She takes a deep breath, clasping her hands in her lap. Her knuckles are white with the strength of her grip. “So how do we do it?”
The laptop slides to the floor with a thunk as I wrap my arms around my mother. “I love you.”
“But?”
“But that part has to be me, not we.”
One eyebrow tilts dangerously. “You are going to explain that.”
“If I do it, it’s self-defense. If you do it, you’re a vigilante, Mum. Maybe you get a sympathy acquittal, but not without losing your job and rendering yourself basically unhireable. If you’re there, the Quantico Three will never believe it’s accidental.”
“You think they’ll believe you?”
“If I’m completely alone? No, that’s an obvious trap.” From my bag, I pull out the postcard for Shiloh Chapel. “But if Agent Archer is with me and happens to leave me alone?”
“You’re going to let him use you as bait after all.”
“Yes.”
“You trust him not to tell the others?”
“Shit no, that’s why I’m not telling him.” I smile in spite of myself at her laugh. “His apology was sincere; that means he feels guilty.”
“And when a good man feels guilty, he wants to make up for it, not just apologize.”
“So I’ll ask Archer to take me to the chapel. If you’re still playing paperwork catch-up from the days you took off for me, you can’t drive me down. And Saturday’s my birthday. This bastard has run through all the flowers now, which means whatever he’s got planned for me is next; he just needs an opportunity. We can give him that.”
“Good Lord, I have taught you well, haven’t I?”
“You’re up here, safely away from suspicion, and if he is watching me as closely as we think he is, he’ll follow.”
“And our young, enthusiastic Archer will see a chance to catch a serial killer making the attempt, solve the case, and prove himself. He’ll leave you alone, but he won’t go far.”
“Which gives me backup if I chicken out or something goes wrong. It minimizes the risk.”
We sit in silence, both digesting the possibilities.
“You know if anything happens to you, it will shatter Brandon.”
I give her an incredulous look. “You never call him Brandon. No one calls him Brandon.”
“It would destroy him. You have to know that, Priya.”
“I do. That’s why I think Archer is a good idea.”
It wouldn’t destroy Mum, though neither of us says it. It would shred her, maybe even shatter her, but the pieces would come back together sharper and stronger, made of purer steel, because if there’s one thing Deshani Sravasti will never be, it’s defeated. No matter what happens, she will never let the world break her permanently.
Brandon Eddison, though, has something Mum does not: a gaping, bleeding wound named Faith. He may look for her in the face of every blonde almost-thirty he comes across, but he still thinks of her as that little girl with pigtails and a gap-toothed grin, the adorable little geek who never saw a difference between princesses and superheroes. Until—unless—they find her, that wound will never heal.
That’s where I live, I think, all the bits of me wrapped around that terribly fragile heart. I protect the rest of him from that ulcer, but I make it bleed, too, close and not close enough. A hard enough hit against me will shatter what’s left of Faith.
I wouldn’t hurt Eddison for anything, but I can’t live the life Inara’s showing me. I need justice, not the hope of it, but more than that, I need all of this to just finally be done.
“So you’ll talk to Archer in the morning?”
I nod.
“Be sure about this, Priya-love,” Mum says gravely. “If at any point you’re unsure, back away. We can still give him to the FBI.”
“I know.”
Late the next morning, when I come downstairs after getting the day’s schoolwork out of the way, Archer is sitting on the couch with the components of one of the cameras spread over the coffee table. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he greets.
“School, not sleep.” I head into the kitchen to throw together a smoothie for a belated breakfast.
He follows me in. “You have any plans for the day?”
I pretend to consider it. “Is it okay to go to chess?”
“As long as you don’t go off without me.”
Pouring the smoothie into a pair of travel mugs, I hand him one and toast him with the other. “I’ll get my purse.”
His eyes move constantly as we walk. His car is in the driveway, but I miss the walk and he gives in. The extra time to gather my thoughts certainly doesn’t hurt. It’s interesting to see Archer note and catalogue everything around us.
“How much freedom of movement is implied in this protection thing?” I ask once we pass the gas station. “Like, as long as I have you or Sterling with me, are field trips okay?”
He gives me a sideways look, reassuringly curious. “Got something in mind?”
I pull the Shiloh Chapel postcard from my purse and hold it out for him. “I have a thing for windows. Or, more accurately, my sister had a thing for windows, and I have a thing for Chavi having a thing for windows.”
“Convoluted much?”
“Eh. Anyway, Saturday is my birthday, and Mum and I were going to go.”
“Were?”
“She has to work. Now that the transition is finally approaching, the branch HR director in Paris is getting nervous. I really want to get pictures of the chapel before we leave, and under normal circumstances I’d just take Mum to work and drive down on my own.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“That’s why I said the under-normal-circumstances bit. Keep up, Archer.”
He barks a laugh, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “So you want me to drive you an hour away so you can take pictures of windows.”
Reaching back into my purse, I bring out my secret weapon: my favorite photos from the box under my bed labeled simply Chavi at Church. On top is the one I love more than anything. It was taken in one of the bigger Catholic churches in Boston, with soaring ceilings that gave the impression of weightlessness, like everything inside it was just floating in the vastness of space. Chavi had already been sitting for a couple of hours in the main aisle, sketching intently, and I’d taken dozens of pictures of her and the interior and the windows from nearly every angle.
But I went up to the choir loft, leaning over the edge of the front protrusion where the choir leader was supposed to stand, and got her standing in silhouette in front of the blazing window, dust sparking gold like a halo around her. If the senior picture was Chavi’s personality, this one was her soul, bright and full of wonder.
“Chavi was always trying to capture it on paper,” I say quietly, a little pained at using her memory to manipulate. Soldier on, Priya. “That sense of color, you know, the saturation and the way the light filtered through. Sometimes I feel like if I keep taking pictures of amazing windows, she gets to see them too.”
He flips through the rest of the photos, a wonderfully complicated look on his face. Complicated is good. Complicated means his thoughts are going exactly where I’d hoped they’d go. We’re in sight of the chess pavilion before he finally answers. “Sure, we can go. I mean, it’s your birthday.”
“Really?”
“Well, that is what you just told me,” he deflects, and laughs when I swat his arm. “It’s for your sister.”
“Thank you so, so much.” I take the stack of photos back and put them away in the outer pocket of the purse. “I promise to stay at chess if you’d rather wait in the café.” At his hesitation, I cock an eyebrow. “Whoever this bastard is, he’s not about to jump out at me in the middle of a group.”
“Fine, but you have one of them walk you inside to meet me when you’re done.”
“Deal.”
He is going to get in so much trouble when he leaves me alone at the chapel. I hope he learns from it, that he lets it make him a better agent. Maybe then I won’t have to feel so guilty.