Page 37 of Wyatt
She reached for the half-empty bag of Doritos she’d found in the pantry and pulled out a chip. “Because I was standing on the street corner near the restaurant when he came out. And someone had slipped a gun into my purse. I’m not sure it would have taken much more than that—I was in the country on a fake visa, something hurried I got through our contacts, so…”
Reuben just stared at her.
“I was trying tostopthe assassination.”
Reuben’s mouth tightened into a dark line. “And York? Who is he?”
York. Ex-Marine. Attached to the CIA somehow. A fixer, maybe. And her contact in Russia. “He works in transportation.” She said it exactly how York had, straight-faced, without a hint of irony.
A raised eyebrow from Reuben suggested the same response she’d given York.
“No, really. He helps people get in and out of the country.”
“Mmmhmm,” Reuben said. “Did Coco hook you up with him?”
Coco. Aka, Katya Stanislova. The woman they knew as Coco Stanley.
“No. Actually, I was…in need of some help and York…” Found her. The man had materialized from nowhere right after the shooting to grab her. Had practically tackled her into an alley to save her from the FSB. Brought her to his safe house.
Risked his own life to get her out of the country. “Hid me, then arranged for me to meet Coco. He didn’t know we knew each other.”
“Why Coco?”
“She was—is—a hacker. See, when I found out about the assassination threat against the general, I contacted a man who I thought could stop it. Turned out that those emails routed to someone else—a man named Damien Gustov, an assassin who was hired to shoot Stanislov.”
“And frame you for it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know—we think he works for the Bratva.”
“The Russian mob?” Reuben drew a breath. “You were running from themob? RJ—you’re not…well, you’renotSydney Bristow. What were you thinking?”
And no, she wasn’t deluded, but thanks for that, Reuben. She pulled the afghan to her chin. “Iwasn’tthinking, okay? I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do. I just knew that…” She swallowed, her throat thick. “I know I was stupid. I got in over my head. I know it’s my fault Coco got shot—”
“What?” Reuben leaned forward. “No it’s not.”
“Yeah it is. We took the Trans-Siberian train—me and Coco and York—and York had to kill this guy—”
Reuben stilled. “This guykilledsomeone?”
“No, I mean, he was a Bratva agent, and he’d found us, and York—he was defending me. And then he threw him off the train, but he was worried that others would find us, so we got off but…” She closed her eyes, pressed her hands to her face. “That’s when Ford found us, and that’s when Coco was shot.”
Reuben had gone quiet, and when she brought her hands down, he also wore this pained, sort of thin-lipped, grim look.
She wanted to reach out to him, let him pull her into his massive arms.
“Someone started shooting at us. And Ford and York ran down the alley to stop him and…” She shook her head. “Oh, Rube, I was so stupid. I started running after York, and Coco grabbed me, pushed me back, and that’s when she was shot. If I hadn’t been so—” She reached up and wiped her cheek. “You’re right. I’m not Sydney Bristow. I’m just stupid and now…” She swallowed. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that alley with Coco’s blood on my hands, listening to her whimpering while York and Ford fight with an assassin, while I sit there and…unravel.”
Yeah, that’s the word for it. Since that day she’d been slowly unraveling, losing pieces of herself. Not sleeping, her eyes reddened, eating too many cookies, andhiding.
Yes, hiding was exactly what she’d call it. Hiding from a Russian assassin, sure, but hiding from her mistakes. Hiding from her regrets.
Hiding from the fact that she wasn’t at all the person she’d wanted to be.
A superspy didn’t wake up in a cold sweat crying.