On this day, August first, I, Olivia Arias, promise to the Class of 2005…
He scanned the page, hearing Liv’s voice in his head as he read each word, taking them in.
I will turn art into my job. I won’t play it safe. I won’t be practical. I’ll live a passionate life and date passionate guys and see the world so I can take pictures of it. I promise, Class of 2005, to live the life that scares me.
He let out a long breath, his brain snagging on the word passionate. That had always been the word he’d associated with Liv back in high school. Unlike him, who’d been going through life without much thought beyond the next day, Liv had dialed into things deeply. Her photography. Her views on life. The music she chose. Her future plans. They all had layers of meaning for her. She’d had big thoughts and big dreams. When he’d told her what bands he liked, she’d wanted to know why he liked them. What did their songs make him feel? He’d never thought about it before her.
Being around someone like that had been heady, had made him start thinking about things in a different way. He’d wanted to find that passionate part of himself, too. He’d wanted to be like she was—brave and bold and paving her own way—instead of following the prescribed path his parents had laid out for him. And he’d never had any doubt that Liv would do exactly what she set out to do.
But Liv had said tonight that they’d read the letters and that she hadn’t lived up to her plans. Knowing that these things hadn’t happened for her, that the night in the closet had stolen those dreams from her, made his chest ache.
He couldn’t help but wonder if things would’ve turned out differently if he’d stayed with her that night. If she’d never had to face down Joseph’s gun. If they’d had each other to lean on afterward.
Would they have saved each other?
His cell phone buzzed on the bedside table, breaking him from his morose thoughts. He set the letter aside to grab the call. “Hello.”
“It’s Billings. You in a place you can talk?”
Finn tipped his head back against the headboard, not up for a call with his boss but knowing he didn’t have a choice. When Billings wanted to talk to you, you talked to him. “I’m good.”
Even though he’d known it was overkill, he’d swept the room for bugs when he’d arrived out of habit and had booked the room under a different name.
“Where are you? Wallace said after your psych eval, you didn’t show up to get the key for the apartment we set up for you in Richmond.”
Finn sighed. “I made my own arrangements for my break. I don’t want to be in Virginia. Plus, I need to take care of some personal things. I have a place to lie low.”
“You mean you don’t want to be where all the resources to help you transition back are.”
Finn didn’t respond. His boss already knew the answer. They’d set up a “support network” for Finn after he’d taken what they considered too big a risk on the last job. He’d taken out the second-in-command in Dragonfly, which had been a victory, but he’d done it without approval and in a way that had nearly gotten him killed. Now they were worried the assignment had messed too badly with his head. Finn wanted to tell the powers that be that it had little to do with that and much more to do with the fact that he believed certain things were worth risking to rid the earth of scum like that. Dragonfly hadn’t been the organization that sold Joseph Miller the guns for the Long Acre shooting—something Finn had believed when he’d sought out the assignment—but it could’ve been. They would’ve—and had—put weapons in kids’ hands without blinking an eye. Finn had made sure that wouldn’t happen again.
But now he was paying the price. And the thought of weekly appointments with the shrink, and everyone he worked with eyeballing him to make sure he wasn’t screwed up after being undercover so long, made him want to punch things.
Billings grunted. “This line’s secure. Where are you?”
Finn squeezed his temples. “Near my hometown. I’ve rented a lake house from an old friend. No one from Dragonfly ever made the connection to my identity, and they all think I’m dead anyway, so I’m good here. All I plan to do is rest, fish, and work on some projects. That’s what I need to recuperate, not a bunch of therapy appointments. I need to be in my own space for a while.”
Billings was quiet for a long moment. “I get that. And I’m not going to stop you. You’ve earned your break. But you’ve been under for two years. The transition from that can be a hell of a jolt. I want you checking in with Doc Robson at least weekly by phone. That’s not a request.”
Finn closed his eyes. “Got it. But I’m all right. I know the difference between me and Axel. I’m not going to do anything crazy. I just need some breathing room. I’ll be ready for my next assignment by the end of summer.”
Billings sniffed. “We’ll see. I know you’re champing at the bit to go back out, but don’t get cocky. Pretending to be a criminal for that long leaves a mark. It can alter you in ways you don’t realize until you’re knee deep in shit. Believe me. I’ve been there. So if you’re home, spend some time with your family, your friends, people who know you and can remind you of who you really are.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious, Dorsey. You’re one of my best agents, and I know these missions are personal for you, but I can see that this last one took a toll on you. I don’t need you pulling some hermit bullshit and getting unhinged when all the crap you’ve seen and done in the last few years starts sinking in. I’ve lost agents who’ve taken the aftereffects too lightly. Don’t be one.”
“I understand, sir.”
Billings let out an annoyed sigh. “Sure you do. I’ll be checking in with you and the doc. And I want proof.”
“Proof?”
“If you want back on the job, you need to send me a weekly update. Pretend I’m your great
-aunt Mildred who’s just dying to see what you’re up to. I want notes and pictures of you doing the things you say you’re doing.”
Finn tapped the back of his head against the headboard. “You’ve got to be kidding.”