“My father is dead,” Preston said slowly, almost like he was admitting something he was ashamed of. “Of course he’s dead. Wasn’t that what you were trying to tell me in Rome—that people like my dad were dying?”
“Preston,” Macey started, but he was only looking at me.
“How did he die?” Preston struggled to keep his voice from cracking. He was still slightly frozen and totally numb, and he was trying to hold it all together, trying not to break down and be the weak link as he looked at me. “Do you know how he died?”
I wasn’t aware I was biting my lip until I tasted the blood. I nodded slowly. “He was shot. In custody. A few days ago.”
“In custody?” Preston asked like he was trying to wrap his mind around the facts, put them all in perspective. “In that place?”
He pointed at the mountain that was, by then, a thousand miles away.
“Yes,” I said. “He was there.”
“So he died,” Preston said again, like he was still trying the words on for size, trying to make them fit. “Was it your mom?” he asked Zach.
“We don’t know,” Zach admitted as if the question wasn’t offensive at all. And I guess when your mom is a psychotic terrorist it isn’t. “Cammie was there but she didn’t get a good look at the gunman. He could have been acting on Catherine’s orders. Or maybe the other members of the Inner Circle wanted to eliminate him before he could talk. We aren’t sure which.”
Preston whirled on me. “You saw it happen? You were there?”
“It was dark. I was in the other room, but…yes. I was there.”
“What were you doing there?” Preston asked.
“He asked to see me. I thought I was going to see you, but it was him instead. He told them I was the only person he would talk to.”
“Why?” Preston asked.
I shook my head. “He said he wanted to talk to me…about the Circle. And he asked me to keep you safe. But when I saw what happened to him, I knew you were never going to be safe in there.”
“And I’m supposed to be safe out here?” Preston yelled. The shock was wearing off, taking its toll. All that was left was fear and grief and terror. “Why did they arrest me?”
“The Circle,” Macey said. “It’s kind of a family business. It’s your family business.”
But Preston didn’t take the time to process this. He fired back, “Do you think I’m one of the bad guys?”
“No!” Macey reached for him, but Preston pulled away.
“Maybe I am.” A darkness filled his face. The truth about his father was seeping in, bleeding through his outer layers. “I could kill someone.”
“No,” Macey said. “You couldn’t.”
Preston pulled a chair out from the table and sank into it. It was like he no longer had the strength to stand.
“Where is my mother?”
“We don’t know exactly,” I told him. I wanted to keep the facts plain and straight and simple. He’d already heard too much to process any more. “We think she’s safe.”
“Are you sure?” Preston asked.
“The Circle is kind of a ‘by blood’ situation,” Zach explained. “It’s not the kind of thing you marry into.”
The wind blew and the cabin moaned, and the look in Preston’s eyes made my stomach churn. I thought I might throw up.
“I’m not surprised about my father.” Preston was tracing circles on the table. I doubt he even realized he was doing it, but he kept doing it again and again. “He was a member of the Circle,” he said as if trying the words on for size. “Should I be surprised?”
He looked at Macey, who shrugged. “Our dads are politicians, Preston. Of course we grew up thinking they might be evil.”
“Preston.” I risked moving a little closer, sat down at the table and reached for his hand. “When I saw your dad, he told me the Circle leaders are planning something. We think…we think they are trying to start World War Three. And he told me you can help stop it.”
“How?” Preston sounded genuinely confused. “How am I supposed to know how to stop World War Three? That’s ridiculous.”
“I know how it sounds. It’s just…have you heard anything? Seen anything? Did your dad give you something for safekeeping or—”
“I don’t know anything, Cammie.”
“You have to. He told me you did. He—it was his dying breath, Preston. Now, think!”
“Cam.” Zach’s hand was on my shoulder, but I pushed on.
“You know something!”
“No.” Preston was rising, shaking his head. “No. No. Just…no.”
Even though the sun was growing higher, none of us had slept the night before. Stress and fear mixed with exhaustion, and I could sense Preston starting to crack.
Zach must have seen it too, because before I could press again, Zach took his arm. “Come on, Preston. Let’s get you some sleep.”
I thought I was alone on the porch. Right up until the moment when I felt Zach’s arms go around me. There are many advantages to being romantically involved with a spy, and totally spontaneous and unexpected hugging has to be one of them. I leaned against him, felt the warmth of his body against mine.
“You’re shaking,” he told me. He turned me to face him, ran his hands quickly up and down my arms. “You shouldn’t be out here like this.”
But it wasn’t the cold that shook me. It was shock or fear or maybe just the sensation of adrenaline draining from my body, so I shook harder.
Through the window I saw Preston sitting at the rickety little table, rocking slightly.
“How many will they send?” I asked. “For him.” I nodded in Preston’s direction.
“You mean the good guys or the bad guys?” he asked.
“Either,” I said with a shrug. “Both.” Then I had to laugh. “It’s getting harder to tell the difference.”
Zach shook his head. “I know the feeling.” Then he turned, and the sunlight sliced across his face.
“You’re bleeding,” I said.
I brought my sleeve up to touch the scrape near his hairline, but Zach moved away.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine. It’s not mine.”