The Wrong Gentleman(65)

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.”

“I get it. I understand this wasn’t a game.” I folded up the article. “But if you had . . . Those things you said after the dinner with Hayden and Avery. I quit because—”

“That was the point. I had to get you off the yacht and out of danger.” He shoved his hands through his hair. “My mate said that if I didn’t recruit you, his client would, and once you were involved you would have been a target on multiple fronts. You weren’t safe on the yacht.”

I exhaled. “So you didn’t mean them?”

“Of course not,” he said, frowning, as if he were in pain. “I knew how difficult it would be to get you to leave given how professional you are. I had to say the worst thing I could think up. I didn’t believe any of it. My feelings for you are . . . almost the exact opposite to how I came across that evening. I could never mean anything . . . You’re too important. I was trying to make you leave.”

My heart began to pound. What Landon was saying changed everything. And it wasn’t that I just had to rely on his word. I was holding the evidence. “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as the arrest was made?” The article was dated two months ago. “All this time, I’ve been thinking . . .” I’d been thinking that he was a cold, heartless liar. But nothing had added up until now.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me. I assumed you’d forget about me soon enough.”

If only I could have relegated him to the dungeons of my memory.

“I know what we had was . . . casual,” he said. “You weren’t what I was looking for—what I’ve always historically looked for, but . . . you were . . . you are important to me.”

My stomach shouldn’t have flipped like it did. I shouldn’t be replaying the way he said important in my head.

“I regret not seeing that. I regret not understanding how important you were until . . . I won’t say ‘until it was too late,’ Skylar. Because I can’t accept that.”

His stare was pleading and determined, and he reached for me then stopped himself.

“I don’t know what to say,” I replied. “All those weeks, I thought you were one person and you ended up being another. Even your name was a lie.”

“But you said you understood?”

“I do. Honestly. But it’s still difficult. Anyway, it just doesn’t matter anymore. I’m here. You’re back in England. We were going to end eventually anyway.”