He drew in a deep breath. “To explain. To apologize. To see you.”
I dropped down to sit on the bed, my limbs already heavy with resignation. “There’s no need. It is what it is.” I still replayed that final conversation we’d had over and over in my head. He’d been so . . . cold. So unfeeling.
“I didn’t expect to be here. I’ve never felt the need to talk . . . explain. I’ve always operated on the basis that I told people as little as possible about operations.” He took a seat on the stool I’d been using to study. “It was always a strength of mine. In the army, I mean. And even when I started my own business.”
I didn’t need to ask him how he’d managed with women, because I knew he’d never had relationships that lasted more than a few hours. “And that’s why you prefer one-night stands.”
“I guess that’s part of it. No one asks any difficult questions of a naked stranger. I’ve never had to navigate any other type of relationship.”
“So, what are you here to say, Landon?”
He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out some paper. “I think this explains it better than I can.”
He offered me the paper, and I took it, unfolding it to find a newspaper clipping. “It was in the Times. A British paper,” he said.
Why was he giving me this? What did this have to do with anything?
I glanced up at him, and he jutted his chin toward the article.
I started to read.
It was about Walt Williams.
I glanced up at Landon when I got to the words arms dealer and terrorist. “This was why you were on the boat? To try to . . .”
“It was a job for a friend. I was there just to monitor who came on and off the yacht. And then he took you to dinner, to meet the wrong kind of people, and things began to escalate. No doubt he and some others at the table disappeared at some point during the meal.”
I frowned, trying to remember. “Some of them went to smoke cigars.”
“Right. That’s what the dinner was all for. Walt was meeting with buyers. Or their intermediaries.”
“Wait, I went to dinner with terrorists?” My heart began to pound. I’d thought Walt was some charming Texan oil tycoon.
“Friends of terrorists,” Landon said. “Keep reading.”
Walt had been arrested. Was awaiting trial. “Holy shit. He was selling arms to Islamic State?”
“A splinter group,” Landon confirmed.
“He invited me to play poker with him and some friends. Was that . . .?”
Landon nodded. “That meet was a much bigger deal. For Walt and for the client I was working for. So much so that they got intelligence that Walt was going to ask you to accompany him and wanted you to help them build their case against him.”
Landon went on to describe how he was supposed to recruit me to help him, and how he hadn’t wanted to put me in the inevitable danger that getting involved might bring.
“I had no idea,” I said, breathless with all this new information.
“When you found out at dinner, I still couldn’t bring myself to tell you and recruit your help. It was the first time I’d ever compromised a mission. Put lives in danger because . . . because of personal feelings.”
“But perhaps I should have helped. Maybe I could have—”
“No, Skylar. It was dangerous, and I knew we could get what we needed without involving you. I also understood because of the person you are, that you’d want to help, which was why I didn’t tell you at the time. I would never have convinced you to leave.”
He’d been looking out for me. Protecting me all along.
I would have been terrified if he’d asked me to help but I would have done it, and he was right, if he’d tried to convince me to leave and not help, he wouldn’t have been able to. “I’m grateful that you didn’t get me involved.”
“And I couldn’t tell you why I was on board the Sapphire. If I’d told you my background, that my name wasn’t James, you would have had questions. Understandably. And then the entire thing would have unraveled.”