Reid turned away, glancing out the small window that looked out over their backyard. It was too late, by then. He didn’t have to confirm or deny anything. She could see it on his face.
“This isn’t a game, Maya. It’s serious, and if the wrong kind of people knew—”
“Did Mom know?”
Out of all the questions she could have asked, that one was a curveball. He was silent for a long moment. Once again his eldest had proven herself too smart, maybe even for her own good.
“I don’t think so,” he said quietly.
“And all that traveling you did, before,” Maya said. “Those weren’t conferences and guest lectures, were they?”
“No. They weren’t.”
“Then you stopped for a while. Did you quit after… after Mom…?”
“Yes. But then they needed me back.” That was enough of a partial truth for him to not feel like he was lying—and hopefully enough to sate Maya’s curiosity.
He turned back toward her. She stared at the tiled floor, her face etched in a frown. There was clearly more she wanted to ask. He hoped she didn’t.
“One more question.” Her voice was nearly a whisper. “Did this stuff have anything to do with… with Mom’s death?”
“Oh, god. No, Maya. Of course not.” He crossed the room quickly and put his arms around her tightly. “Don’t think like that. What happened to Mom was medical. It could have happened to anyone. It wasn’t… it had nothing to do with this.”
“I think I knew that,” she said quietly. “I just had to ask…”
“It’s okay.” That was the last thing he wanted her to think, that Kate’s death was somehow linked to the secret life he had been involved in.
Something flashed across his mind—a vision. A recollection of the past.
A familiar kitchen. Their home in Virginia, before moving to New York. Before she died. Kate stands before you, every bit as beautiful as you remember—but her brow is furrowed, her gaze is hard. She’s angry. Shouting. Gesturing with her hands toward something on the table…
Reid stepped back, releasing Maya’s embrace as the vague memory spurned a dull headache in his forehead. Sometimes his brain tried to recall certain things from his past that were still locked away, and the forcible retrieval left him with a mild migraine at the front of his skull. But this time was different, stranger; the memory had clearly been one of Kate, some sort of argument they had that he couldn’t recall having.
“Dad, you okay?” Maya asked.
The doorbell rang suddenly, startling them both.
“Uh, yeah,” he murmured. “I’m fine. That must be the pizza.” He looked at his watch and frowned. “That was really quick. I’ll be right back.” He crossed the foyer and glanced through the peephole. Outside was a young man with a dark beard and a half-vacant gaze, wearing a red polo shirt bearing the pizzeria’s logo.
Even so, Reid checked over his shoulder to make sure Maya wasn’t watching, and then he snaked a hand into the dark brown bomber jacket that hung on a hook near the door. In the inside pocket was a loaded Glock 22. He clicked the safety off and tucked it into the back of his pants before he opened the door.
“Delivery for Lawson,” the pizza guy said, monotone.
“Yup, that’s me. How much?”
The guy cradled the two boxes with one arm as he reached for his back pocket. Reid instinctively did too.
He saw movement from the corner of his eye and his gaze flitted left. A man with a military buzz cut was crossing his front lawn in a hurry—but more importantly, he was clearly wearing a holstered gun on his hip, and his right hand was on the grip.
CHAPTER TWO
Reid held up his arm like a crossing guard stopping traffic.
“It’s okay, Mr. Thompson,” he called out. “It’s just pizza.”
The older man on his front lawn, with his graying buzz cut and slight paunch, stopped in his tracks. The pizza guy glanced over his shoulder and, for the first time, showed some emotion—his eyes widened in shock when he saw the gun and the hand resting upon it.
“You sure, Reid?” Mr. Thompson eyed up the pizza guy suspiciously.
“I’m sure.”
The delivery guy slowly pulled a receipt from his pocket. “Uh, it’s eighteen,” he said, bewildered.
Reid gave him a twenty and a ten and took the boxes from him. “Keep the change.”
The pizza guy didn’t have to be told twice. He jogged back to his waiting coupe, jumped in, and screeched away. Mr. Thompson watched him go, his eyes narrowed.
“Thank you, Mr. Thompson,” Reid said. “But it’s just pizza.”
“I didn’t like the look of that guy,” his next-door neighbor growled. Reid liked the older man just fine—though he thought Thompson took on his new role of keeping a watchful eye on the Lawson family just a bit too seriously. Even so, Reid decidedly preferred having someone a bit overzealous to someone lackadaisical in their duties.
“Never can be too careful,” Thompson added. “How are the girls?”
“They’re doing fine.” Reid smiled pleasantly. “But, uh… do you have to carry that around in plain sight all the time?” He gestured to the Smith & Wesson at Thompson’s hip.
The older man looked confused. “Well… yes. My CHP expired, and Virginia is a legal open-carry state.”
“…Right.” Reid forced another smile. “Of course. Thanks again, Mr. Thompson. I’ll let you know if we need anything.”
Thompson nodded and then trotted back across the lawn to his house. Deputy Director Cartwright had assured Reid that the older man was quite capable; Thompson was a retired CIA agent, and even though he’d been out of the field for more than two decades he was clearly happy—if not a tad eager—to be useful again.
Reid sighed and closed the door behind him. He locked it and activated the security alarm again (which was becoming a ritual every time he opened or closed the door), and then turned to find Maya standing behind him in the foyer.
“What was that about?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing. Mr. Thompson just wanted to say hi.”
Maya crossed her arms again. “And here I thought we were making such good progress.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Reid scoffed at her. “Thompson is just a harmless old man—”
“Harmless? He carries a gun everywhere he goes,” Maya protested. “And don’t think I don’t see him watching us from his window. It’s like he’s spying on—” Her mouth fell open a little. “Oh my god, does he know about you? Is Mr. Thompson a spy too?”
“Jeez, Maya, I am not a spy…”
Actually, he thought, that’s exactly what you are…
“I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed. “Is that why you have him babysit us when you leave?”
“Yes,” he admitted quietly. He didn’t have to tell her the unrequested truths, but there wasn’t much point in hiding things from her when she was going to make such accurate guesses anyway.
He expected her to be angry and start throwing accusations again, but instead she shook her head and murmured, “Unreal. My dad is a spy, and our next-door nut-job is a bodyguard.” Then, to his surprise, she hugged him around the neck, almost knocking the pizza boxes from his hand. “I know you can’t tell me everything. All I wanted was some truth.”
“Yeah,