Page 130 of Critical Mass
“I’m sorry,” he said instead. “For all of it. For lying to you, for using you, for?—”
“You shot him.” Natalie’s words cut him off. “You shot Brass. Your friend.”
Hudson’s throat tightened. “I had to. He was going to trigger the chemicals.”
“I know.” She pulled the blanket tighter. “I know you did what you had to do. I just—” Her voice cracked. “I just keep thinking about what you said. About losing him three years ago. About mourning him. And then you had to shoot him tonight anyway.”
“I gave him an opportunity to stop. He made his choice.” Hudson forced the words out past the grief lodged in his chest. “I made mine.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the chaos of the crime scene continuing around them—agents taking photos, securing evidence, interviewing witnesses.
“What happens now?” Natalie finally asked.
“The FBI will want statements from both of us. Your father will need a lawyer—a good one. The media’s going to go crazy once this gets out.” Hudson hesitated. “And Blackout will need a full debrief. The whole operation will be reviewed.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Her eyes met his. “I meant . . . what happens with us?”
There it was. The question he’d been dreading and hoping for in equal measure.
“I don’t know,” Hudson admitted. “That’s up to you, Natalie. I lied to you for three months. Used your feelings for me to get information about your father. There’s no excuse for that, no justification that makes it okay.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“But I need you to know—what I feel for you is real. When I said I loved you, I meant it. I know you have no reason to believe me, but?—”
“I do believe you.” The words came out soft but firm.
Hudson’s breath caught. “You do?”
“I saw your face when you thought I was going to die. When Brass had that detonator. When I dove for the tablet.” Natalie’s voice shook. “No one’s that good an actor, Hudson. Whatever else was a lie, that fear was real.”
“It was. I was terrified of losing you.”
“But I still lost three months with you. Three months where I thought I knew you, thought we were building something real. And now I have to figure out who you actually are versus who Timothy Shaw was. I have to decide if I can trust you again.” She wiped at her eyes. “And honestly? I don’t know if I can.”
The words hurt, but Hudson nodded. “I understand.”
“Do you? Because I’m not sure I do.” Natalie stood, the blanket falling from her shoulders. “My father’s been lying to me. You’ve been lying to me. Everyone in my life has been lying to me, and I don’t know who I can trust anymore. I don’t even know who I am in all of this—am I Richard Ravenscroft’s daughter, the woman who helped terrorists? Or am I the person who stopped an attack? Both? Neither?”
“You’re Natalie,” Hudson said simply. “You’re brave and smart and strong. You’re the woman who hit a man with a rock to save me. Who shot Dimitri when he tried to kill me. Who dove for a bomb detonator to save everyone on this pier. Your father’s choices don’t define you. Neither do mine.”
She stared at him for a long moment, tears streaming down her face. “I need time. To process all of this. To figure out what comes next. Can you give me that?”
“As much as you need.”
“Even if it means I decide I can’t do this? Can’t be with someone who lied to me?”
Every instinct Hudson had screamed at him to fight, to convince her, to promise he’d never lie again.
But that would be selfish. And Natalie deserved better than his selfishness.
“Even then,” he said quietly. “Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it.”
Natalie nodded, more tears falling. Then she turned and walked away, back toward her father, back toward the FBI agents who needed her statement.
Hudson watched her go, his chest aching with loss and regret and the terrible knowledge that he might have just lost the best thing that ever happened to him.
But if that was the price of finally respecting her choices, of finally treating her the way she deserved to be treated?
