of the orphanages before we could walk. We grew up in barracks and labs, and basements. Lots of basements.” He shrugged. “They fed us, doctored us. And trained us.”

“Oh…kay,” Fox said, brain struggling to catch up. “Hang on, you were–”

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