Behind Closed Doors (Rochester Trilogy 3.50)

The first agents arrive, running along the beach toward us. “Rogue agent,” the first one says. “Status report?”

“He’s dead. Body’s over that way.”

“Any injuries?”

“No.”

A second agent jogs up next to him. “We’ll need her for questioning. Bring her this way.”

Sam puts his body between me and the agents. “Anything you want to ask her, you can do it here.”

More men gather around us. They all have questions. Rapid-fire ones. I don’t know how they process any of my answers. How long have I lived in Eben Cape? Has any other man like that agent ever checked into the Lighthouse Inn? Do I have any documents relating to my father’s history? Have I been in contact with anyone claiming to be a CIA agent?

I answer the best I can, but my voice doesn’t want to work. I’m afraid to say the wrong thing.

“We’ll need you to come with us, ma’am,” the man in front says.

“Leave her the fuck alone,” Sam snaps. “This whole goddamn mess is a consequence of a rogue agent. You did this to her. And now you’re going to be civilized and let her go back to her life.”

“Sir, your involvement in the mission—”

“The agency is going to show her some fucking courtesy.” Sam’s voice gets deadly sharp. “Or I’ll go on the evening news and tell the world how badly you’ve fucked up.”

The other man’s eyes go wide at the suggestion that Sam would expose them. It’s against their rules, I’m sure. And it has to be dangerous for Sam. The CIA could come after him for doing it. How would he ever feel safe again?

Maybe he’s never felt safe in his life.

The agents exchange glances. A man who would make that threat is someone to be reckoned with, I suppose. An uncertain energy hangs in the air. It seems like Sam was right. The man who came after me was working on his own orders. It would be a scandal for the CIA to have lost control of someone so completely that they came to Eben Cape and gunned down a woman on the beach.

Me. If they gunned me down on the beach. Another tremor rocks my body, and Sam runs a soothing hand over the small of my back. I was so close to dying tonight. I’m only alive because of Sam.

“Debriefing’s not optional,” the other agent says, looking Sam in the eye. The beach is swarmed with agents and helicopter shells. The rotors beating in the wind were the loudest sounds I’ve ever heard. They’re still echoing in my brain.

“Understood. Can you give us a fucking minute?”

Yes, apparently, they can. The men step away, leaving Sam and me in a small pocket of peace on the sand. He’s blocking my view of the dead man with his own body. All I can see is a team of people gathered around the rocks near the cove, anyway. All I want to see is Sam.

I lean into him and put my arms around his waist. Under the noise of the waves and the agents, I can hear his heartbeat. Sam holds me until I catch my breath.

It takes a long time. I almost lost my life tonight. The shocking part is how sad it made me to walk away from everything. From my business and my friends and the little home I’ve made for myself. But it made me saddest to be leaving Sam. That doesn’t make a lot of sense, I know. I only met him a few days ago. Even now, in his arms, the thought of being separated from him forever hurts my heart. I want him with me on a level that’s much deeper than a reservation at the inn or even a marriage license. It’s his body I need close to mine. His heartbeat. The scent of his skin.

It wasn’t enough time. Not by far. I want to know everything about the man who came to my door looking for peace and found me instead. I could have been peace—for a little while. The picnic was peaceful.

Though it wasn’t me, after all. It was his handler. His job. That was the source of his pain.

I’m not calm enough to figure it all out. Not tonight.

“What do we do next?”

Sam pauses at my question. His hands spread out on my back. We’re as close as we can be without being naked and in bed together. “You’re going to go back to the inn. You can have your life back, Marjorie.”

My life. The Lighthouse Inn. Phone calls with Emily. A trip to the antique shop. Visitors around the holidays, then a winter lull. Scrapbooking. I’ll be able to finish those projects and return them to the families.

That’s my life, but it was different with Sam in it. More exciting. More intriguing. My body felt awake for the first time in years. If I’m going to go back to my life, then he should come with me.