The Fixer (The Fixer #1)(82)

Ivy was missing. Whoever Adam was talking to, whoever wasn’t listening, I had a right to hear it.

“My answer is no.”

I stopped just outside the door to the living room. From this angle, I could see just a hint of the person who’d just spoken.

Adam’s father. The man who’d had Bodie hauled in for questioning, just to prove a point to Ivy.

My answer is no. I wondered what the question was, and why those words made my stomach feel like it had been lined with lead.

“You know,” Adam said, each word issued with quiet force, “that I would never ask you for anything, if the situation weren’t—”

“Desperate?” his father supplied. “Believe me, Adam, I’m well aware of what you think of me. You have made it abundantly clear that you have no interest in taking your place in this family.”

“No interest in politics,” Adam corrected.

“You were born for this. If you retired from the military, we could have you on the road to the Senate in a matter of months. A decade from now, you could be a contender for the White House.”

“You really think this is the time for this discussion?” Adam asked tersely.

“You’re the one who invited me here,” William countered.

“Because I wanted your help.” Adam said those words like the act of speaking them was physically painful. “Ivy—”

“That girl crawled under your skin years ago.” As intense as Adam’s tone was, William’s was casual. “I’ve never understood the hold she has on you. If she’s gone, I won’t shed a tear.”

My fingers curled themselves into fists. Without meaning to, I took a step forward. Adam’s father saw me a second before Adam did.

“Tess,” Adam said, his voice tight. “Could you give us a minute?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Keyes said, matching Adam’s tone. “I was just leaving.”

I beat the older man to the front door. The fact that Adam had asked him for help meant that Adam thought he could help. If William Keyes wanted to walk away from this—from his own son—he could go through me to do it.

“Tess.” The tone in Adam’s voice told me that he wanted me out of this room, away from his father. It was a tone that, in other circumstances, I would have obeyed.

“It’s my understanding,” I said, trying to force Keyes to look at me again, “that my sister has some kind of insurance policy. If something happens to her, a lot of very powerful people will be very unhappy. Including you.”

A flash of something in my adversary’s eyes told me I’d guessed right on that last point.

“Your sister always has a contingency plan,” William Keyes said, his voice perfectly modulated. “But I’m the one who taught her that.” He brushed past me and out the door.

“Stay here,” Adam ordered as he followed.

After a pregnant pause, Vivvie stepped into the room. “That was . . .”

“Adam’s father,” I supplied. “He’s not Ivy’s biggest fan.”

He could help, but he won’t. He’ll let her die. I didn’t want to imagine myself at Ivy’s funeral. I didn’t want to think about the fact that she was all I had left. I didn’t want to feel like someone had carved out my insides, like I was empty and hollow and crumbling apart.

No. I couldn’t do this, couldn’t go down that rabbit hole. Ivy’s going to be fine. I’ll hate her forever if something happens to her. She’s going to be fine.

I walked the length of the living room. Around the futon. Around the desk, and then I stopped, thinking of Adam sitting at the desk the night before. I tested the drawer, expecting it to be locked.

It wasn’t.

Inside, I found a neat line of pens, printer paper, and a photograph, tucked into the side. I gingerly pulled it out and turned it over.

Ivy and Adam.

Her hair was in a messy ponytail. His was buzzed close to his head. They were young. Ivy couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty.

She had my smile, I thought, forcing myself to stare masochistically at the curve of her lips. On the heels of that crippling thought came a second one. Ivy knew Adam when she was young.

And then I remembered Ivy’s words the day she put me on the plane: He was young, too, recently enlisted. I reached out to the desk to steady myself, my fingers digging into the wood.

There was never a day, Adam had said, not a single one where she didn’t think of you. He’d said those words like he knew—what it was like for Ivy, thinking of me every single day.

What if he wasn’t just talking about Ivy?

I could see Adam in my memory, standing behind Ivy, his hand on her shoulder as she told me the truth. I could see Adam, sitting in the passenger seat of his car as he taught me to drive. I could see Adam, reading me the riot act, telling me that family doesn’t run off when things get hard.

I could see Adam the first time he’d ever seen me, looking at me like I was something precious. Like I was a ghost.

Vivvie came to stand behind me. “Your sister,” she said, looking at the photograph. “And Adam. They look so young.”

That girl crawled under your skin years ago. Adam’s father’s voice echoed through my head. I’ve never understood the hold she has on you.