I’m going to say yes?”
He paused, lips twisting sardonically. “Yes.”
She eyed him. If he was that annoyingly certain about it, he was probably right. “Why?”
“Because you want to,” he said.
He was right about that. Even her disappointment at him keeping his distance hadn’t dulled the buzz in her fingertips, the lift to her ego at the thought that they wanted her back, that they needed her. No one before had ever thought she could make the world a better place, even in the smallest way.
“I am a glutton for punishment,” she said. Or maybe she was addicted to it.
He took a step toward her now, his eyes intent. “But mostly you’ll say yes because it has to do with the man from Germany who stayed with your family back when you were eight.”
A chill ran down the back of her neck. That man, her mother’s so-called “friend,” had come to stay with the Jones family for a few weeks and then vanished. She couldn’t remember his name, but he’d been some kind of doctor, a scientist, and this past August she’d discovered that he’d written letters to her mother in a code based on Adolf Hitler’s birthday. “You mean Dr. Someone?”
Devin nodded. “The same man who gave your mother that painting by Renoir. You told me you remembered what he looked like, what he sounded like.”
“Oh, yes, I remember.” She did easily recall the man’s angular height, shiny balding head, arrogant nose and sharp brown eyes draped with dark circles. His voice had been the most distinctive thing about him—high-pitched, nasal, commanding, speaking to her mother in rapid German behind closed doors.
Devin was watching her closely. “The Americans think they’ve found him in Buenos Aires. But photographs and living witnesses are scarce. They need someone to identify him. You may be the only one left alive and willing to help.”
“May be willing to help,” she said, but it was an automatic response. Her thoughts were a cyclone of questions and confusion. She hadn’t told Devin about the coded letters. They’d been signed by Rolf Von Albrecht, who had to be the same person as Dr. Someone.
“Why would they want to track him down?” She had her suspicions, but they were too horrible, too unproven. So she let them stay unexamined in the darkest recesses of her mind. She’d recently discovered that her own mother hated Jews, and that she’d helped this German Dr. Someone quietly leave the United States nine years ago. There were only so many reasons the CIA would bother to find such a man.
The thought of Mama, the bedrock of the family, hiding her bigotry and helping Germans illegally kept Pagan up late many nights, trying to untie the knot that was her mother. She’d kept it all from her family and then unexpectedly hanged herself in the family garage one afternoon while everyone else was out. Pagan still didn’t know why Mama had decided to die, and more than anything—well, looking at Devin she realized more than almost anything—she longed to find out.
“I’ll tell you why,” he said. “After you accept the job.”
She glared at him. “We said no more lies between us.”
“An omission,” he said. “Which I’m telling the truth about.”
Damn him. She was going to do it—because it made her feel good to be trusted, it was the right thing to do and because it involved Mama. It was Mama’s death that triggered Pagan’s alcoholic spiral, and it was Pagan’s decision to keep drinking for years after that which led to the accident that killed her father and sister.
Mama hadn’t left a note; she’d shown no sign of distress or depression. Pagan still had no idea why she’d taken her own life, why she’d left her two daughters without their fierce, controlling, adoring mother. A mother with her own dark secrets.
Thinking about it made it hard to breathe. But more than anything else, Pagan wanted the answer to that question. All the other terrible events had been her own damned fault. She couldn’t help feeling responsible for Mama leaving, as well. But maybe, if she found an explanation, one corner of the smothering blanket of guilt and self-recrimination would lift.
“By taking the job,” Devin said, “you’ll help persuade the CIA to let you see that file they have on your mother. It may be the thing that does the trick.”
“‘Help persuade’?” she quoted, voice arching with skepticism. “It ‘may’ do the trick? You’re the one who told me to be cautious if they asked me to help them again.”
“Glad to see my warning sunk in,” he said. “And I stand by it. But I know how badly you want to know more. And I’ll be going with you, so I can be a buffer.”
She lifted her head to stare up at him, her heart leaping into her throat. “You...”
“I will act as your liaison to the agency while you’re in Buenos Aires,” he said.
So that was why... “And there’ll be no fraternizing because you’ll technically be my supervisor,” she said.
“It’s not technical,” he said. “I will be your boss while we’re down there, and it’s important that nothing get in the way of that. Your life might depend upon it.”
“You’re such a rule-follower,” she said. “What if the rules are wrong?”
“You’re such a rule-breaker,” he retorted. “What if you’re too blind to see why the rules exist?”
“That’s what rule-makers always say,” she said. “Rules are made to be broken.”
“Rules are made for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men,” he said in an exasperated tone that secretly delighted her. “Guess which one you are?”
She paused. “Was that Shakespeare?”
“Douglas Bader, fighter pilot,” he said abruptly. “Those are the terms of the deal. If you say yes, a script for the movie will be sent to you tomorrow. All you have to do is call your agent and tell him you want the part. The movie starts shooting after New Year’s. When you get to Buenos Aires, I’ll contact you.”
“Hmm.” Two could play at being distant. And it might help keep her sane while she was working with him.
With her heels still dangling from one hand, she stepped carefully around him in her stocking feet, making it clear she was keeping at least an arm’s length between them as she headed back toward the mansion. “I can’t make decisions when my toes are wet and cold,” she said. “Send me the script.”
She paused, turning to look over her shoulder at him. “Maybe I’ll say yes.”
“Very well.” He nodded curtly. The English accent was back, and a veil of formality fell between them. “Say hello to Thomas for me. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“There you are!” a voice called through the moist night air.
Pagan whirled to see Thomas’s golden blond head bright under the low lights of the poolside arcade, moving
