“Sit down. Don’t move.”
There’s a table with two chairs on one side, one chair on the other. I take the single chair and fold my hands on top of the table. It feels too formal so I put them in my lap. That doesn’t feel right either, but I leave them there and wait.
It’s only a few moments before the door swings open and a woman walks in. Our eyes meet and my heart double thumps.
“I know you . . . you were the social worker at Looking Glass—the lady taking notes during therapy,” I say.
“I’m Special Agent Bennett,” she says and looks into the hall, waiting. “And this is Special Agent—”
“Hart,” I say. He stands in the doorway, both hands braced on the frame. He’s still perfectly dressed, perfectly polished, and I don’t think that hair would move if I blasted it.
“Actually, the name’s Larkin,” he says. “But if it makes you feel better we can stick to Hart.”
Hart—Larkin, whatever—shuts the door and takes the closest chair. His feet slide so far under the table he accidentally kicks my feet. Special Agent Bennett stays standing, arms crossed. Her attention is trained on Hart and his attention is trained on me.
“Hello, Wick,” he says. It could be that day in Bren’s living room instead of today, like nothing’s changed except for me. “You’ve been busy.”
I nod. “You too.”
He smiles and I lean back. I’m ready to get this over with. I’ve about had all the fun I can stand with these people.
“I always knew you were special, Wick.”
“You know that sounds creepy, right?”
“Sorry. It’s true though.”
“What do you want?”
Hart studies his hands. “I wanted you to know the truth. I’ve been in deep undercover for years now. Those men watching you from the building opposite Looking Glass? They were mine.” He pauses, waiting for some response from me, and when I don’t say a word, Hart continues, “I knew your mom. I knew what she went through. Losing her . . . they told me I couldn’t save everyone and I know that, but I still carry the guilt—probably will for the rest of my life.”
For something offered up so freely, the words are scraped and raw like Hart excavated them from some part of his soul no one was ever supposed to see. I want to look away and I can’t.
“I’m really sorry for your loss,” he says softly. “I wish your mom’s life had a different ending.”
“Me too.” I take a deep breath against the sudden ache in my chest. “And Bay? What about him? What I did . . .”
“You had no idea what was going on, Wick.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“No.” Hart’s sigh is long and heavy. “I had no idea what she had you doing until it was too late. I’m so sorry, Wick. I never would have let that happen if I’d known.”
There is the softest cough from Special Agent Bennett and Hart nods at her, squaring his shoulders.
“I started my undercover work with your dad,” Hart says. “I won’t say I know what you went through, but I think I have a pretty good understanding. My team and I have watched for a long time.”
“Did you make that deal with Joe? Were you the ones behind his plea bargain?”
Hart nods. “I was trying to bring all of Looking Glass down.”
“Great job of that.”
He grimaces and there’s something of the old Hart that peeks through. He’s irritated I beat him to my dad and I like that; means bringing down Michael and Norcut and Looking Glass was personal.
“Fair point,” Hart says finally. “Thanks to you, Dr. Norcut will go away for a long time—as will her son if we can ever find him.”
You won’t.
“So how long have you been watching me?” I ask.
“A while now.” Bennett steps away from the wall. “Those viruses at Looking Glass were from me. We weren’t sure if you were working for your dad or if you were really on board with Dr. Norcut. Larkin and I were fishing, thought you would be an ideal inside source for us if we could bring you to our side, but things . . . got out of hand before we could loop you in.”
“‘Got out of hand’? That’s what you’re calling it?”
“I’m sorry,” Hart says.
I take a deep, deep breath and let it escape slowly. “Aren’t you supposed to be debriefing me?”
“We are debriefing. Ten years here”—he shakes his head—“is a waste for someone like you.”
I wait, watching Hart, watching Bennett. She’s looking straight at me now. She’s holding her breath.
“Oh yeah?” I ask at last.
“Yeah.” Hart leans forward, and this time, I don’t lean back. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth about who I was and what I was doing. I wanted to. I think you have a lot to offer the world.”
I stare at him, searching for the bullshit. But there isn’t any, and I should be sarcastic because that line is so cheesy, but I meet Hart’s eyes and nod. “I know I have a lot to offer.”
“Good. Because I want to give you a job, Wick.”