Her Spy to Have (Spy Games Book 1) (19 page)

It was time to let her go.

He would report to the director first thing in the morning to let him know what little he’d learned from the grandparents, and tell him that he was ready to explore other leads.

* * *

Isabelle stood in the center of the Mansfords’ kitchen and tried to process what Garrett was saying to her.

The children were in the family room, playing a video game with friends. Cheryl and Peter were both in the city, working. Isabelle had been making lunch when Garrett arrived at the door.

He’d been gone for three days. She’d missed him far more than was wise.

Until this second.

“What do you mean—you paid a visit to my grandparents? Why would you do that? Never mind,” she answered herself. “Did you find out anything of use to your investigation from them?”

He had the decency to look at least a little ashamed. When he spoke, however, he sounded anything but. His voice became very quiet.

“I’m not going to apologize for doing my job. And if, in doing my job, one decent thing comes out of the mess your father created, I’m going to be glad for it.” She flinched at the rebuke. “They’re decent people, Isabelle. For twenty years, they’ve worried about what might have happened to you. Try to imagine how that must have been for them. The least you can do is let them know you’re okay.”

She knew she should have contacted them long before now. The truth was, however, she’d thought very little about them over the years. The bits and pieces of memory she’d once had of them had faded a long time ago. It was the slight against her father that couldn’t go unchallenged.

“My grandparents had no love for my father,” she said, slicing a tomato for sandwiches with meticulous care. “I don’t remember a lot about those days, but I do recall them telling him to get out and never come back. If there is a mess, it was created by everyone, not only him.”

Garrett didn’t argue the point, which only served to anger her further. She didn’t want him to be right. It would mean that so much about her life was all wrong. She laid the tomato on bread, then added slices of roast beef and cheese. She had no idea whose fault it was that she’d never been allowed to return to visit them. Her grandparents might have told him to get out, but she couldn’t remember if they’d told him to take her, too.

Garrett placed an envelope on the kitchen island beside the cutting board. “Your grandmother sent you a note. It includes their contact information. At least let them know you’re okay,” he repeated.

He picked up his overnight bag and left the room. She could hear his footsteps on the stairs.

She fingered the envelope, tapping it against the granite countertop. She wasn’t so certain she really was okay.

* * *

Garrett sat down with Peter that evening in his office. They had a few matters to discuss.

“My vacation’s been cut short. I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said.

This was a familiar routine and Peter didn’t ask where he was going. The leather wingback chair creaked as he pushed away from his desk. “What happens with Isabelle at the end of the summer? Did you want me to find other work for her? Or are you no longer keeping an eye on her?”

“I won’t be,” Garrett said. “I can’t speak for anyone else.” He drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. He couldn’t leave without knowing she was taken care of, or at least that he’d done his best for her. Memories of Bangkok, and her situation there, remained too firmly fixed in his head. “I’m not sure what she wants to do.”

“Cheryl offered to help her get into a university,” Peter said. “She said she’d think about it.”

She was being polite. Based on their past conversation, he didn’t believe she had any real interest in it. “She can’t afford it, and she’ll never get a student loan. She hasn’t lived in the country for years.”

Peter smoothed his fingers along the edge of his desk. “I’m willing to lend her the money.”

Garrett was uncomfortably reminded that his family knew very little about Isabelle and her circumstances. The minute she heard from her father, she’d be gone. “When I first asked you to find work for her, I never meant for you to take her on as a full-time responsibility,” he said carefully. “Lending her money might not be a good investment.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Really. And you know this because…?”

“It’s complicated.” Garrett shifted in his seat, trying to find the right words to say without giving too much away. He gave up. “Look. If she wants to go to university, I’ll give you the money to lend her. That way if she suddenly decides school’s not for her, you aren’t on the hook for it.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

Garrett didn’t, either. It was more the principle that bothered him, because he hadn’t been upfront with Peter. For that matter, neither had Isabelle. “You’re too trusting.”

“And you aren’t trusting enough.” Peter leaned forward. “You think I don’t know that she has to be involved in something significant for you to be watching her so closely? I can figure out some things on my own. From where I’m sitting, I don’t think she’s done anything wrong. She’s more likely a victim of circumstances. Otherwise, she’d have been arrested. Personally, I’d rather give her the benefit of the doubt and be proven right than assume the worst and be proven wrong. You should try it sometime. You’d make more friends that way.”

Garrett didn’t dare give her the benefit of any doubt because he didn’t want to be disappointed in her. He didn’t want her to be disappointed in him, either. Right now, they understood each other.

“Fine. I’ll try your approach. Let me front the money for any university fees. But do me a favor. Don’t tell her it’s from me. She can owe the money to you.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Peter said with a sigh. “I told you to leave her alone but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

He hadn’t needed any warnings. He’d known better from the very beginning. It simply hadn’t stopped him.

“You told me not to use her to get information. I didn’t.” He stood. “I’ve got to go pack. I need to say good-bye to the kids, too.”

He helped Cheryl tuck the children in bed. She stopped him in the hall and beckoned him into her bedroom. She shut the door behind them.

“Why are you really leaving?” she asked. “You still have another week of vacation. It’s because of Isabelle, isn’t it?”

“It’s really not,” he replied. “Duty calls. I’ll get to make up the vacation time later.” She looked so worried it made him laugh. “Quit being such a big sister,” he teased her. “I don’t have a broken heart.”

“Maybe not broken.” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hard hug. “More like bruised. It serves you right, too. It had to happen sooner or later.”

He hugged her back. “Can you do me one favor? Isabelle doesn’t really have anyone she can count on. Can you keep an eye on her? And let me know if she needs anything?”

“You mean, be a big sister to her instead of you?”

“Something like that.”

“Of course I will,” Cheryl said. “I like her.” She kissed his cheek. “But I love you.”

* * *

Isabelle stood in the hall outside Garrett’s door. He was leaving. She’d heard him say good-bye to the children.

It was obvious he had no intention of saying good-bye to her.

Whatever his reasons had been for visiting her grandparents, she should have thanked him. The phone call to them had been far easier than she’d expected. They’d been so happy to hear from her. But it was difficult for her to reconcile the cold-hearted man they said had taken their grandchild from them with the warm, loving person who’d raised her. It was as if he were two separate people. One of them was a complete stranger to her.

She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

He was standing by the window, gazing into the night. He still had on the dress shirt and trousers he’d arrived in that morning, although he’d removed the tie and his collar was open. He looked…unwelcoming. Not at all like the same man she’d made love with only a few days ago.

She didn’t enter the room but remained in the security of the open doorway. She hadn’t been especially friendly to him that morning either, so she had no right to judge.

“I heard that you’re leaving,” she said. “I wanted to thank you before you go. For everything, but especially for giving me my grandparents’ telephone number. I called them this evening. They sound very nice.”

“They are.” He said nothing more than that.

Tiny fingers plucked at her heart. She should go. It was obvious he wanted nothing more to do with her. They’d already said everything, anyway. She wavered, half turning to leave, then stopped and turned back.

“Is there any way at all I can leave you with a better impression of me than the one I’ve made?” she asked quietly.

His expression thawed. His eyes zeroed in on her face. “You have no idea the kind of impression you’ve made on me. There’s certainly no need for you to worry that it’s bad.”

“Thank you.” She started to close the door.

“Isabelle.”

She stopped. A spark of hope kindled to life. “Yes?”

“I’m no longer investigating your father. That doesn’t mean he isn’t still under investigation. You should be careful.”

The spark died. “I understand.”

“And Isabelle?” He crossed the room to the door in a few long strides. He gave her a quick, fierce kiss. “If you ever need anything—if you’re ever in trouble again, like in Bangkok—Cheryl will know how to reach me. Stay in touch with her.”

She nodded without speaking, then returned to her own suite of rooms. She closed the door and leaned against it, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Her whole life was a lie. One would think she’d have learned to keep her heart to herself.

Instead, she’d fallen for a man who lied for a living.

Chapter Twelve

Halifax, Nova Scotia, late November

Isabelle crossed Coburg Road onto Chestnut Street, then cut down Payzant to the old townhouse on the corner where she shared an apartment with three other girls. The icy November wind off the harbor seeped through the seams of the fleece-lined denim jacket she wore. Winter was here. She’d need to invest in heavier clothing.

She clattered up the slick wooden front steps, unlocked the door, and ducked into the small entry. In front of her was the door to the laundry room they shared with the two other apartments in the building. To her left was a flight of stairs. She kicked off her boots and dashed up the stairs to her apartment.

No one else was home. She breathed a small sigh of relief. They were nice enough roommates, but she wasn’t used to sharing her personal space and one girl, Talia, invited her boyfriend over to spend the night far too often. The walls were thin.

Isabelle’s bedroom was at the end of a narrow hall, next to the living room and opposite the kitchen. The other three bedrooms were on the third floor of the building. She hung her jacket on a hook beside the stairwell and carried her book bag to her bedroom, where she dropped it in a corner.

She flung herself face down on the narrow bed. She’d lived in worse places, but right now, she couldn’t recall them. Summer and fall in Nova Scotia had both been beautiful, but winter was getting off to a shaky start in her books. It was dark, dreary, and damply cold. She hated university, too. While her marks were good, she simply didn’t care for the structure. And the thought of living four or five years in the same place was almost unbearable.

She’d had a few website messages from her father that all was well, but busy, and she couldn’t help thinking that things weren’t well with her, yet that didn’t seem to hold any significance for him. He loved her. She knew it. But at some point, he’d stopped caring about her.

She’d been abandoned.

By Garrett, too. She hadn’t heard from him since August. That was also unbearable. Maybe even more so. She still spoke with Cheryl Mansford on a regular basis—she owed the Mansfords so much money it gave her heart palpitations to think about it—but Cheryl never had too much to say about her brother, and Isabelle wouldn’t ask. She’d learned he was in New Delhi with the High Commission of Canada. That was it. She’d finally had to accept that it really had been her father he was interested in. This foolish ache in her heart would heal given time.

She lifted her head and glanced at the clock. She had a half hour before heading to work. The city was an international port and one of the taverns on the waterfront had been thrilled to hire her when they found out she spoke four languages. Sailors proved to be good tippers and she needed the money.

Half an hour later, freezing in the ultrashort Nova Scotia tartan mini-kilt that was part of her uniform, she wrestled through the heavy wooden doors of the tavern.

Inside, despite the blustery weather, the atmosphere was warm and welcoming. Stout oak rafters braced the low ceiling. Hand-carved tables with benches instead of chairs, also solid oak, formed a wide column down the center of the room, facing a small stage for the band. To the right was the bar. A second room, beyond the first, held booths for people more interested in eating than drinking and listening to music. The stone slab floor kept the smell of stale beer to a breathable level. And she had to admit, the no smoking policy in the province made the air quality a vast improvement over many of the European pubs she’d been in.