“It’s gotten to you,” he said. “Take a sabbatical.”
“Oh, no,” she retorted. “I was like this before. A nosy little brat. I used to traipse around the village. ‘Having a spy,’ I called it. You never really know a person until you see them alone. It’s addictive.” She paced to the window, pulled back the curtain, scanned the sidewalk. “I could see you were much too keyed up to go to sleep. Thought I’d just hang around and see what you were up to.”
“Where exactly did you think I was going?”
“No idea. Actually, I half wondered if you were one of Gadbois’s boys.”
“I thought we were working together with the French.”
“We are. In fact, I’ve never seen such cooperation. That’s what makes me nervous. Bending over backward, aren’t they? I mean, come on, this is the DGSE we’re talking about. They’re a pretty damn covetous lot. Not a lot of ‘hail, fellow, well mets’ in them, I can promise you. Too damn chummy, what?”
“You thought I was Leclerc’s teammate? Give me a break.”
“Lord, no. What I mean is that Leclerc wouldn’t know that General Gadbois had recruited you. You think terrorists are the only ones who work in cells?” She pulled a chair from a stand-alone desk, turned it around, and sat down, her legs splayed, arms crossed on the backrest. Her interrogation was over. His was about to begin. “Besides, why shouldn’t you be working for the DGSE?” she asked. “Industrial espionage is right up their alley. You’ve got experience at the highest levels of the private sector. Know your way around the Fortune Five Hundred. Solid contacts with the government. You can ask questions without raising eyebrows and get answers. But help me with something, Adam. You see, there’s a piece of your puzzle I just can’t find. Why did you leave Price Waterhouse? You didn’t like the money? Eight hundred thousand a year not enough for you? Or was it a question of power? Had to be something. Come on, Adam, tell me. No one walks away after making partner at twenty-eight. Like winning the Olympics and forgetting about the endorsements. Simply isn’t done. You had the entire package-looks, smarts, drive. They were grooming you to run the whole enchilada. And then one day, you chuck it all and say, ‘Good-bye, I’m through. Take the parking space, the pension, everything. Adiós, chaps. It’s been fun.’ Come on, then. What?”
“It was eight-fifty,” said Chapel, grimly amused. “The salary, that is. Might as well get your facts straight.” Of course, they knew all about him. It made sense that they’d briefed Sarah. He was the odd man out.
“And so?” she asked.
“Go on. I’m anxious to hear the rest.”
“Fine.” Sarah shrugged, as if she’d be happy to. “So, you left PW and ran off into the sunset. Literally, from what I’ve learned. Practically swam, biked, or ran every minute of every day for the next two years. Not many people can finish an Ironman triathlon in ten hours and five minutes. Two-mile ocean swim, one hundred ten miles on the bike, and then a marathon in case you’re still feeling chipper. I tried it once myself. Crapped out during the run. Had the mind for it, but the legs wouldn’t do it. I went down at mile sixteen. Never had the courage to try it again. What were you running from, Adam? That’s what we’re all asking ourselves. Never seen someone so dogged.”
Chapel bit back a rebuke. He’d never been big on introspection. He didn’t like her in his face, asking him all the tough questions he’d been avoiding his entire life. He looked at her closely. She was damp from the walk. Strands of hair clung to her forehead. A rosy sheen flushed her cheeks. Her shirt hugged her breasts, the damp cotton revealing the shadow of her areolae, and he could see it turned her on, her secret knowledge giving her the jolt she needed.
“Finished?” he asked.
“Almost,” she said, cocking her head. “Help me with something and we can stop. Piece of essential information, actually. Your father died right about then, didn’t he? Shot himself, if I’m not mistaken. Excuse me for being blunt, but the profession frowns upon niceties. Was that the reason you quit? You, one of those poor chums who spend their life trying to measure up to someone else’s expectations? When he checked out, you decided you were free. That it? Surprised you didn’t kill yourself, too. Happens all the time, and with stronger men than you.”
“Think you’re telling me something I don’t know?” he said, trying to keep it light, ignoring the pressure behind his eyes. “Give it a rest and save your sixty-second shrink job for someone else.”
“You can tell me, Adam,” she continued, her voice a silken ice pick. “I know all about demanding fathers. I had one, too. Only the best would ever do. Top marks in school. Best at the gymkhanas. Better win or not try at all. Was that it? Had to meet Daddy’s goals. Do as he said. Be the man he wanted to be.”
“Enough!” Chapel shouted, the force of his voice firing the pain in his shoulder.
“Tell me!”
“Tell you what? That he was a failure? That he never stopped complaining? That he was upset about how the world treated him? That he thought that there was some kind of conspiracy to get him. Is that what you want to hear? You want to know if I lived my life trying to meet his expectations? Why ask me? You already have all the answers.” Chapel laughed bitterly. He hated discussing his past, his family, despised personal confessions. Everything was so tawdry, so pat looking back. Life was about the here and now, not what was long over. “Are you done now?”
But Sarah only sighed, shaking her head as she fixed him with a steady gaze. “Then came September eleventh and you were saved. Your search was over. A cause. A reason. A grail. Treasury snapped you up in a second. Not many with the experience you had, or the brains. Finally doing something you wanted. Is that the way you saw it? Or were you just looking for someone else to make impossible demands of you?”
“I’m afraid it’s none of your business,” said Chapel, finding his calm.
“I beg to differ,” Sarah retorted. “I may have to count on you to look after me one day. I’d say that makes your past all of my business. If you’re shaky, unstable, I want to know it now, not later. Wake up, man. You’re not in the real world anymore. This is the netherworld. No one’s who they say they are. Giles Bonnard’s one of ours, if you want to know. MI6. Surprised? You’re a spook now, whether you like it or not. You’re one of us.”
The words echoed like the reading of a jail sentence. “Are you finished?”
“Not quite.” She approached him as she spoke, lowering herself to a knee in front of him. “After all that, though, I must say I didn’t know you until tonight. Not who you were. What made you tick. I thought all that stuff about duty and country might be a lot of bravado, the usual bluff. Wave the flag. See who follows. I was wrong, Adam. That’s what I learned. Wrong to think you’re one of Glendenning’s boys. Maybe even to think you’re like me.” Tenderly, she brushed his cheek with her finger. “Look at you. Concussed, burned, traumatized by the loss of three of your best pals, and here you are working a double shift when you should be in a hospital bed sedated and sleeping for the next three weeks. Get out while you can. This is the real thing. You’re not cut out for it.”
He met her eyes. “That’s what Carmine Santini said. You’re both wrong.”
Her hands found his chest, massaging him gently. “How’s the shoulder?”
“It’s killing me,” he admitted.
She kissed the sides of his neck, his chin, his cheeks. “What are we going to do with you?”
Her lips brushed his. He met their touch, tasted her. Was this real? Did she care for him? Desire him? Or was it another of her ploys? Was she moving him around the board, a pawn in a bigger game? The questions dissolved in a rush of pleasure. Raising his hand, he ran his fingers across her cheek. At his touch, she closed her eyes, brought the fingers to her mouth, kissed them. He shuddered, his body weakening. It felt so good. Did she know that it had been a year for him? Of course she did. She knew everything else about him, why not that?