“So you know,” I whisper, my tone almost pleading. “About why I want to take this fucker down.”
“Because he’s the one who raped you.”
I nod, finally giving up the fight to hold his stare. “I wanted out, Kynan. Told Anatoly I was out. He came all the way from New York to Boston to impress upon me that one doesn’t simply walk away from Anatoly Bogachev. He wanted those nuclear codes, and well… he wanted other things as well.”
“I’m so fucking sorry, Bebe,” he says as his hands clench into tight fists. I can tell by his expression he wants to wrap me up in a hug. He doesn’t, though, because he knows me well enough to realize I couldn’t handle it right now. I’m tough. I’m a survivor. I take pride in having survived the hell Bogachev put me through, and I’ll crumble if he shows me the slightest bit of empathy.
Instead, I lift my chin and give him a brave smile. My words are true and confident, and I mean them with every breath inside of me. “He hurt me. Terrified me. Threatened Aaron. I was willing to give him a pass. Hold my tongue and keep my end of the bargain—meaning I’d keep quiet and take the fall if my family stayed safe. But he’s coming after me now. He took a part of me I can’t get back, then robbed me of years of my life with Aaron. That fucker thinks he can do that and I’m going to take it willingly? Well, I’m not. I’m taking him down whether you give me the okay or not.”
“You have the okay,” he assures me, and I blink in surprise. That was easier than I thought. “However, you have to work in conjunction with Griff. He’s got a long-standing investigation and a lot of information for us. It has to be done legally, Bebe, so we make sure Bogachev goes to prison forever.”
I grimace because while I’m doing a good job confronting my feelings about Bogachev, I’d prefer to never think about Griff again. “I don’t need his help.”
“But you’ll take it anyway.” His expression tells me he’s not kidding about this. “You work with the FBI, Bebe, and you stay as aboveboard on this as you can. They’re building a strong legal case against Bogachev, and you can’t jeopardize that. More importantly, in exchange for your considerable talents, I’ve asked the government to pardon you in exchange for your help, so it’s even more essential you play by the rules.”
“What?” I rasp, my breath suddenly clogged up tight.
“I’ve asked them to have you pardoned. Have your prison time expunged. I’ve asked for the fresh start you deserve, especially if you help them take down the mastermind to the nuclear-code scheme.”
I close my eyes, stunned by the possibility, only to snap my attention right back to him. “Will they really do that?”
Kynan shrugs. “I’ve asked. We’ll see. But tomorrow, we start working with Griff and the FBI to figure out how to take Bogachev down as quickly as possible. Can you work with him?”
Can I?
That’s the real question when my feelings about him are so damned muddled. I just don’t understand why he didn’t tell me the truth from the start.
And why… why did he let things go so far in his kitchen last night? I’m mortified I let him do that to me—that I opened myself up to him. That I wasn’t smart enough to see through the ruse.
I’m so horribly embarrassed I let myself be fooled, and I’m not even sure I can look Griff in the face.
Of course, I can’t tell Kynan any of this. I’m not about to admit to such shortcomings.
Instead, I give him my answer with what I hope comes off as complete confidence. “I can work with him. No problem.”
“That’s good,” he says with a smile. “Because I really don’t think the guy is disingenuous.”
I hold Kynan’s gaze a moment before finally saying, “Doesn’t really matter. I can work on a professional basis with him, especially if it means getting my life back.”
“Good,” he replies, then makes a gallant sweep of his arm toward the door. “Now, how about you get back to work? I’ve told Griff to meet us here tomorrow morning. We’ll get started then.”CHAPTER 11BebeMy mom brings me a cup of chamomile tea as I sit curled up on the couch, staring at the unlit fireplace.
“Thanks,” I murmur as she moves to the recliner in the far corner of the living room.
“How’s Aaron doing?” she asks in a low voice so our words don’t carry upstairs to him.
I shrug because I have no clue. A few hours ago, I came home from work and had to inform both my mom and my son they’d have to go into hiding because my sins had caught up to me once again.