He contradicted her so calmly that she wondered if he even realized the jealousy that ripped through her every time he claimed to know more about her family, about her father, than she did. Fifteen years later she was still working on getting over the rejection she’d felt when he left. Even if that rejection had been a lie invented by her mentally ill mother, realizing that Donovan might have replaced her in her father’s affections was another slap in the face. She sat stiffly, fists clenched, as he went on.
“After their experience, Wally and Evan devoted their lives to seeing that an organization existed that could rescue hostages when our government couldn’t, or wouldn’t. They recruited people with special skills and developed a training program. Your mother couldn’t stand knowing he would put himself back into dangerous situations on purpose, and they argued. She refused to live in constant fear, but he wouldn’t abandon the idea. According to Wally, that’s what drove them apart.”
He paused—the perfect opportunity to rip him a new one for being an arrogant ass. Except what he’d said knocked all the righteous indignation clean out of her mind, replacing it with disbelief. “Are you saying my father trained people to rescue hostages?” She pictured the meek, slightly rounded professor of linguistics and ancient history that she remembered. Walter Shikovski as Chuck Norris? “You’re crazy.”
“Actually, the CIA operative who helped them escape is the one who did the training. Still does. They recruited him for their new organization. He saw the need for it, the same as they did, and wanted to be part of it.”
She wanted to scoff at the whole thing, but it explained too many things. It was obvious that Donovan believed it, at least. “There’s a need for an organization that just rescues hostages?”
“Too much of a need, in all parts of the world. Most of our clients are corporations who’ve had employees taken and held for ransom. If companies pay the kidnappers, they only encourage more opportunistic groups to take hostages. So when governments can’t persuade these groups to release their captives, the corporations turn to the Omega Group.”
“And you save the hostages.”
His mouth flattened into a line, as if holding back something he didn’t want to admit. “Most of the time.”
She didn’t want to ask about the other times. Escaping from terrorists, rescuing hostages—it was like discovering you were playing a bit part in an action-adventure movie. She turned away, staring out the window, trying to absorb it all.
For the first time she noticed that they’d left the lighted city streets and were driving through a semirural area of expensive homes on large parcels of land, most of them dark now except for yard lights and the ghostly glow of dim nightlights from distant bedrooms and bathrooms. The dream homes of successful urban professionals. It roused a mild curiosity about their destination, but not as much as the facts he’d planted in her mind.
“So what was my father’s role in Omega? Did he run it?” It was hard to imagine the quiet, bookish professor she remembered arranging to rescue hostages from terrorists.
“No. Evan became the hands-on director of operations. Your father’s role was to do what he always did, teach linguistics and travel to the Middle East as often as possible, ostensibly to do research and field work. In actuality, he was Omega’s point man in that part of the world. Wally was fluent in several languages and knew the cultures intimately. He had contacts, informers, and access to areas that are usually off-limits to Americans. Because of his insights, we often knew ahead of time what groups were apt to become a problem, and where they operated. He was…” Donovan searched for the proper word before shrugging in defeat. “Invaluable.”
She could only stare. As far-fetched as it sounded, no one could make this up and have it mesh so well with the facts. For the past fifteen-plus years, her father had led a double life. A dangerous one.
And in the ultimate betrayal, he’d brought the violence of his world directly to her.
“You said he wanted to keep me safe,” she accused. “But now someone is trying to kill me, and I don’t even know why.”
His face looked strained, a muscle jumping as he ground his teeth. “It was the one thing Wally didn’t foresee—that you would come for his funeral.” He clenched his jaw over it as he turned into a driveway lined with ground level lights. She barely glanced at the gate that swung open onto the shadowy tree-lined drive, or the large, well-lit house at the end of it. Her attention was riveted on Donovan.
“He was careful to keep you a secret so no one could use you against him, and he succeeded, right through covering his tracks when he made that detour to Houston. He must have known his cover was blown, but he was still a few steps ahead of them, and they didn’t follow him there. I don’t think they knew about you until you showed up in Nipagonee Rapids.”