But in reality, all of the things he’d done had been to protect his children. Plus, he had made the choices she would have wanted him to make, right down to revealing the truth, despite the cost of that action.
Cooper had a theory about personality. Most people considered personality to be a singular identity. Malleable, sure, but essentially cohesive. But he tended to see people as more of a chorus. Every stage in life added a voice to that chorus. The different iterations of himself—lonely military brat, cocky teenager, faithful soldier, young husband, dedicated father, relentless hunter—they all existed within him. When he saw a ten-year-old girl, there was a ten-year-old boy inside him that thought she was pretty. Just one voice in a chorus of dozens, which was what marked the difference between healthy people and broken ones; in the broken ones, the inappropriate voices held an inappropriate number of spaces.
And the man who had been in love with Natalie had added a lot of voices to his personality. In moments like this one, that segment of the choir sang loudly.
He realized that he was staring into her eyes, and that she was staring back. He thought of that night in the space station, the way her lips had felt against his, the wine-sweet taste of her tongue—
THUD, THUD, THUD.
They both jerked upright. “Are you expecting—”
“No.”
He stood, moved swiftly down the hall. Another THUD, THUD, THUD at the front door. His sidearm was in a lockbox in the car, too bad. He moved down the stairs lightly, heard Natalie following him. What was this? Someone from the White House? Something worse?
“Cooper! I know you’re in there.” The voice was muffled, but perfectly recognizable.
Yep. Something worse.
He unlocked the door, opened it. Shannon stormed in, poking her finger into his chest. She wore a leather jacket and an angry aura, the muscles in her neck bunched. “You’re a colossal prick, you know that?”
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? I spoke to John, that’s what’s wrong, you fascist—” She stopped, her glance going over his shoulder, to the dining room table, the remnants of Thanksgiving dinner spread out across it. Her posture tightened. “Shit.”
“Shannon,” Natalie said, her voice level. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m—I’m sorry, I forgot it’s Thanksgiving. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You’re always welcome here. Come in.”
“I don’t mean to—”
“It’s fine. Really.” Natalie turned to him. “Why don’t you guys talk in the living room? I’ll give you some privacy. I’ve got a lot to do if we’re leaving tomorrow.” Her smile was as perfect and chilly as if it were carved from marble. She turned and went back up the stairs.
“Shit,” Shannon repeated.
“Come on.” He let go of the door, walked into the other room. “You want some turkey?”
“No. I don’t know what I was thinking, banging like that.” She shook her head. “I totally forgot it was Thanksgiving.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “So did I.” Funny how the life they lived made it easy to forget the things that defined everyone else’s. It was one of the reasons he and Shannon had the connection they had. They both lived apart.
She followed him into the living room. “Where are they going?”
“What?”
“Natalie said she had a lot to do if they were leaving.”
Actually, she said “we,” which was a little stiletto on the way out. The brutality with which women waged war always surprised him. “I’m going to New Canaan tomorrow to talk to Erik Epstein. Natalie and the kids are coming with me.”
Shannon said, “Oh.”
“So.” He flopped down in an armchair. “You were calling me a fascist?”
Her eyes flashed, and whatever social awkwardness she’d been feeling fell away. “You kidnapped him? Put a gun to his head? Beat him up?”
He met her eyes. “Yup.”
“That’s it? ‘A-yup?’ ” she said in her best hick voice. “That’s all you have to say, honey?”
“No, dear. You want to hear something funny? Yesterday I sat in a meeting about a massive security breach. A terrorist snuck into the DAR and stole a huge amount of data. Most of it about genetic research centers and bio-labs, the kind of privately funded, quasi-legal places that develop chemical weapons and customized viruses.” He leaned forward. “And there I am, thinking, ‘Huh—the terrorist on the security cameras looks just like my girlfriend.’ ”
“Oh Jesus, Nick, I wasn’t after bioweapons.”
“What were you after?”
“A magic potion.”
He shook his head. “Cute.”
“I was working. You know the kind of work I do.”
“For terrorists.”
“For my cause.”
“Goddammit, you can’t put me in that position!”
She regarded him coldly. “Just because we’ve had sex a couple of times doesn’t mean I owe you anything.”
“And it doesn’t mean I can’t bring you into the DAR in handcuffs.”
“That’s great. So when you need my help, it’s all love and trust. And the moment you don’t anymore, you’re ready to arrest me?” She crossed her arms. “I saved your children’s lives, Cooper. Don’t you ever forget it.”
He started to retort, caught himself. Took a breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry about that last bit.”
“I knew us dating was a bad idea. But I told myself that even though we were on opposite sides, I could trust you to do the right thing.” She shook her head. “But you’re still a storm trooper at heart, aren’t you?”
“No.” He felt silly sitting in the chair and wanted to stand up, but thought it would look even sillier. “No, I’m just a guy trying to stop a war.”
“Nick Cooper, one-man army. Judge and jury.”
“Said the woman who stole government secrets. Tell me, Shannon, what are you blowing up today? How many innocents are going to die in your next adventure?”
She stared at him, a storm raging inside her. He could see the fire and fury of it, the lightning flashes and howling winds. “I’m going to West Virginia. I’m going to do the best thing I’ve ever done. And you know the funny part? If you’d asked me about it this morning, I would have told you everything.”
“What’s in West Virginia?”
“Watch the news.” She spun on her heel and stalked out. “And fuck off.”
Before he could respond, he heard the door open and then slam shut.
Shit. He hadn’t meant for things to get that far; angry as he was about what she’d done, she had the same reasons to be angry at him. They had both been keeping secrets, and he’d expected a fight about it. Just not right now, not here. He rubbed at his eyes. Shit, shit, shit.
After a moment, he heard Natalie enter the room. She leaned against the wall, a dish towel in her hands and the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Oh, Nick.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “You haven’t lost your touch with women, have you?”
EDUCATING THE GIFTED CHILD:
A TEACHER’S MANUAL FOR ACADEMY INSTRUCTORS
Section 9.3: On Pity
Being an instructor at a tier one academy is a privilege for which few are qualified. It requires not only the most advanced educational training, but also a sense of mission rooted in unshakable personal discipline.
Humans are conditioned to love children. It is difficult to see a child suffering, whether the harm is physical, emotional, or psychological. That is natural and right.