“Where did you go?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around his story. It seemed so unreal, so far-fetched, but it complimented Charlie’s version of what happened perfectly. All the puzzle pieces were falling into place.

“I found a church. I didn’t know what else to do. I had burns on over fifty percent of my body and was convinced I wasn’t going to make it.” He reached across the table, squeezing my hand. I took a quick breath at the contact. It had been years since I felt my father’s flesh on mine. His hand was scarred, rough, and warm. I choked out a loud sob at the gesture. It was so simple, yet it brought back memories of my life before it all fell apart.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I knew I would do anything to try and get a message to your mother that I loved you both. I guess I hoped God would listen and give you that message.” Sincerity covered his face as his eyes locked with mine, the turmoil he had been living with over the years evident.

“But he answered my prayers in other ways. The nuns at the church treated my burns as best they could without modern medicine. I kept asking about the boy I pulled from the fire, but I think they thought I was delirious. They drugged me with medication to help with the pain. I half expected to wake up in a detention center, but that never happened. Finally, after several months, they said I was well enough to leave. I had no idea how to repay the debt I owed. These women took me in and cared for me without asking for anything in return. They even lied to the authorities and said they never saw me. I don’t know how they knew I wasn’t responsible for the tragic fire, but they did.”

“How did you get back home?” I asked, engrossed by his story.

“It wasn’t easy. I did some things I wasn’t proud of. I stole to barter for transport, then spent weeks aboard a cargo ship, trying to get back to you. Every day was torture, never knowing if I’d make it to the end of the day. Finally, we pulled into the Port of Miami and the captain smuggled me ashore. Days later, in the middle of the night, I finally arrived home.

“I sought Father Slattery out and he told me what happened after the attack. How an investigation had been conducted, naming me as the mastermind behind everything, but they didn’t pursue any course of action because it was presumed I had died in the fire. Before my trip over there, I had a bad feeling, so I had gone to him and made him promise if anything suspicious happened, he’d do everything to keep you safe until the threat passed. He assured me he had done what I asked, made arrangements for new identities for you both, and that you were well-protected and in hiding. And that was when I had to make the hardest decision of my life.”

“What was that?”

“I told him to have your mother tell you I was dead.”

“Why?”

“You were only a little girl. I had agents, some specialized in intelligence training, who couldn’t always keep a secret. To protect you, I needed you to believe I was dead. I needed you to forget the life you once had. It was the most difficult decision I ever had to make, but my saving grace was the possibility that, one day, I would find out who was responsible for everything and finally come out of hiding.”

“Charlie,” I said softly.

He looked at me, a confused expression on his face.

“The boy you pulled from the fire was Charlie.”

“Charlie?” he asked. “Your Charlie?”

I nodded slowly.

“How do you know?”

I knew I couldn’t avoid this forever, although reliving those two weeks in March was the last thing I wanted to do. But my father had shared what was arguably one of the most difficult times in his life with me. I needed to do the same.

“Full disclosure,” I murmured.

“Yes, Serafina. Full disclosure.”

“Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning.”

A smile on his face, he said, “That’s usually a pretty good place.”

I grinned, a feeling of hope washing over me as I shared a moment with my father. This was what a father-daughter relationship was supposed to be like. Sharing our troubles, our triumphs. After sixteen years, I finally had that. So, instead of closing up, I shared a piece of my soul with my father, telling him all about Tyler, the break-ins, Charlie’s reappearance, Whitman’s murder, Charlie’s disappearance, and the day I found out the truth of who Tyler really was.

When I was done, I expected him to want to know more about Charlie, but I was mistaken.

“It’s clear you love him very much,” he commented.

“Who? Charlie?”

“No, Serafina,” he responded quickly. “Tyler.”

“I don’t love him,” I lied. “I was just an asset, nothing more. He used me to find out your location. That’s all I was to him.”

He spread his arms. “And, yet, I’m still here.”

“The fact you’re still here doesn’t change that.”

“I think it does, Serafina,” he contested. “I think it proves that, at some point, you switched from being an asset to being something so much more.”

I avoided his eyes, trying to ignore the same argument I had made to myself over the past few days. “That still doesn’t mean I love him.”

“It’s normal to be defensive about your feelings. I can imagine how confusing it must be for you. Your mother fought her feelings for me, too, because I was much older than she was, but you can’t always control who you fall in love with.” He glanced at me with a twinkle in his eye. “You look so much like her. Every time I see you, I see more and more of her in you.”

“Do you miss her?” I asked softly.

“Every minute of every day, Serafina,” he choked out, his words barely audible.

“How do you get through it? How do you go on breathing when that love has been ripped from you?”

“You go on,” he replied, placing his hand over mine, caressing my knuckles. “It’s not easy. It’s never easy. Love isn’t easy. But you carry the memory of those happy times with you and those moments remind you of the beauty of life. And you just hope to find that beauty once more. I beg you, Serafina. Don’t let your stubbornness deprive yourself of something you deserve.”

“And what’s that?”

“Love, Serafina. You deserve to feel love.”

Mackenzie

“SO,” I SAID, TAKING the keys to Brayden’s SUV from Wyatt as we stood just outside the same gas station as yesterday. “Did it work?”

He paused for a beat before he nodded. “Yes. He followed me.”

“Who?”

“His name is Clinton Evers and he is an FBI agent.”

“So he is a fed,” I replied. “What did he want with me? The same as everyone else? To find my father who, according to most of the world, is actually dead?”

“Not exactly, ma’am,” he said and I raised my eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Yes. I drove Mr. Weller’s car out to Austin and Agent Evers showed up approximately five hours later. I confronted him and asked what he wanted with you. He showed me his badge and indicated he was working a case.”

I sighed. “So he was after my father.”

“No, ma’am. I got him to tell me what he was working on. He said it was off the record. Unofficial. Just him and another agent. One of their colleagues took a leave of absence several months ago and hasn’t been heard from since. They believe something’s happened to him, that someone’s abducted him and are using him for his…unique skills.”

“Which would be?”

“Apparently,” Wyatt began, eyeing me, “he’s one of the most skilled hackers out there. The knowledge he has, in addition to his skills, makes him a powerful weapon in the wrong hands.”