Oliver sighed. The night seemed very dark outside the remaining circle of lantern light.
“The fault is mine,” he said. “I took steps to prevent your mother’s death, but I was too late. I knew of Ms. Sanchez’s activities, but had not yet realized the extent of her actions. She pretended to be your father’s proxy, and paid Chip Dawes to obtain the algorithm. He realized what it was, or what it might become. Mr. Dawes took it on himself to order your mother’s death.”
June’s voice was clear in the night air. “You didn’t answer my question. Who killed her?”
“That is irrelevant, Ms. Cassidy. The fault is mine and mine alone. I bear all responsibility.”
“Answer the fucking question.” June’s voice cracked like a whip. “Who drove the damn truck?”
Peter saw Oliver glance almost imperceptibly at Shepard. Peter figured June was too far away to see the movement of his eyes in the dim light. Shepard gave a slight nod.
Oliver said, “Mr. Shepard was under my orders to work with Ms. Sanchez first, and Mr. Dawes second. I thought it essential that he gain their trust to avoid an unfortunate outcome. However, events developed quite rapidly. I was overseas and unable to monitor the situation or direct Mr. Shepard. Again, the fault is entirely mine. But Mr. Shepard drove the truck that killed your mother.”
Peter took Sally’s pocket Glock from his lap and pointed it at Shepard.
Lewis, who had been eating on his feet, had somehow put down his plate and taken the flat black automatic from his waistband. He didn’t point it at anyone, but he didn’t not point it, either.
Shepard, who even standing right in front of Peter seemed somehow nearly invisible, didn’t react. He didn’t reach for the pistol in his shoulder holster. He simply seemed interested in what might happen next.
“In your many deployments,” Oliver asked Peter, “did you ever kill someone who didn’t deserve it?”
“Of course I did,” said Peter. “And I’m paying for it, believe me. What I want to know is, who pays for Hazel Cassidy?”
“Ms. Sanchez already has,” said Oliver. “I imagine Mr. Shepard is, too. Besides, he’s retired, and on your side. Would you kill a retired fellow soldier?”
Shepard still stood calmly, arms at his side. Never a twitch toward his weapon. What was he thinking about? wondered Peter. Maybe he wasn’t thinking at all. Maybe that was the secret to it.
“June,” he said. “You’re still the boss. What do you want?”
Her voice was sharp. “My mother was killed. My house was burned to the ground. I want vengeance. I want fucking retribution.”
Peter tightened his finger on the trigger of the pocket Glock. He knew Lewis would be preparing, too. Shepard was less than ten yards away. He still looked calm, but something was different. He watched Peter with a level of attention that was nearly tangible.
Then June sighed, and shook her head. “But that wouldn’t bring her back, would it? And it would make me as bad as Sally. So, no. No more killing.”
Peter released the tension on the trigger. In the corner of his eye, he saw Lewis relax his two-handed stance. A faint expression ghosted across Shepard’s face. It might have been a smile.
“What about Oliver’s offer,” said Peter. “Do you want to stay?”
She looked at Oliver. Again Peter saw her strength, her self-possession.
Something had changed up in that black barn with her dad. He’d have to ask her about it. He wanted nothing more than to walk through this orchard with her in the light of day, to talk to her, to make her laugh, to see the brilliance in her bright eyes.
He could spend a lifetime at it, if she’d let him.
Was this what it was like, to fall in love?
But she wasn’t looking at Peter. She was looking at Oliver.
“Tell me who you work for.”
“We’re an unofficial group,” said Oliver. “Washington would prefer not to know that we exist. But we do, because some tasks are necessary, and should remain secret. Like this one. Unfortunately, Sally was one of ours.”
“So, what?” she said. “You just decide what happens? Who lives, who dies? No oversight?”
“We have oversight at the highest levels. But because situations develop and evolve rapidly, we often make significant decisions in the field. We are frequently forced to choose between a bad option and a worse one.”
“What will you do with Chip Dawes?”
“Our funding is directed through a series of useful shell companies. We plan to incorporate Mr. Dawes’s organization into our operation. This is why he remains alive and in good health. So we can transfer ownership and assets.”
“And after that?”
Oliver’s face was politely opaque. “That depends entirely on Mr. Dawes.”