Chapter 13

I knew Nebraska was awake before consciousness hit her and she stiffened in my arms. At some point late into the night or early morning depending on how you looked at it, she'd turned, pressed her head into my throat, and cuddled close. That meant right then as she was coming fully awake Nebraska's cheek was resting high on my pec, her right arm trapped between us, her left over my hip, and to round that out my arm was holding her close.

To stop her from rolling away I slid my hand from her hip to her lower back and kept her pinned to me.

"I know you're awake," I told her.

Her already stiff body turned to stone.

"Nebraska?"

Still nothing. No movement. Not even a breath.

"Baby?" I pressed my hand deeper.

Finally she blew out a breath and admitted on a whisper, "I don't know what to say."

She didn't need to say anything for me to feel her pain.

Just like last night, when I could take no more hearing her whimpers through the thin-ass walls, and crawled into bed next to her I could feel the pain. It radiated off her in waves of anguish. It filled the room with thick, noxious poison that made it hard to breathe.

Then and now.

It hadn't diminished—not a fraction of the agony had been shaved off by sleep. Not that I thought a few hours of shuteye would lessen the betrayal.

Apparently she did know what to say. And it was no less excruciating to hear it a second time.

"I went to her funeral."

Jesus fuck.

"I didn't want to go. But my mom's friend Lori told me I'd one day regret it—not going. Not saying my goodbyes. So I went with her. Now…I regret it. All of it. Wearing the stupid black dress Lori picked out for me. Sitting through the memorial service at the funeral home. Listening to all of my mom's friends tell stories about how sweet she was, how she'd do anything for anybody, what a great mom she was. I regret sitting there in that front row watching her casket being lowered into the dirt wondering if I'd die if I jumped in after her. Would I die and be back with my mother."

She didn't sound like she regretted attending her mother's funeral, she sounded like she was being tortured by the memory.

Christ.

"I cried for weeks. I couldn't stop crying. I had nothing. I wanted nothing more than to never wake up again. I wanted my mom. And it was all a lie…" she trailed off and sucked in a breath. "All of it. Everything. How…" she petered out again, took another breath and restarted. "I've seen a lot of evil. I've sat across from the vilest men on the planet and still I can't wrap my head around their cruelty."

Well, fuck. I had to end that line of thinking but in doing that I risked causing her more pain.

"Can you take more?" I asked.

"More?"

I loosened the pressure on her back but only so I could shift away enough to tip my chin and look at her. Instead of looking up at me, she dipped her head, pressed her forehead deeper, and hid.

I understood that play, not wanting to look at me, so I didn't push when I asked, "Did your mother ever talk to you about your father?"

"My father?"

"Your biological father."

That pain swirling around us, radiating off Nebraska, suffused the room. It was so big, so ugly she shook with it.

"Don't tell me, he's alive, too." The thread of anger in her voice was nothing more than a front to cover the hurt.

"It fucks me to tell you this, baby, mostly because I know you're already suffering and adding to that isn't something I feel real great doing. But, you need to know."

"Know what?" she asked before I could figure out a way to soften the next blow.

"There's no way for me to—"

"Just tell me."

Right.

Just tell her.

Slice her open then hope like fuck I have the tools to stop the bleed.

But first I needed to know what she'd been told.

"What do you know about your father?"

"Nothing. He died before I was born. Car accident."

It was coming clear—no one in Nebraska's life told the truth.

Lie after lie then more lies to cover the lies they'd told.

That ended now.

Even if the unraveling of the truth was going to slice her to shreds, I'd make goddamn sure she knew it all.

"Your father's name is Dmitri Zenin—"

I got no more out. With a heave, Nebraska pushed away, rolled, and was out of bed on her feet before I could blink.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she shouted.

Welp. If Smith was still asleep he wasn't now.

I found my feet, hit the light on the bedside table, and when I did Nebraska whirled.

I should've left the room dark.

Just like yesterday she couldn't hide it—not any of it, not the fury, not the hurt, not the confusion.

I now fully understood Charlie Michaels.

Seeing all that I was seeing, I understood not wanting to be the one to witness her ruin. But the man was still a coward. He'd participated in the lie that was her life. He should've found a way many, many years ago to explain everything to her.

He had not.

He let his daughter swing.

The results of that betrayal were right then horrifically playing out in the most catastrophic of ways.

Nebraska didn't look gutted—she looked destroyed.

"Oh my God," she wheezed as she tore her hands through her hair, ripping the elastic band free. "Oh my God." With the repeat she fisted two handfuls of her thick, shiny brown hair and yanked.

"Nebraska—"

"Two years ago, there was an issue. A new player stepped into the game and was threatening to take over some well-established territory. We kept an eye on the situation hoping we wouldn't have to step in. It was getting ugly, but there were no outside casualties so we waited. Then a restaurant was hit and everyone inside died—the target and ten innocent people including an infant and a three-year-old. That's when we got involved. Charlie was in charge of making the meet. Both organizations agreed to the sit-down. But at the last minute I was pulled and another mediator was sent in my place."

There were a few things to note. The first: Nebraska's tone had completely changed. No threads of pain or anger. She rapped out the information like a briefing. Second, she'd shut her emotions off so completely I wasn't sure if I was impressed she could make the switch that fast or if it was highly concerning she'd flipped so quickly.

"Another mediator?" I inquired. "I thought you were the mediator."

"No, there are a few of us."

Now we were back in dangerous territory. The zone in which I was still in the dark, since Zane was being shifty and Nebraska wasn't talking.

"Let me guess. The others are wrapped up with Dutch, Badger, and Black."

At that Nebraska jolted.

Yep, I was on the right track. However, the question was: did I want to push while she was under emotional upheaval. With anyone else, I wouldn't hesitate. I'd take full advantage of the situation and use the turmoil to get the answers I needed. But with Nebraska it felt wrong to use her vulnerability against her.

"Forget I said that. Why were you replaced?"

Her shoulders lurched back again but with the jerky movement her eyes widened.

"What do you mean forget you said that?" she returned.

"What do you mean, what do I mean?"

Nebraska's head tilted to the right and those wide eyes studied me.

"You have me in a corner. I'm all over the place. I can't keep a straight thought. I'm furious. My loyalty to the people I trusted could be called into question. I'm confused and would likely slip up. Yet you're going to let the opportunity to get the answers you want go?"

That about summed it up.

"Yep."

"Why? You have me where you want me. I'm a freaking mess."

I didn't have her where I wanted her. Though a few minutes ago, when she cuddled into me I certainly had her where I wanted her. No, correction—I had her where I almost wanted her. If I truly had what I wanted she wouldn't have been wearing yesterday's clothes—or any clothes at all while she was curled into me.

"I know you think I'm a dick, but seriously, Nebraska, do you really think I'd play you?"

She seemed to think about her answer before she spoke.

"I don't know… yes? Why wouldn't you?"

Jesus.

"Straight up, it feels like I just had battery acid poured down my throat the way my gut is churning hearing you say that. Not because I've given you reason to trust me but because you've been taught not to trust, and that happened way before you found out the people you loved fucked you over. I'll give you this; if this was an interrogation and I had my target where you are, I'd play them and do it until I wrung every last piece of intel out of them, uncaring I was twisting the knife. But this is not an interrogation. You are not a target. But even if this was and you were I still wouldn't be able to cause you that kind of harm."

It was comical, the look of complete and total confusion on her beautiful face. Comical in the sense it was completely and totally fucked up.

Had no one ever shown her any concern?

Unfortunately she answered my unasked question.

"Charlie sent me to meet with Zane."

Not the worst thing that man had done to her, but not very thoughtful considering Charlie knew Zane would chew her up and spit her out as soon as he got a look at her files.

Then there was the part about Zane having a past with her mother—something Charlie likely knew about. Which meant he'd sent Nebraska down the path of secrets being exposed without preparing her first, and that was fucked up.

"When I texted him after the meeting went bad and told him I was coming to Egypt his response was ‘be safe.' Nothing else. Just that."

Another asshole maneuver.

"Since as far back as I can remember, I was taught how to be the mediator. When I was a teenager, the lessons were masked as advice on how to deal with bullies and high school mean girls. But the older I got, the more overt they became. He was molding me into who he wanted. I thought that was me joining the CIA like him. But he quickly disabused that notion. He had bigger plans for me. So you see, I'm nothing more than a pawn in a game that's centuries old. Crime. War. Greed. The game always remains the same, the players just change. With all of that, knowing I'm just a piece to move around the board when I need to be used, why would I think now was any different? That you were any different? Everyone uses me—"

"Please stop."

"Easton—"

"You're breaking my fuckin' heart," I groaned.

Her eyes did something strange. First, they went soft and unfocused, then after she blinked they remained soft but gained clarity. It was like she was seeing me for the first time, the way her stare turned sharp and acute. This wasn't the first or only time I'd noted she was observant, always watching and assessing. But this time it was different. Alert in a way that wasn't so much assessing as it was reflective.

Sadly, if not tragically, the softness vanished when three loud bangs came at the door accompanied by Smith shouting, "We got jam, company's inbound."

Fuck a motherfucking duck.

"Nebraska—"

"Later," she returned and sprang into action.

Obviously the woman was no stranger to bolting on a moment's notice. She had her shoes in hand and was shoving her feet into one of them before I took my first step toward the door. When I got it open I stopped only to warn, "Our conversation's not over."

"Copy."

Clearly, I'd lost her. She was back to all business—mission first. Nebraska was gone, and Dove was back in full force.

As soon as I was out of Nebraska's room Smith was there, his expression a mixture of apologetic that he'd interrupted, and pissed way the fuck off.

"Kira called," he started. "Maddon's been busy."

No shit.

I kept that to myself and instead asked, "What now?"

"His latest cable back to Washington included an aside he was worried Amani Carver had passed the engineering plans of the drone off to Nebraska. His report included pictures of Carver entering the apartment, Nebraska entering, then her exiting."

"Just her?"

"Yes."

It would be impossible to have a shot of just Nebraska. Neither Smith nor I ever left her side.

"He doctored the images to remove us? Why?"

"No clue, brother. Kira's guess is Maddon doesn't want to piss off Zane by dragging us and by extension the company into whatever game he's playing."

Maddon wouldn't give the first fuck about pissing Zane off. First, it was his idea to send Nebraska to Zane, meaning he knew he'd already pissed Zane off. Second, he wanted Zane pissed and playing defense. That was part of his strategy.

"No. He doesn't want any mention of us or Z Corps in the report because someone would see the name, know his connection to POTUS, and alert him. That would give Zane the opportunity to brief POTUS on the entire situation. And if Zane hasn't gone to him yet there's a reason why. But still, it would make Maddon vulnerable to expose Zane's involvement at this point."

Smith dipped his chin.

"I'll call Kira back."

"Who's comin' our way?"

"A GB team."

Good Christ.

That was the worst-case scenario—a team of good guys who'd been told Nebraska was the enemy and we were providing protection on their way to take her in. There would be no talking our way out of the situation, there'd be no reasoning with these men. They had their orders and they'd follow through by any means necessary. That's what they did, they were trigger pullers, door kickers. They wouldn't deviate.

I'd once been one of them, and so had Smith.

"The fucker picked well," Smith finished and peeled off to grab his shit so we could hit the road.

He wasn't wrong.

Maddon's play was a bullseye. He knew damn well neither of us could live with taking out any of the men he'd sent our way to the extreme one of us would sacrifice ourselves to protect a comrade. So, yeah, the fucker had picked well sending his GB team our way.

We were in the car, Smith behind the wheel, when Nebraska broke her silence. Since I'd left her in the bedroom she'd locked herself away and hadn't spoken. That was twenty minutes ago. And in that time she might not have said a single word but she'd been mulling over something.

I knew I was right when she announced, "I need to call in Badger."

Badger, the last man you see before you meet your maker.

"You don't think we can protect you?"

That I can't protect you?

"This isn't about protection, Easton," she snapped back. "He needs to be aware Maddon's jumped the gun. I planned for this. I'd bet he's already got word to Langley I met with Amani. He'll make me look like I'm an accomplice. He'll have told his team he wants to interrogate me. They'll follow his orders because that's what they do, not knowing they're being used. I knew he'd play it this way, I just didn't think he'd do it so soon."

"Well fuck," Smith muttered.

"He contacted Langley," Nebraska rightly surmised.

"Yes. He also sent pictures," I told her. "Though Smith and I were taken out of the images, they just show you walking into Carver's apartment."

"That tracks."

I shifted enough to glance in the back. Nebraska was behind Smith so I had a clear view of her hands clasped in her lap, knuckles white.

Her voice didn't denote the white knuckles.

But she was anxious and doing a damn good job of masking it.

"How does that track?"

"He knows better than to bring Zane into the mix just yet. President Graham might not be to Zane what President Anderson was and contrariwise Graham might not have that bond with Zane that Anderson does. But it's still no secret Zane has Graham's respect, and more importantly his ear. Maddon's not ready to tip the scale."

It was impressive, all of it, how deeply Nebraska understood not only Maddon but the strategies of battle. It was one thing to know a person, their motives, and because of that predict their next move, and seeing the bigger picture—the battlefield as a whole and with that the tactics.

Nebraska saw everything.

"What's he waiting for?" I asked.

"Chaos."

She'd said that before. And this time it was no less helpful than the last.

"What kind of chaos?"

"The kind that sends Zane scrambling."

I'd heard that before, too.

We were back to riddles and word games.

I wasn't a fan.

Nebraska must've read my expression because hers changed.

That meant when she muttered, "I want to tell you but I can't." Her face softened and I almost believed her.

Almost.

"You can—"

"I can't, Easton. This is what Maddon wants. This right here. He put me on this path; it's a no-win for any of us. You want the truth, I can't give it, so you continue not to trust me. I keep you in the dark, you don't have the full scope, it puts you at a disadvantage. The other option is I tell you everything in an attempt to win your trust, prove I trust you and I'm the one who causes the war. Lose-lose for me. Win-win for Maddon."

Yep, she fully grasped tactics.

"War?"

She nodded.

My gaze dropped back to her hands. Her knuckles were no longer white but only because she was now pulsing them together. Anxiety had turned into apprehension.

She was nervous and couldn't hide it.

I turned back, pausing to take in Smith's profile. He was concentrating on the road but his jaw was set to pissed.

Me, too, buddy. Me, too.