The Assassin (68 page)

“What do you think?”

“I think Rudaki might have given us some truth, if only by accident.”

“Because of his cousin,” Kealey said.

“Exactly. The defense minister was supposedly passing us info because he was unhappy with the regime’s attempts to disrupt U.S. policy in Iraq by killing Tabrizi and the prime minister. Of course, it wasn’t true; Iran was never involved. But if Bagheri had nothing to do with it, why would Rudaki bring him up to begin with?”

“He needed a cover for the lies he was selling us,” Kealey pointed out. “Maybe the cousin was just the most convenient excuse.”

“Maybe,” Harper muttered. “We’re still talking to him. I think Bagheri might know a lot more than he’s letting on, so we’re looking for leverage. If anything comes of it, I’ll let you know. The question is, would you want to be involved?”

Kealey looked over. “Is that what you came here to ask me?”

“No, because that would imply a temporary role.” The other man paused. “Look, I want you back in the fold. What’s it going to take to get you back to Langley?”

Kealey brushed some snow off the wooden railing, watching absently as it drifted down to the frozen surface of the pond. “John, it’s a possibility. I want to come back, I think, but for now, my place is here.”

“She won’t see you, Ryan. She probably won’t want to see you for a very long time.”

“Then I’ll wait,” Kealey said simply. “As long as it takes.”

Harper thought about saying something but decided against it. He nodded slowly, his gaze drifting over to the manor house and the black government SUVs parked nearby. “Okay. I understand. When you’re ready, give me a call.”

Kealey nodded. Their eyes met, and they shook hands firmly. “Have a safe trip. Say hi to Julie for me.”

“Will do.”

Kealey watched him go, but before long, his gaze drifted back to the house. For a brief instant, he thought he saw a face swathed in bandages at one of the third-story windows, but then it was gone.

He stayed that way for a long time, staring out at the frozen pond, just thinking about things. What he had said was the plain truth, but he knew Harper didn’t really understand. Kealey would stay in town and drive out here every day forever if that was what it took. He wasn’t sure how Naomi had come to mean so much to him in so short a time, but he couldn’t deny his feelings. All he wanted was to see her again. There were things he wanted to say, of course, but mostly, he just wanted to see her. He thought he’d give anything to see her.

By the time he turned and finished crossing the bridge, a light snow had started to fall. He had almost reached his truck when the heavy oak door cracked open behind him. He turned instantly at the sound.

It was Everett, and she seemed relieved to have caught him. “She’s changed her mind, Ryan. I think she was just waiting for Mr. Harper to go. She’ll see you now.”

CHAPTER 58

LOUDOUN COUNTY, VIRGINIA

Kealey followed her up the narrow staircase. They continued past the second floor, up to the third. When the house was first built, the top floor had been used as a storage area for commercial goods, but since the extensive renovation in the mid-1970s, the open space had been divided into four large rooms separated by a single hall, each with its own private bathroom. As he followed her down the corridor, he was distinctly aware of a growing unease; Naomi had finally agreed to see him, but he had no idea what to expect.

He wondered if she hated him, if she blamed him for not taking the shot before Vanderveen could cut her. It was a distinct possibility, he knew, though the thought was almost too painful to bear. From her point of view, it must have seemed so simple. He had a gun; Vanderveen had a knife. She couldn’t know that Vanderveen had given him no target, that he’d done everything possible to keep her body between them. Nor could he have explained it to her, at least not to any purpose. It would have sounded like an excuse, nothing more.

The hall ran the length of the building. They were halfway down when Everett stopped and turned to face him. It seemed as though her genial nature was relegated to the ground floors; up here, she was a much harder person. He watched as she adopted a serious, clinical expression, and knew at once that she was about to relay unwanted information.

“Ryan, before you go in, I want to make you aware of a few things. I know you’ve expressed no interest in her specific injuries, but—”

“It’s not that I don’t have an interest,” he said. His voice was low but firm; he wanted to be clear on this. “It’s just that I’m here for her no matter what. I don’t see that knowing the specifics makes a difference.”

“I understand, and I can appreciate your point. But I think you need to know.”

Kealey took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Nearly all the damage is superficial. She was extremely fortunate in that respect. The knife missed the cervical branch of the facial nerve, but the wound to the cheek was very deep. There was no damage to the parotid gland, but there
was
some damage to the zygomatic muscles, both major and minor, as well as the buccal branch of the—”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Kealey said, trying to push down his rising fear. “How bad is it? Just tell me that.”

The head nurse blew out a short breath. “All of the muscle damage has been repaired. Her recovery should be in the ninetieth percentile, maybe higher. She’s already made amazing progress. The buccal branch of the facial nerve — that controls movement of the mouth and nose — was partially severed, but the sutures held, and the prognosis is good… extremely good, in fact. The nerve damage is almost certainly temporary, but her speech is still a little off, so be prepared for that.” Everett broke off, gathering her next words. “Most of all, it’s just a very… traumatic injury. The way it happened, I mean. She’s been having nightmares, insomnia, loss of appetite, things of that nature. And of course, the injury is to the face, so…”

“So what?”

“Well, she was a beautiful woman,” Everett said uneasily, as if that explained everything.

“She still is.”

Everett nodded slowly; Kealey’s tone was tight and insistent, and she knew better than to argue. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I have the feeling she’s very nervous about seeing you. Or rather, nervous about you seeing her. I hope you can handle it.”

He stared at her until she looked away.

“Sorry,” she started. “I—”

“It’s okay. Can I go in now?”

She nodded. “The door’s open, but she needs to rest. You can have thirty minutes, but that’s it. You can see her again tomorrow if she’s up to it.”

Everett turned and walked back down the hall. A second later he heard her feet on the stairs. Kealey put a hand on the door and took another deep breath. He thought about knocking, then realized that she might not want to raise her voice or even talk at all. In the end, he just tapped lightly and pushed inside.

The room was half in shadow, the curtains pulled back. Kealey could see snow drifting past the large windows overlooking the pond. The walls were the color of clotted cream, the furnishings simple enough: a large bed with a thick lavender comforter, an armchair and a couch against one wall, antique bookshelves against the other. There was also a small TV and a number of end tables scattered over the rough oak floor. Every spare surface was covered with floral arrangements in all manner of vases.

She was standing at one of the windows, facing away from him. Her clothing was basic and warm: a brown velour hoodie over a navy T-shirt, flannel pajama bottoms, and thick woolen socks. She didn’t move when he closed the door behind him, but he saw her shoulders tense and knew at once that she was trying to summon the courage to turn around. This realization filled him with a bitterness he had never known; it felt as though nothing was right with the world, that she should be afraid to face him.

“Naomi?”

She finally turned, her eyes downcast. The entire right side of her face was covered in a clean white bandage. The wound itself wasn’t visible, but even so, she looked incredibly different. Her face was gaunt, dark shadows under her pained eyes. It was immediately clear that she’d been suffering from much more than the physical injury, and Kealey knew why: the death of Samantha Crane — and to a lesser extent, Matt Foster — must have been weighing her down for weeks.

“Hi.” She gestured at the vases that filled the room and tried to smile. “Thanks for the flowers. You might not have brought so many, though. It’s starting to look like a funeral parlor in here, and that’s an association I could do without.”

He nodded slowly, aware she was joking, but unable to laugh. He took note of her speech. It wasn’t as bad as Everett had led him to believe. In fact, he could hardly notice the difference at all. Suddenly, he was at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say in this situation? What kind of comfort could he possibly offer?

He started to walk over, but she seemed to retreat, putting her back to the window. He stopped, unsure of her reaction. “Naomi, I want to be here,” he began slowly, “but if you need more time, I can—”

“What do you mean?” she asked. She was trying to keep her voice bright, but it wasn’t working. “I’m fine. I would have seen you sooner, but I didn’t want to scare you off with the swelling. For a while there, it kind of looked like I had two heads.” She tried to laugh, but it didn’t sound right at all. “How’s your arm? Looks better, anyway.”

He shook his head. “Forget the arm. Listen, you don’t have to—”

“Ryan, I’m okay, I swear.” But her smile was starting to slip. “I saw you walking outside,” she said quickly, desperately. “Is it really cold? I heard on the news it’s supposed to snow all night.”

“Don’t do this,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Please don’t do this. Talk to me.”

“I
am
talking. I just…”

She tried to hold on, but it couldn’t last, and she had pushed it down for too long already. Even from across the room, he could see her lower lip was starting to tremble, one hand tightly gripping the other. Then the façade gave way completely. She started to cry softly, and he closed the space between them quickly, putting his arms around her, pulling her close. Before long she was sobbing hard, hiccupping when she ran out of air, her hot tears dripping onto his sweater, soaking through to his skin. He felt a lump in his throat rising, but he pushed down his own emotions. He knew he had to be strong for her. He had already failed her twice: once with Crane and again with Vanderveen. He hated himself for it, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He only knew one thing for sure: that he would do whatever he could to make it up to her.

After about ten minutes, she pulled away and sat on the bed, her shoulders slumping. He joined her and took hold of her left hand, just waiting, letting her get control. When she finally spoke, her voice was exhausted and barely audible.

“I haven’t slept in days,” she mumbled. The emotional outburst had left her utterly drained. “He’s there every time I close my eyes. And if it’s not him, it’s Crane. In some ways, she’s worse. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. I know how much she hates me, Ryan. I took away everything she had, her whole life, and now I just—”

“Stop,” he said quietly. “Don’t do this to yourself.” He pulled her close as the tears started up again, rubbing her back gently with his good arm. He knew she needed to get it out, but it was hard to listen to her talk as if these people were still alive in some kind of abstract reality, just waiting for her to fall asleep so they could continue tormenting her. He couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever really recover from what had happened. The thought that she might have to live this way forever filled him with a sense of numbing despair, but at the same time, he knew he would never give up on her. He would do everything in his power to help her through it.

But only if she wanted him to. Once again, he wondered how much she blamed him for what had happened, and while it felt selfish to ask, he had to know. If being there caused her more pain than she was already feeling, he didn’t want to stay.

She shook her head when he posed the question, but refused to meet his eyes. “I think I hated you for a little while,” she admitted softly. “But not anymore, and I didn’t really mean it to begin with. I know you would have stopped it if you could have.”

“I should never have left you in the building,” he said bitterly. “If I’d just—”

“Don’t say that,” she said. “It just worked out badly. You didn’t make me leave the field office with Foster, and you couldn’t have known that Vanderveen was waiting outside the warehouse. It wasn’t your fault.”

He nodded, not really believing her. He tried to shrug off his feelings, knowing it wasn’t the time for self-pity. This wasn’t about him, after all, and there was something important he needed to ask her. He hesitated, unsure if this was the right time, but it couldn’t wait.

“Naomi, they’re going to be releasing you in a week or so. I want you to come back to Maine with me. To Cape Elizabeth.”

She didn’t look up, but he felt her body tense. “Isn’t that where…?”

“Yes.” Katie Donovan had died in the house on Cape Elizabeth nearly a year earlier. He hadn’t been back since.

“Can you go there?”

She didn’t expand on this, but he knew exactly what she was asking.

“I couldn’t before,” he said. “But I can now, I think. As long as you’re by my side.”

She looked up, and he went on. “Naomi, I want to take care of you. I want to help you through this, and I want to see you strong again.” He hesitated, then said what he really meant. “But mostly, I just want you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

What happened next surprised him, though it probably shouldn’t have. She pulled away, got to her feet, and walked back to the window. He stood up, confused.

“You don’t mean that,” she said, bitter regret creeping into her voice. “You can’t possibly mean that. Not anymore, so don’t pretend otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?”