No Rules(15)

“He and your dad started Omega more than a dozen years ago.”

“To do what? Translate ancient writings?” It was the only kind of project she remembered her father working on, pouring over the cuneiform tablets and copies of hieroglyphics he brought back from the Middle East until late into the night, as excited over the ancient languages as only a professor of linguistics could be.

Donovan chuckled, as if surprised by such a ridiculous idea. “Not even close. If you look at Omega’s website, it says we provide transport for civilians in foreign countries who find themselves in special-needs situations. That’s a delicate way of saying we specialize in extracting hostages.”

“You’re with the CIA?”

“No, we’re private. Our government knows who we are, but we don’t operate under the authority of any agency, or with their permission. It’s unsanctioned and dangerous. It’s also necessary.”

Her mouth had fallen open and stayed there. “My father worked for this company?”

“He founded it, along with Evan. The idea for it formed about fifteen years ago, shortly after an incident in Iran. They were working at an archeological dig when they were taken hostage by a radical political group. They were held for four months while our government tried to negotiate their release.”

A chill stabbed through her. “I remember.” How could she forget? One hundred and twelve long, tense days and nights for her and her mother of praying and crying and waiting. The frustration of trying to get information from their representative, the American consulate, the State Department, anyone they could think of. Her terror for her father’s safety. Her mother’s distress, then near hysteria when one hostage was executed.

At eleven years old, Jess had tried to provide emotional support while barely functioning herself. The helpless feeling of being caught in a situation completely out of her control still evoked nightmares. Still required therapy.

Then the miraculous had happened: the government’s efforts succeeded and the two surviving hostages were released. Her father came home, thinner and bruised, but otherwise healthy. She and her mother had clung to him, and he’d held them close, reassuring them that everything was fine.

But it wasn’t.

“He came home after a few days at a hospital in Germany,” she told him. “It was the beginning of the end of my parents’ marriage. Everything seemed okay at first, but then my parents started arguing. It all had to do with his time as a hostage.”

Arguing was a mild word for her mother’s screaming tirades and her father’s sharp, stubborn replies. It was when her mother’s break with reality had truly taken hold. They’d tried to keep her out of it, but their clash of wills seemed to permeate every room of their house, even when they weren’t together, tingeing the air with an invisible but palpable anger. Jess had slunk through most of a school year staying out of the house and with friends as much as possible, hoping they’d work it out. But her father began spending more time away from home while her mother began seeing an unending string of therapists. Less than ten months after her father’s return, the marriage was over.

“He left us,” she summarized.

“That’s the version you tell people? I know better, Jess.”

Fury rose so fast she wouldn’t have been surprised if she gave off sparks. “You don’t know anything about it. Maybe he lied to make himself look better, but I was there. My father said good-bye and walked out of our lives forever. He promised he’d stay in my life, but I never saw him again until he showed up in Houston, demented and out of touch with reality.”

Donovan gave her a quick glance as if checking to see whether she really believed what she’d said. “He didn’t lie. He wanted to remain part of your life.”

“Good intentions don’t count.” The bitterness was still there, squeezing her ribs and sitting like a rock in her stomach. “It didn’t take him long to decide I wasn’t that important.”

“You really don’t know? He never changed his mind, Jessie. Jess,” he corrected quickly, holding up a hand to forestall her rebuke. “Sorry, it’s habit. Wally always referred to you that way and…” He glanced at her outraged expression, probably not understanding the complex feelings behind it any more than she did, then looked away. “Never mind. I know he tried to keep in contact because he did it through Omega’s headquarters here in Chicago. That way no trace of you was associated with his house in Michigan where he lived and worked. The letters and gifts he sent all came from our office, and that’s where they were returned when you refused them.”