Riptide
Page 76
He was still out there, free. She felt flattened. “So he got away again,” she said, and wanted to shriek with the helplessness that flooded her.
Adam was clearing his throat. “We’ll get him, Becca. You’ve got to believe that. Now, there’s someone here for you to meet.”
Her head came up, fast. “Please, no doctors, Adam. I hate doctors. Oh, God, so did my mother.” And she started crying. She didn’t know where all the tears came from, but they were there, swamping her, and she was sobbing, tears streaming down her face, and she wanted her mother desperately. “My mom died in a hospital, Adam. She hated it, then she just didn’t care because she was in a coma. No one could do anything. She died in a hospital just like this one.” The tears kept coming, she couldn’t stop them.
Then suddenly someone was holding her, drawing her close, and a man’s dark, smooth voice said next to her ear, “It’s all right, my darling girl. It’s all right.”
And she stilled. Strong arms were around her. She felt his heart pounding rhythmically, powerful and steady against her cheek. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to carry on like this. I miss my mother. I loved her so much and she died. There isn’t anyone else for me.”
“I miss your mother, too, Becca. It’s going to be all right. I swear it to you.”
She pulled back just a bit and looked up at an older man who looked oddly familiar to her, but that was impossible, wasn’t it? She was sure she’d never seen him before in her life. The drugs were still affecting her, holding her brain back, scrambling things, making her cry. “I’m nobody’s darling girl,” she whispered, and raised her hand to lightly touch her fingers to the man’s cheek. He was so handsome, his face lean, his nose thin, straight, his eyes a soft light blue, dreamy eyes. Now that was strange. Her mother had told her that she had dreamy eyes, summer dreamy eyes. “I don’t understand,” she said, frowning up at the man’s face. “Who are you?”
The man looked as if he would cry with her, but he swallowed, several times, and cleared his throat. “I’m your father, Becca. I’m Thomas Matlock. I can’t bring your mother back, but I’m here now, and I’ll stay.”
“You’re Thomas? You’re the man Adam and Savich are working for?”
“Well, let’s say they’re helping me out.”
She didn’t say anything then, just frowned a bit, trying to assemble things in her mind, in her memory, to make some sense of them, realizing suddenly that she recognized his eyes because he’d given them to her, realizing—“When he slipped the needle into my arm that second time,” she whispered, looking directly into his eyes, “just before I went under, he said right against my ear, ‘Tell your daddy hello for me.’ ”
His face paled and he grew vague, indistinct, his arms loosening. She grabbed his shirt with her fist, trying to pull him closer. “No, don’t leave me, please.”
“Oh, God, I won’t.” Thomas looked up at Adam. “I guess that says it all.”
“Yes,” Adam said. “At least now we know for bloody sure.”
“Amen to that,” Sherlock said. Then she added, “Why don’t we all go out to get a cup of coffee while Thomas gets to know Becca a bit better?”
When she was alone with the man who’d said he was her father, she looked up at him and said, “Why did you leave us? I don’t even remember what you looked like I was so young when you left. There is this old photograph of you and Mom, and you looked so young and so handsome. Carefree. It’s a wonderful picture.”
He held her very close for a long time, then slowly he said, “You were all of three years old when it happened. I was a CIA operative, Becca, and I was very good. There was this other KGB spy—”
“Krimakov.”
“Yes. I was sent over to what is now Belarus, to stop him from killing a visiting German industrialist. Krimakov had brought his wife, as if they were there on some sort of vacation. It was in the mountains. There was a gunfight and she tried to save him. I hadn’t seen her, hadn’t even known she was there.” He paused a moment, memory stark and alive in his eyes. He said simply, “I shot her in the head and killed her. Krimakov promised me he would kill not only me but my family. He vowed it. I believed him.
“He managed to escape me. I decided that I would have to kill him to protect you. When I tried, I found out that he’d simply disappeared. There was no trace of him. The KGB helped him, obviously, and he stayed buried until very recently, when I was told he was killed in an auto accident in Crete. You know the rest.”
Adam was clearing his throat. “We’ll get him, Becca. You’ve got to believe that. Now, there’s someone here for you to meet.”
Her head came up, fast. “Please, no doctors, Adam. I hate doctors. Oh, God, so did my mother.” And she started crying. She didn’t know where all the tears came from, but they were there, swamping her, and she was sobbing, tears streaming down her face, and she wanted her mother desperately. “My mom died in a hospital, Adam. She hated it, then she just didn’t care because she was in a coma. No one could do anything. She died in a hospital just like this one.” The tears kept coming, she couldn’t stop them.
Then suddenly someone was holding her, drawing her close, and a man’s dark, smooth voice said next to her ear, “It’s all right, my darling girl. It’s all right.”
And she stilled. Strong arms were around her. She felt his heart pounding rhythmically, powerful and steady against her cheek. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to carry on like this. I miss my mother. I loved her so much and she died. There isn’t anyone else for me.”
“I miss your mother, too, Becca. It’s going to be all right. I swear it to you.”
She pulled back just a bit and looked up at an older man who looked oddly familiar to her, but that was impossible, wasn’t it? She was sure she’d never seen him before in her life. The drugs were still affecting her, holding her brain back, scrambling things, making her cry. “I’m nobody’s darling girl,” she whispered, and raised her hand to lightly touch her fingers to the man’s cheek. He was so handsome, his face lean, his nose thin, straight, his eyes a soft light blue, dreamy eyes. Now that was strange. Her mother had told her that she had dreamy eyes, summer dreamy eyes. “I don’t understand,” she said, frowning up at the man’s face. “Who are you?”
The man looked as if he would cry with her, but he swallowed, several times, and cleared his throat. “I’m your father, Becca. I’m Thomas Matlock. I can’t bring your mother back, but I’m here now, and I’ll stay.”
“You’re Thomas? You’re the man Adam and Savich are working for?”
“Well, let’s say they’re helping me out.”
She didn’t say anything then, just frowned a bit, trying to assemble things in her mind, in her memory, to make some sense of them, realizing suddenly that she recognized his eyes because he’d given them to her, realizing—“When he slipped the needle into my arm that second time,” she whispered, looking directly into his eyes, “just before I went under, he said right against my ear, ‘Tell your daddy hello for me.’ ”
His face paled and he grew vague, indistinct, his arms loosening. She grabbed his shirt with her fist, trying to pull him closer. “No, don’t leave me, please.”
“Oh, God, I won’t.” Thomas looked up at Adam. “I guess that says it all.”
“Yes,” Adam said. “At least now we know for bloody sure.”
“Amen to that,” Sherlock said. Then she added, “Why don’t we all go out to get a cup of coffee while Thomas gets to know Becca a bit better?”
When she was alone with the man who’d said he was her father, she looked up at him and said, “Why did you leave us? I don’t even remember what you looked like I was so young when you left. There is this old photograph of you and Mom, and you looked so young and so handsome. Carefree. It’s a wonderful picture.”
He held her very close for a long time, then slowly he said, “You were all of three years old when it happened. I was a CIA operative, Becca, and I was very good. There was this other KGB spy—”
“Krimakov.”
“Yes. I was sent over to what is now Belarus, to stop him from killing a visiting German industrialist. Krimakov had brought his wife, as if they were there on some sort of vacation. It was in the mountains. There was a gunfight and she tried to save him. I hadn’t seen her, hadn’t even known she was there.” He paused a moment, memory stark and alive in his eyes. He said simply, “I shot her in the head and killed her. Krimakov promised me he would kill not only me but my family. He vowed it. I believed him.
“He managed to escape me. I decided that I would have to kill him to protect you. When I tried, I found out that he’d simply disappeared. There was no trace of him. The KGB helped him, obviously, and he stayed buried until very recently, when I was told he was killed in an auto accident in Crete. You know the rest.”
