16. Chapter Sixteen Abby

Chapter Sixteen: Abby

N athan hadn't come back to bed at all.

In the morning, he had stormed out, and I had no idea where he had gone. The city buzzed outside my window, a soundtrack to the chaos in my head. I fumbled for my phone with trembling hands.

This might be risky…but I needed to talk to my father.

Nathan was out of control; the situation was intensifying; the FBI knew Tyler was missing, and his body was currently decomposing in our basement.

This was absolutely the phone-a-friend moment I'd been waiting for.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad," I said softly into my phone.

"Abby, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Dad's voice was as steady as ever.

"When are you going back to Boston?" I asked, pacing across the balcony of Nathan's place. "I need to see you before you go back."

"Abigail Harper, I wasn't planning on leaving until we talked. This old man knows when something's up with his girl." There was a gentleness to his tone that only made the knot in my stomach tighten further.

"I'm an FBI agent–"

"Yes, and always my little girl," he said sweetly, but I could hear the undertone of concern in his voice, and it made me sick to my stomach.

"Can we meet, I don't know…now?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The urgency in my words hung heavily between us.

"Sure, sprout. How about dinner? Same place as always?" His attempt at normalcy grated against me.

"No, Dad. Somewhere private," I insisted. I didn't know what I was going to say to him yet, but it had to be something. I needed to say something.

"Alright, Abby. Just give me a little bit to wrap things up here, and I'll send you a pin. Not that you need one, but…"

"Thanks, Dad. I'll see you soon." I ended the call, the finality of the disconnect echoing ominously. What would I say?

I grabbed my keys and headed out–toward the car he'd bought me. As I stepped into the garage, it felt perfectly domestic…normal, even…but I knew this was going to change everything.

Because I was going to tell my dad who Nathan was.

My phone buzzed with an incoming message, and I checked it to find a pin dropped at the San Francisco Marriott Marquis. It was a place etched in my memories, where Dad always stayed when he visited me, and I smiled when I saw that's where he had chosen to stay. The familiarity was comforting; even if it wasn't my dad's couch, this at least was a place I associated with safety.

As the sleek skyscraper loomed overhead, I parked in the shadow of its grandeur. My heart thumped erratically as I sat for a moment, gathering remnants of courage that threatened to scatter in the wind.

I forced myself out of the car, my feet moving on autopilot towards the lobby that had once been a place of reunion and joy. But today, it was the backdrop for a revelation that would change everything. Owen Harper, who had taught me every survival trick I knew, was about to learn just how far his daughter had fallen into the world he'd fought against all his life.

"Sprout, you okay?" Dad's voice cut through the whirlwind of my thoughts.

He was standing at the edge of the parking lot like he'd known exactly where I'd park, wearing a white button-up and black slacks, looking like a cop cosplaying a businessman. My dad was a chameleon like that, though–never uncomfortable, like he was perfectly at ease in the world.

"Hey, Dad," I started, my voice betraying the storm inside. "Let's go up to your room. We need privacy."

"Sure thing, kiddo." He glanced at me, a knowing look in his eyes. He could read me like an open book, but this chapter, I feared, would be too much for even him to bear.

He looked behind me, at the Mercedes Nathan had bought me.

His brows furrowed in confusion, that detective's mind never resting.

"Whose wheels are these?" Dad asked, nodding towards the car with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

"Mine. Long story," I sighed.

He eyed me suspiciously, but with a nod, he left it at that, knowing when to push and when to give me space. That was Dad—always a step ahead, yet willing to walk beside me through whatever hell I dragged him into.

As I approached, his arms opened wide, an unspoken sanctuary amidst the chaos. I fell into him, his familiar scent and the solid feel of his embrace enveloping me. It had been too long. The dam inside me cracked, emotions threatening to overflow. For the first time since this whole mess began, I felt the magnitude of how much I'd missed him. The man who'd taught me to stand strong was also the only one who could see me at my weakest.

Fat, warm tears slid down my cheeks as I buried my face into his shoulder before he leaned his face close to my ear.

"Missed you, sprout," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"Missed you more, Dad," I managed to say, clinging to him like he was the lifeline pulling me back from the edge. In his hug, I found a momentary peace, a brief respite before the storm I was about to unleash.

"Hey, Sprout," Dad's voice broke through the silence, his use of the childhood nickname tugging a reluctant smile onto my face. "Save the waterworks for inside the hotel room, huh? I've got a box of tissues with your name on it. Plus, I ordered some food; you must be starving."

"Starving and exhausted," I admitted, pulling back to meet his gaze.

He wiped the tears off my face, his smile never wavering. "A nice hot meal will fix you right up," he said.

We made our way into the lobby, its grandeur lost on me as my mind buzzed with what lay ahead. The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and we stepped inside the mirrored chamber. As it began its ascent, Dad leaned against the railing, his casual demeanor barely betraying the sharpness in his eyes.

"Been keeping yourself busy?" I asked, needing to fill the void with something other than the heart-pounding dread that I felt now that I was away from Nathan.

"Mostly playing tourist," he replied with a shrug. "Took a stroll across the Golden Gate Bridge, checked out Alcatraz. You know, all the usual spots." His lips quirked up in a smirk. "Though I've had a bit of side work with the SFPD—nothing too exciting, just some consultant stuff. They seem to think an old Boston cop can teach them a trick or two."

"Always the humble one, aren't you?" I teased, but my laughter didn't quite reach my eyes.

"Yeah, it's genetic," he retorted with a wink.

The elevator chimed again, signaling our arrival at his floor. We stepped out into the plush carpeted hallway, and I took a deep breath. This was it—the calm before the storm.

His room was down the hall, and I trailed after him, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The door clicked shut behind us, and it felt as though we had entered another world—a silent bubble where truths could be whispered without fear of prying ears.

He turned to me, his expression changing entirely.

"Abby. Listen to me."

I listened, my eyes wide, feeling like a little girl again.

"Is he listening to us right now?" Dad's voice was so quiet I could barely hear him, but I knew exactly who he was talking about. Nathan…the serpent looming over this whole conversation.

"No, he's not," I assured him, shaking my head for emphasis. "We're alone."

"Good," he nodded, his jaw set. He gestured toward me. "And this...is it an FBI operation?"

Before he could probe further, a sharp knock at the door made us both jump. Adrenaline surged, my hand instinctively reaching towards my side, where a weapon would have been if I were on duty, if this was…a lifetime ago. Dad's hand went to the small of his back where he always kept his piece hidden. Our eyes locked.

"Room service," called a voice from the other side of the door, chipper and oblivious.

Dad exhaled slowly, and I followed suit, feeling the coiled panic within me begin to unwind. He moved to the door with caution etched into the lines of his face, peering through the peephole before swinging it open to reveal a hotel employee with a cart laden with covered dishes.

"Thank you," Dad said. His voice was steady but I could hear the undercurrent of relief. He tipped the attendant and wheeled the cart inside himself, shutting the door with a soft click that seemed to echo in the room.

"Let's eat," I suggested, trying to put on a brave face as I gestured towards the food. "We've got a lot to talk about."

"Yeah, one second," he said. He didn't waste any time. He approached the cart like a bomb squad officer approaching a suspicious package, his movements precise and deliberate. I watched as he lifted the metal covers from the trays, eyes scanning, fingers deftly probing for anything out of place.

He'd been hunting monsters long enough that he knew how to play the game.

"Can't be too careful," he muttered, more to himself than to me, but I nodded in agreement. I got this. I got what he was doing.

"Let's just eat, okay?" I said, my voice soft but firm. "Talking can wait until after the first bite."

"Alright, Abby," he conceded, though his eyes still darted around the room, searching every shadow, every corner. We sat down at the small table by the window, and for a moment we just stared at the feast before us.

We ate in silence, the clinking of cutlery against plates filling the void between us. I pushed the food around my plate, appetite waning as the weight of my confession loomed over me. He didn't talk.

He just waited for me, which made the pit in my stomach coil tighter.

Finally, I couldn't stall any longer.

"Dad," I started, my voice barely above a whisper, "Nathan is Triad."

He stopped mid-chew, his gaze lifting to meet mine. There was no shock in his eyes, just a silent acknowledgment.

He was expecting this, and that made me feel worse.

"And no," I continued, feeling the resolve harden within me, "this isn't sanctioned by my superiors."

"Before you say another word," Dad said, his voice low and laced with a protective edge that had always made me feel both safe and smothered, "I need to know if Nathan hurt you."

I paused, my heart thudding against my ribcage. The thought of lying flickered through my mind, but it was no use—he'd see right through it. Instead, I met his gaze head-on and said simply, "I love him."

"That's not an answer, Abby," he growled, his hands clenched into fists on the tabletop. "And I swear to God, I'll fucking kill him if he laid a finger on you."

The intensity in his eyes scorched me, but I held my ground. "Dad, please. You have to promise me you won't do anything."

He started to object, but I rushed on, "Nathan knows everything—about me, about the FBI. If we make a move now, it's not just our lives on the line, it's everyone we care about."

His posture stiffened, his face a mask of barely controlled fury mixed with fear. "You're telling me that son of a bitch is aware you're an agent?"

"Every last detail," I confirmed.

"Christ, Abby." He ran a hand through his hair, looking for all the world like he wanted to tear something apart. "This is…shit, I could make a whole list. It's breaking protocol, it's personally dangerous for you, for me, for Nathan–even if I don't really give a damn about him. There are a thousand reasons I should report you to your superiors, get you the hell out of this city and never look back."

I nodded solemnly, my food cooling in front of me. "I think…I can take them down from the inside, Dad. I can bring down the Serpents' whole operation."

"Without backup? Without proper sanction?" His voice was incredulous, but beneath it, I detected the faintest note of pride.

I resisted the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"Sometimes we don't get to choose our battles," I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. "Or how we fight them. I have to do this, Daddy."

He exhaled slowly, his features softening. "You're walking a razor's edge, kiddo."

"I know." I picked up my fork again, turning my attention back to the food that had lost all appeal. But I couldn't let him see my doubt, not when I needed his strength to bolster my own.

"Be careful, Abby," he said after a moment, his voice quiet. "That's all I'm asking."

"Always am," I replied with a small, brave smile I didn't quite feel.

It was the wrong thing to say.

"This is insane…"

"Dad–"

"Insane doesn't even begin to cover it," Dad said, his voice a low growl as he leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. The hotel suite was plush, but his discomfort was obvious, sticking out like a sore thumb against the hotel's muted tones. "Abby, you're playing with fire."

I met his gaze head-on, my own resolve steeling within me. "I know it's crazy, Dad, but I needed to see this through." I paused, letting the words hang between us for a breath before adding, "Nathan's father wants us married to protect the family, and I'm going through with it. It's not up for debate. If you try to stop it... it'll only put all of us in danger."

He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, a heavy sigh escaping him. "Please listen. We should be taking him down the right way. By the book."

"By the book?" I couldn't help but let out a humorless chuckle, reaching for my fork and stabbing at the salad in front of me. "Tell me, when has that ever worked with the Serpents?"

We were at an impasse, both too stubborn to budge. Dad watched me, his jaw working silently, but he knew as well as I did that we had already been checkmated. So I did the only thing left to do—I ate. Crunching on a crouton, I pretended for a moment that we were just a regular family having lunch.

"Abby, I can't just fly back to Boston knowing you're here…mixed up in all this shit." His voice bore an edge, coarsened by years on the force and countless sleepless nights fretting over cases. "You might be right, okay? This might be something you can do. But I've seen too much to leave you here alone."

"Dad–"

His hand stretched out across the table, palm exposed and vulnerable. "I'm staying to watch your back."

"That's exactly what I want," I confessed, feeling a smile pull at my lips. "Because I need you here to walk me down the aisle."

The laugh that erupted from him was unexpected—rich and warm—a sound that had been absent for far too long. It reverberated around his sparse hotel room, bouncing off walls and filling the space between us with something akin to normalcy.

"Walk you down the aisle to marry a mafia boss?" He shook his head while chuckling still. "I swear, you'll be the death of me, Abigail Harper."

But we were laughing together then—the absurdity of our situation not lost on either one of us—our reality's darkness momentarily receding as we became simply father and daughter again, sharing a joke instead of plotting against a lethal threat.

"Only if you wear the pink tie I gave you for Christmas," I teased, the corners of my eyes creasing with genuine amusement.

"Over my dead body," he retorted, but the glint in his eyes told me he'd do it. For me, he'd do anything—even don a ridiculous tie and walk me down the aisle to marry Nathan Zhou.

"I'm taking every precaution, Dad. This isn't my first rodeo."

"Yes, it is," he said. "This is absolutely your first rodeo. That's what scares the shit out of me."

The laughter had dwindled to a pleasant memory when Dad's expression took a turn, his smile fading into the kind of sigh that carried the weight of the world. "You know, Abby," he started, his voice barely above the sounds of the city that trickled in through the slightly ajar window, "you're so much like your mother sometimes that that also scares the hell out of me."

I leaned back, my heart tugging with the mention of her. Mom was the firecracker of any gathering, the one who could turn a mundane Tuesday into an adventure without trying. She had died when I was so young, and I had lost some of her memory to time. I remembered her favorite dress–red, but not the shape of it. I remembered the scent of her powdery make-up but not her preferred shade. I remembered chatting with her as she put the make-up on, tracing the outline of her mouth with lip liner, smiling at me as she asked me if I wanted to try it.

How much I missed her sometimes seeped into my bones and the ache felt impossible to fill. But my dad was always there, helping me, smiling even when I could tell he was close to crumbling.

And I had put myself in danger–I had made him vulnerable to losing me.

I might be able to forgive Nathan for everything he'd done, but I still wasn't sure if I could ever forgive myself.

"Being like Mom is good though, right?" I asked cautiously, searching his face for signs of nostalgia.

"Good? Sure." He ran a hand over his stubbled chin, staring at something distant, something beyond the confines of the beige walls that surrounded us. "Your mom was a total wildcard, always bringing the unexpected into my life." His voice cracked just a little, and I knew he was somewhere else.

"Sounds like she'd approve of my current...situation then," I tried to joke, though humor felt brittle on my tongue.

Dad didn't bite, though; he only shook his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine with a gravity that pushed the air out of the room. "She didn't have a job that could get her killed, Abby."

His words were a cold slap, sobering and sharp. They echoed ominously, reminding me that beneath the badge and bravado, I was still someone's daughter.

"Neither did you, once upon a time," I reminded him softly, seeking the familiar ground of mutual understanding. "But now you know how I felt every time you had to work a dangerous case."

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. "No, Sprout," he said. "Because if I lose you, then I won't just kill him. I'll make sure to make it hurt."