The Art of You

I was done with walks back into the past. I just wanted to go forward for once. Enzo had the right idea—I needed air.

I parked my ass outside on a bench that had a view of the helipad while waiting for my old man. My inability to sit alone with my thoughts led me to scrolling the internet. Probably not the best idea given my current state of mind.

One minute of “just checking” what else had been posted since yesterday turned into “oops, I-lost-track-of-time.”

Where was he, anyway? Late, like always.

Swipe after swipe. Image after image. I finally settled on one video that didn’t piss me off. No headline or caption. Just our names beneath the two of us dancing at the party to “Unchained Melody.” I had to admit, we looked good together.

Screw it. I decided to screen record the video so I could keep it. While it saved, I watched again, realizing I’d missed something important the first time.

The downward angle of the shot meant the camera had to have recorded us from above, so the footage had to have been pulled from the CCTV cameras from within the house.

I opened up the profile of the person who’d posted the video on X. No name. No description. A random string of numbers and letters for a user name. And the only content was this one video.

There was an Instagram username listed, so I switched to that app. I only had an account for my bar for promo and shit, so I had to use that profile to check it out. I typed in the account name, but it was private. No profile picture either. Zero followers. Not following anyone. And yet, 363 posts.

On the off chance someone wanted me to see this and follow them, I went ahead and made the request. I copied the profile link and sent a text to the Costa brothers, explaining what I’d stumbled upon.

I looked up to see my father’s helicopter in the distance on approach.

Figuring it’d take my father a few minutes to land and make his way over to me, I used my time to scroll through Instagram with one target in mind. I ignored my notifications for my bar profile and went to one of the few names I followed.

Bella’s last two posts were from Nashville. One was of her with Alessandro and Callie at their wedding, and the other was from the next day when she’d gone on her first horseback ride.

Of course, I had no choice but to join her on that little adventure. Contrary to popular stereotypes, even though I’d grown up in Texas, I wasn’t exactly a cowboy. But I knew my way around horses, and I’d been worried about her safety.

Bella had bought cowgirl boots while in Nashville and had proudly worn them to ride. Saddled alongside her, it’d taken all of my restraint not to steal her away and make love to her in a field while she wore those boots, and nothing but those boots.

I’d managed to behave that day. But as of this weekend, I’d officially shot that “good behavior” to hell. I’d snapped in the bathroom last night and lost my control in bed this morning.

I closed out the app and bowed my head at the memory of Constantine walking in on us, clearly assuming I’d been having sex with her. Damn close to it. The only reason I’d held back was because of that nagging fear in the back of my head I’d one day lose her forever.

More concerns, along with decades’ worth of mistakes, filled my mind as I waited for my father. I was almost relieved when he approached, needing a reprieve from my guilt.

My father was without his entourage, so I had to assume they were back in the helo waiting for him. “I don’t have much time,” were his first words to me.

I stood and stowed my phone, ready to get this conversation over with. “Fine.” I motioned to the house and started walking, in no mood for small talk on the way.

“I’m sorry.”

He dropped the apology so quickly, it took me a few seconds to stop moving. I was on the steps leading to the back deck, and I remained there while turning to confront him.

Standing down below, he cupped his mouth and met my eyes, shaking his head. Was he throwing up in his mouth at having to utter those two words?

“For?” I prompted, resting my palm on the railing at my side.

His hand fell and he copied my move, reaching for the railing. “For withholding information from you. That decision could’ve cost you your life on Friday.”

“What kind of information?” My body tensed as I waited for answers.

My father looked around. First, up toward the roof where a sniper sat on a long gun. Then off to the garden where another security guard walked.

“The kidnappers never wanted money, did they?” I went ahead and made it easier for him to spit out the truth.

He shook his head. “Do you remember the attack at our embassy in Algeria last October?”

I nodded, unsure where he was going with this. “Two Marines were killed while protecting a diplomat there,” I answered. “What does that have to do with Spain and Ambassador Aldana?” I went down the three steps to join him on even ground. I’d wanted to have this conversation with the others, but if my father would be more candid if it was just the two of us, then so be it.

“What you don’t know is the CIA heard chatter about an attack beforehand, but decided the intel wasn’t reliable and opted not to act in advance. Turns out, they were wrong. It was a credible threat.”

“They could’ve been saved,” I seethed, drawing my hands to my hips, still uncertain how this news connected to the ambassador’s daughter. Or to Clarke. To anyone for that matter.

“Unlike what happened to us, Spanish Intelligence, CNI, did take preemptive action when they had a similar threat from the same group back in April. They not only saved their embassy from an attack, they caught the head of the terrorist cell responsible. They were able to tie him directly to the attack on the U.S. embassy in Algeria as well.”

Fuck. Now I knew where this was going.

“The Spanish have him in one of their black sites and refused a request to transfer him to U.S. custody,” he went on. “The kidnappers demanded Ambassador Aldana provide the location of the black site in exchange for her daughter. They knew she couldn’t negotiate his release, so this was the next best thing. They’d planned to hold on to Lola until after they’d successfully rescued their boss from the black site, worried she’d give the military a heads-up they were coming for him otherwise.”

And there it is. I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes.

“I was with the ambassador when the call came in, which is how I know things even I shouldn’t.”

Yeah, the public sure as hell didn’t know those lives at our embassy could’ve been saved that day, just like they didn’t know the truth about Afghanistan. “You convinced the ambo to let me try and help first before giving up the location?”

“You and I both know they’d never have turned Lola back over, even if she played along. I offered her an alternative. You. She’d get her daughter back and not lose her job by giving those assholes what they wanted.”

My hand slowly fell to my side. “If she gave up that location, she’d have been responsible for the deaths of everyone at that black site, not to mention having the blood of those Marines on her hands, too. And every future death that terrorist would cause,” I hissed.

“And if it was Isabella’s life on the line, what would you have done? Don’t act like you wouldn’t put that woman ahead of your country.”

“I’d find a way to save her no matter what.” I leveled him with a hard look. “But I wouldn’t negotiate with savages who kill innocent people.” I remained locked in a staring contest with him, forced to squint with the morning sunlight in my eyes. “You should’ve told me I was dealing with terrorists Friday. I brought Bella to that party, dammit.”

“Apparently, we now know you were dealing with mercenaries hired by the terrorists to kidnap Lola.”

As if that fact made a goddamn difference to me. Facts were fucking facts. “This is why the CIA took control even though we’re on U.S. soil,” I tossed out a moment later, remembering that important detail from our call last night.

“The CIA intercepted chatter about the kidnapping after the fact. When they learned the FBI had two detainees, POTUS put in a call and allowed the Agency to take those men and the valet off their hands for questioning. From what I know, they’re useless. The terrorists outsourced to these men to keep themselves out of the equation in case things went sideways, which they did. The valet also claimed he was only paid to tag your vehicle and eavesdrop on you when possible.”

I figured as much about the valet. “I’m sure the terrorists have a backup plan since the kidnapping attempt failed.”

My father’s jaw shifted, a clear tell he knew more, and I was also right.

It clicked a moment later, and the blood drained from my face. “The Agency isn’t going to tell the Spanish about this, and the ambassador won’t tell her government the truth about what they were really after, am I right?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “She’s protecting her own ass. And the CIA is going to set a trap to see if the terrorists make a play for their boss again. If our government tells the Spanish, they’ll preemptively move the target and put their site on high alert. The Agency will not only miss their chance to locate the whole terrorist cell, but lose the opportunity to get their hands on the boss like they originally wanted.” I turned away from him, cupping my jaw in anger.

This was the kind of shit that got my men killed on the op that day. Playing politics with lives on the line. Decisions being made by suits instead of the uniforms on the ground who actually knew what was going on firsthand.

I spun back around when another thought hit me. “Who told you this? The ambassador wouldn’t have this kind of insider knowledge when it comes to the CIA.”

“I still have friends in Congress and at the Pentagon. Don’t forget, I was a senator before, and in the military before that.”

“Yeah, well, these friends of yours are now sharing classified intelligence with someone who lacks the proper clearance. Not exactly legal,” I reminded him.

“Do I need to remind you about your side gig? No badge, last time I checked. You turned yours in, throwing away the chance to become a director one day. You know how much that could’ve helped me to have you inside the Bureau?”

“Always about you and what helps your career,” I said bitterly.

He ignored my words and spit out, “The good news is you’re now in the clear. The Feds have orders to leave you and the Costas alone. That call came from the President himself. He knows what you did Friday—not only saving Lola, but also keeping the ambassador from giving up their black site.” He looked back over his shoulder toward the helo, an indication he had no plans to stay and talk with my team. “As for the third shooter on the side of the road, just forget about it. It’s no longer your concern.”

I faked a laugh. The borderline losing-it kind. No longer my concern, huh? Had he lost his damn mind? Apparently. “Let me ask you, is the President privy to this plan of the Agency’s to sidestep the Spanish to get their hands on these terrorists themselves, risking innocent lives lost as collateral damage?”

My father’s jaw shifted again. “If you so much as open your mouth about what I told you, so help me . . .” He stabbed the air, his finger narrowly missing my chest as I stepped back in disgust. “Go back home and put this behind you. That’s all you need to do right now. I’m still working on damage control from the press, but you need to keep a low profile with Clarke so hell-bent on finding something on you to get to me.”

I couldn’t believe this. And at the same time, I could. This was the governor, not a father I was talking to, after all. “The case isn’t closed. Not for me.”

“I said to drop it.”

I was about to lose my head, and had I not heard the sound of the door opening and shutting behind me, I would’ve.

My father looked up and I pivoted, following his gaze to see Bella and her brothers on the deck.

“What’s going on?” Constantine called down as I faced forward again, determined to get through to my father one way or another.

“Let me be very clear, I won’t sit by and let the CIA play a game of fuck around and find out resulting in the loss of more lives the way their bogus intel did back in 2010.”

“What are you talking about?” His jaw didn’t hitch that time. He really didn’t know the truth about the op that day, did he?

“Maybe Kit wouldn’t be so hell-bent on taking me down to get to you if you hadn’t broken her heart.”

“Like you’re any fucking better when it comes to women. Look at your own reputation.” That low blow from him as he lifted his gaze, presumably peering at Bella, had me locking my hands at my sides. “Now tell me, do I have to do more damage control with the press than I thought I did?” He skipped right back to the point before I could, concerns for his campaign hanging in the balance after all.

My news would send him over the edge I’d already jumped off.

“Maybe ask your friends in Intelligence or in Congress instead, why don’t you? Let them tell you what really happened that day in 2010. Have them share how bad intel the CIA forced my team to follow resulted in catastrophe. Congress and the CIA covered up their mess back then like they’re now trying to hide why those two Marines really died.” I was the one stabbing the air between us this time. “There was no training exercise that day. I wasn’t on the op because of your email about Mom. Men lost their lives, and I’ve been dead on the inside ever since.”

He abruptly stared at the pavers between us, and I decided not to wait for him to process what I’d said. Because a burning question was now sitting in the back of my head, and I had to ask. My gut said I was right and already knew the answer, though.

I dropped my head forward and rasped, “Just tell me one of your pals in D.C. isn’t Seth Maverick.” Because so help me.

“How do you know that name?”

I took my time to look up, my stomach in knots. “Maverick’s playing both sides,” I revealed, determining I was right. “He leaked the truth about my operation to Clarke, yet he never told you. Then Clarke shared the after-action report with his girlfriend, Kit.” I tore my hand through my hair, shaking my head.

He stared at me, rubbing his hand back and forth over his mouth. “Seth wouldn’t have access to that kind of intelligence,” he said dismissively, acknowledging he was one of his contacts. “And no, he didn’t tell me about the CIA’s plans. I don’t know how you got his name, but⁠—”

“Maybe it’s you who should learn to keep your mouth shut and stop talking to your pals in D.C.” I was too pissed to let him continue. I’d heard enough.

A low hiss left his mouth as he brought himself closer. “I’ll tell you what, it’s obvious someone sure as hell woke a sleeping giant”—he looked up at the deck before facing me again—“but it for damn sure wasn’t me.” He turned, preparing to retreat to the safety of his yes-men waiting back by the helo, but I shot out my arm, stopping him.

He stole a look over his shoulder at where my hand rested on his arm. I leaned in closer so he could hear me lima charlie, loud and clear in a way I’d never once spoken to him before. “Go. Fuck. Yourself.”