nodded once, and he put his arms around her. It was a ginger hug at first, a hesitant hug—but then Maya noticed, strangely enough, that he still smelled the same. It was an overpoweringly nostalgic scent, a scent of her childhood, of a thousand other hugs. And maybe she was older, and maybe Sara looked different; maybe she still wasn’t entirely sure who her father was and maybe they were standing in a new place that she was supposed to call home, but in that moment none of that felt like it mattered. The moment felt like home, and she leaned into it, squeezing him tightly.
Maya tugged open the sliding glass door at the back of the condo, pulling on a hooded sweatshirt against the chilly night air. The condo had no yard, but did have a small deck outfitted with a stubby table and two chairs.
Her dad was in one of them, sipping from a glass of something amber-colored. Maya lowered herself into the other, noting how clear the night was.
“Sara asleep?” he asked.
Maya nodded. “Dozed off on the couch.”
“She’s been doing a lot of that lately,” he said, sounding troubled. “Sleeping, that is.”
She forced a light chuckle. “She’s always slept a lot. I wouldn’t read too much into it.” She gestured to the glass in his hand. “Beer?”
“Iced tea.” He grinned sheepishly. “I haven’t been drinking since going back to work.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Not bad,” he admitted. “I haven’t been on any field assignments lately, since I’m taking care of Sara and still getting back into shape.”
“I was going to mention that you lost some weight. You’re looking much better than…”
Than the last time I saw you, Maya was going to say, but she stopped herself, because she didn’t want to dredge up the memory of that visit, when she’d brought Greg to the house, got angry, stormed out, abandoned Greg there, and told her dad she never wanted to see him again.
“Thanks,” he said quickly, clearly thinking the same. “And school is going well?”
She had already told him so earlier, over dinner, but it seemed as if he didn’t quite believe her—and she reminded herself that part of his job was the ability to read people. There was little use lying to him, but that didn’t mean she had to share either.
“I don’t really want to talk about school,” she told him plainly. She didn’t want to talk about how things sometimes went missing from her locker. Or how boys shouted unkind things at her across the quad. Or the feeling she couldn’t shake that it was only the beginning of the torment, that the more she tried to ignore them the more the boys at West Point would escalate.
“Fair enough.” Her dad cleared his throat. “Um, there is something I should mention though. I should have asked you first. But Maria had nowhere to go tomorrow, and it didn’t seem right…”
“It’s okay, Dad.” Maya grinned at his awkward attempt to ask her permission. “Of course I don’t mind, and you don’t need to clear it with me.”
He shrugged. “I guess you’re right. It’s just—you’re so grown up now. Both of you. I missed out on some important parts.”
Maya nodded slightly, though she didn’t feel the need to vocalize her agreement. Instead she changed the subject. “It’s a good thing you’re doing for Sara. Helping her like this. She sounds like she really needs it.”
This time it was her dad who nodded slightly, staring out over the deck at nothing in particular. “I’d do anything I could for her,” he said wistfully. “But I’m afraid it still won’t be enough.”
“What do you mean?”
He took a sip of his iced tea before he explained. “Last week we went to dinner, just the two of us, to this place downtown. It was nice. We talked. She seemed okay. When the check came, I paid with a hundred-dollar bill. And something happened; it was like a shadow passed over her. I saw her look at the money, and then the door, and…”
Her dad fell silent, but Maya didn’t need him to explain any further. Now she understood Sara’s comment from earlier; she had actually been thinking about grabbing the money and making a run for it. She wouldn’t have gotten far with only a hundred bucks, but she was probably thinking in the very short term. Getting a fix wherever she could.
“I’m sure you noticed,” her dad continued, “the place is pretty plain in there. I haven’t really put much out, because…”
Because you’re worried she might steal it. Pawn it. Run off again. The CIA hadn’t sent him anywhere in the time that Sara had been living with him, but sooner or later they would—and then what? Would Sara just sit here and wait for him to come back? Or would she be a flight risk, if left to her own devices and demons?
“It’s so much worse than I thought,” Maya murmured. Then, resolutely and without a second thought she added, “I’m staying.”
“What?”
She nodded. “I’m staying. There’s only three more weeks of school before Christmas break. I can make up the work. I’ll stay here through the holidays, go back to New York after New Year’s.”
“No,” Zero told her firmly. “Absolutely not—”
“She needs help. She needs support.” Maya wasn’t sure what sort of help or support she could offer her sister, but she would have time to figure it out. “It’s okay. I can handle it.”
“It’s not your job.” Her dad leaned over and touched her hand. She nearly flinched, but then her fingers closed around his. “I appreciate the offer. I’m sure Sara would too. But you have goals. You have a dream. You’ve worked hard for it, and you need to see it through.”
Maya blinked, a little taken aback. Her father had never once shown support for her goal of joining the CIA, of becoming the youngest agent in history. In fact, he had often attempted to talk her out of it, but she remained steadfast.
He smiled, seeming to pick up on her surprise. “Don’t get me wrong. I still don’t like it at all. But you’re an adult now; it’s your life. Your decision to make.”
She smiled back. He had changed. And maybe there was a chance after all to get back to what they once were. But there was still the matter of what to do about Sara.
“I think,” she said carefully, “that Sara might need more help than we can give her. I think she might need some professional help.”
Her dad nodded as if he already knew it—as if he’d been thinking the same thing himself, but needed to hear it from someone else. She squeezed his hand gently, reassuringly, and they let the silence reign over them. Neither of them knew what would come next, but for now, all that mattered was they were home.
CHAPTER THREE
Whoever named New York “the city that never sleeps” has never been to Old Havana, Alvaro mused as he wound his way toward the harbor and the Malecón. In the daylight, Old Havana was a beautiful part of the city, a rich blend of history and art, food and culture, yet the streets were jammed with traffic and the air was filled with the sounds of construction from the various restoration projects to
