Page 69 of Iris

Hudson nodded. Looked away, his gut still knotted.

Streetlights lit up the roads as the driver wove through old neighborhoods to the northwest corner of the city. They’d passed the impressive creamy-white Brandenburg Gate, then the river, bright with the lights of the nearby buildings.

“But along those lines, what’s up between you and Iris?”

Hud glanced at him.

“Are you in love with my sister?”

Oh. Hud wiped his hands on his jeans. “I…we…” He sighed. “I don’t know, okay? I just know that I feel like I got her into this mess.”

“How is this your fault? I remember Iris telling us that she showed up on the bridge, she inserted herself into this story.”

“If I hadn’t been there, maybe she wouldn’t have been either. And maybe none of this would have happened.”

Ned turned quiet. “Then why were you there?”

Hudson looked out the window again. “I think the Vikings are going to release me.”

“To the NFL?”

He gave a harsh, bright laugh. “I doubt it. I mean, yeah, my agent called and said he’d lined up a tryout, but I’m five years off the draft, and sure, I’ve got great hands, and I might be at the peak of my career, but one more hit to the head and…well, I’m already struggling with brain fog and some steadiness issues…”

And shoot, he didn’t know why he’d said that. Especially to Ned.

“Sorry, man. Our guys deal with some of the same things—brain trauma from concussive blasts, and other injuries. But yeah, its an epidemic in football.”

“Never mind the guys coming out of college ball—they’re getting faster and stronger every year. And some team can pick them up and mold them.” He shook his head. “I’m not trying to be cynical—just honest. And so when Ziggy approached me a few months ago and asked me to be a courier for the CIA—which ended up being this private security group—I thought, why not? Maybe…I dunno, I can be a patriot.”

“I get that,” Ned said.

Hud nodded.

“So, what happens when you get her out of this mess? You walk away?” Ned posed the question so quietly, the effect of it on Hud seemed disproportionately lethal. Like a knife between the ribs.

Walk away.

He swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Silence.

They turned onto a dark neighborhood street.

“I can’t seem to shake her out of my brain, and maybe it is just the guilt, but…” He blew out a breath. “We, uh, we were trapped in this cave overnight, and that was my fault too, but I didn’t realize that the tide would come in, so, anyway, it just kept rising until we had only a foot of air. And it was deep and pitch black, and I had no idea how to get us out of there, so I just hung on to the rock. And…I don’t know. She started talking. Told me about growing up on the winery, about working the farm, about her brothers.

Hudson sighed. “All I know is that I can sort of get stuck inside my head, and Iris kept me going. She’s funny and brave and I like being around her. She makes me feel that maybe everything is going to work out.”

“I see.”

He did? Because Hud didn’t see anything.

Ned leaned forward. “Stop here.”

According to Hud’s map, they were still a block away.

The driver pulled over, and Hud tipped him, then followed Ned out.

A streetlight bathed the sidewalk, illuminating bicycles tied up at racks, cars parked along the curb. Here, four-story buildings connected one to another, bearing a historical facade despite their rebuild after World War II. A cat ran across their path as the Uber drove away, and Ned pulled up his phone.

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