Page 85 of Blind Trust
“Lyla, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head, couldn’t talk. She ran to the elevator and began pressing the button over and over again.
“Lyla, honey?”
She turned her head to see her mom—no, not my mom—coming toward her, and there must’ve been something in Lyla’s expression that caused her mom to bring both hands to her mouth and shake her head as she began to cry.
Lyla couldn’t take it. She spotted the exit sign leading to the stairs and ran toward it. Nicolás reached out, but she ignored his attempt to stop her. She had to get out of there, had to get away, had to breathe, had to figure out how her whole life had been a giant lie.
29
Nic walked into the SNAP HQ and breathed a sigh of relief when he found Lyla at her desk. Her back was hunched forward, her gaze intent on whatever was on the computer screen in front of her, and from the muted music, he guessed she had her earbuds in.
He didn’t know what had happened at the hospital to run her off, but Jack had stopped him from chasing after her. Their work cell phones could be tracked, and Kekoa monitored her as she caught an Uber back to their office. It didn’t stop Nic from being scared out of his mind that somewhere on the way someone might try to shoot her too.
And then Lyla’s father explained briefly that Lyla had learned the truth that they were not her parents. At least not biologically—and that’s all that was said.
But it was enough to crush the woman he’d fallen for.
Not wanting to scare her, Nic walked around the edge of the room. He was within a foot when she lifted her head.
“You don’t have to skirt around me, Nicolás.” She pointed at the security screen in the corner of the room without looking up. “You know the monitor over there alerts us when someone walks through the door.”
His shoulders relaxed but only for a second, because when she finally turned, he caught the sadness rimming her eyes.
“I can’t find a single thing on Connor Murphy.” She sniffled. “It’s like he never existed outside of the report about his death.”
“Is that...is he...”
“My father?” Lyla swiveled in her chair and stared at her screen. “I didn’t stick around for that detail, but from what I overheard, my guess is yes. Connor Murphy—maybe CIA officer, killed at the scene of a botched arms deal, traitor to America—might be my father.”
He proceeded with caution to make sure the words he spoke next reflected his respect for her feelings. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was trying to excuse a situation he didn’t fully grasp or explain away how she was feeling in this moment.
“I’m so sorry.” He rolled his desk chair next to her and sat. “What can I do to help?”
“Help me find out who my parents are.” She ran her hands over her head and released an exasperated cry. “You know, I had this feeling while growing up that I was too different—that something was wrong with me because I wasn’t this calm, obedient child. Other people noticed it too.” She shook her head. “Once when I was little, I overheard a woman say something to my grandmother about not being able to choose me. I had no idea at the time what she meant. Etta was quick to put that woman in her place and reassure me I was loved—but it stuck, ya know?”
The crack in Lyla’s voice about did him in. He scooted his chair closer and swiveled her chair so their knees were touching, and he reached for her hands. “I have no idea what that woman was talking about, and I’m not trying to diminish your feelings, but I want you to know that over the years I’ve known you, hearing the way you talk about your parents and Etta and Tully, they adore you. Every part of you...” He swallowed, holding back.
“At least that explains my rebellious nature.” She gestured to the photo R.D. had given to her. “I’m the child of a traitor. It’s in my nature, I suppose.”
There wasn’t an ounce of self-pity in her tone. Just anger.
“Do you think that’s why I’m so careless? Taking risks? Because I’m fighting my own DNA by trying to help people, fighting the bad guys when my own father was one of the bad guys.” She blinked. “Or maybe I’m here as some sort of penance. Right the wrongs of my family tree.”
“Lyla, we don’t know anything about the man in that photograph, but I know you. Yes, you have a rebellious streak, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
She sniffled. “Says the man denying he’s leaving because of me.”
Nic moved in, his fingers brushing her hair behind her ear before letting them trace her jawline to her chin, which he tipped up so their eyes met. “A rebellious nature is good when it’s combating evil. When it goes against the Lord and his will, then it’s not good. I have no idea why your parents didn’t tell you the truth or how this involves Walsh, but can you sit here and tell me the devastated couple sitting back at the hospital doesn’t love you with their whole hearts?”
Lyla’s lips twisted into a silent no, and her eyes filled with tears.
“If you want my advice”—he raised a brow at her, and she offered a sad smile—“let Walsh and your parents explain before deciding to go antihero on us.”
“Will Walsh...” She bit her lip, and Nic read the question in her anxious expression.
“They stopped the bleeding and are optimistic, but the next twenty-four hours are critical.”
