Surrender

The smell of fresh baked croissants wafted around me. I rubbed my arms together, trying to shake the mist from my heavy coat. A fog had descended on the city overnight. Everything outside looked gray and dark. I didn’t like these kinds of mornings in Paris.

“Bon jour, Marie.” I grinned.

She let me stumble through my order without correcting my broken French. It was another thing I loved about the bakery. She was tolerant of my mistakes. Not everyone was as tolerant as Marie.

This morning I chose a chocolate croissant and an extra-large coffee. I inhaled the scent of both. It was a delicious combination.

“Merci.” I thanked her and reached into my purse to pay. “Oh shit,” I mumbled. “I don’t have my wallet.” I groaned at my mistake.

“It’s ok,” she said. “Pay me tomorrow.”

“No, it’s not ok. I’ll run up to the flat. I’ll be right back, Marie. Give me a few minutes.” I gave up on trying to speak all of it in French. It was harder to remember words when I was flustered.

“No, no,” she argued when I ran out the door, carrying my order with me.

I hustled across the street and rushed into the apartment. I burst through the front door, frantic to find my wallet. I looked on the kitchen counter and then in the bedroom. I tried to remember where I had last seen it. I was still holding the coffee and the warm croissant, but I was determined to pay Marie.

I remembered Vaughn mentioned he had to switch out one of my credit cards. Maybe he had forgotten to put my wallet back in my bag last night.

I walked into his office. It smelled like him. Masculine and spicy. I really did love how the dark navy walls looked in here. I grinned when I saw the Prada leather wallet on the corner of his desk.

“Ah-ha!” I snatched it up, but not before my eye caught what was in the waste bin tucked under the desk. I wasn’t sure I had read it correctly.

I knelt to dig through the trash. I held the newspaper in my hands. The headline couldn’t be any clearer.

U.S. Senator Mitcherson resigns over sex scandal, sends Congress into damage control

I blinked. I tried to swallow, but slumped into Vaughn’s chair as I read the article. The paper was dated with yesterday’s date.

It was my case buried in the foreign news section of the paper. My case.

Lana had come to me. No one else. I was the person she trusted when Senator Foley fired her because she got pregnant. She had put faith in me to make sure her child would be taken care of. I provided her the only means she had to gain control again. To make a man who had used and manipulated her for sex, pay for the consequences of his actions.

&nb

sp; Vaughn had supported every second I worked on her case. He had even volunteered to drive us home early from the romantic vineyard weekend. He had been nothing but a strong shoulder for me.

I felt my hands tremble. I could barely hold the paper upright to read it. Some of the details were there, but not all. Lana’s story about the senator. Her pregnancy. I raced to get to the end.

I slammed the paper on the desk. What in the hell was it doing in the trash? Was it because he had read it? Had Vaughn hidden it from me? He knew how important Lana was to me. He knew how hard I had worked. What a risk I took by agreeing to go up against a senator. Hell, he was there when I thought she had gone missing.

My phone beeped. “Damn it.”

It was a reminder that I had an appointment at the furniture store to select the final coffee table. I glared at my calendar. I had enough time to pay Marie for breakfast and make it to the store, but I had to leave now. I folded the paper and stuffed it in the top drawer of my nightstand.

I wasn’t going to let this go. I wanted to know why Vaughn threw it away.

I stood in the furniture store, chewing my bottom lip, debating between two coffee tables. The sales woman had left me scowling. My heart wasn’t in it. I wanted to scour the city for more articles about Lana. I needed details. I wanted to know who was representing her. Who else was going to testify? Had they found credible sources? I couldn’t go online like I wanted and conduct a proper search. I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere near my old life. Leaving a digital footprint wasn’t allowed. One of the first places Agent Kenneth would look was where I had left things in DC. He would track Greer, the university staff in my office, and any contacts I had with loose strings. Everyone knew what Lana’s case meant to me.

I didn’t know how hackers searched for tracers, but Vaughn assured me they were there. One search wouldn’t alert the agents—it would be the connection of pings I sent into the cyber world. The spider web of my interests that would signal I was still very much attached to my old life.

I stayed away from American news online. I had zero ties to social media. I tried to keep my interests on what happened in Europe, unless I read the paper or purchased entertainment magazines. Even then, I was hesitant to get caught up in American headlines. I knew how easy it would be to get sucked back in.

I had stopped debating between the two coffee tables and sat in a wing-backed chair nearby. My coffee was cold by now. The chocolate croissant was still back at the flat on Vaughn’s desk.

“It’s a hard decision.”

I turned to see who had spoken to me. It wasn’t the sales lady.