Page 81 of Bombshell

They all think I’m a slut. I might as well lean into it.

Ginny doesn’t seem phased by this proclamation. She only nods. “If you figure it out, you can make the dad take care of you. Both of you. But only if you’re in the States.”

I start to tell her that Ellie’s father isn’t there either. That he won’t be around to help me or take care of his daughter, even if he wanted to be. But it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.

“Just think about it,” Ginny says, passing Ellie to me finally. I press her comforting weight to my chest and kiss her forehead.

“I will.” I won’t though, and we both know it. Ginny will go home, and I’ll stay here with Ellie. We’ll all be okay—somehow.

“Adair, there’s something you should know. Something they aren’t telling you.” She bites her lip as though she’s having second thoughts about telling me herself. “I really shouldn’t. Malcolm made me promise not to say anything. He said it might change your mind, but that hardly matters now.”

The pit in my stomach opens up again. “What is it?”

“It’s your father,” she says in a soft voice. “He’s dying.”

I open my eyes as the memory fades and stare at my brother.

“You really hate us that much?” he repeats.

The answer comes easily after remembering every reason behind it. “Yes.”

18

Sterling

“Noah, it’s Sterling,” I say as soon as the line connects. There’s no time to waste with pleasantries. Each second lost could cost me. “We need to talk.”

“Is that so? How’s the life of crime?” Noah doesn’t sound like an FBI agent. He never sounded like a military man, either. Instead, he’s always reminded me of an exasperated parent. Maybe that’s why he annoyed me during training. That annoyance shifted to hatred after what happened in Afghanistan.

“Cute. Listen, we have a mutual problem. Let’s solve it together.” Right now, he holds the key I desperately need to unlock the answers hidden from me. If I want to keep Sutton alive, I need to know who’s been talking to the FBI. I’m in a parking garage in downtown Nashville, somewhere even I didn’t know I’d be—until about five minutes ago. It’s probably just paranoia, I know. But that’s the thing about paranoia—it exists because it can be useful. Noah is probably somewhere in a FBI surveillance van, waiting for someone to incriminate themselves.

“It’s more your problem than mine, actually.”

“You have no idea,” I mutter. “Look Nikolai Koltsov just called me. They have Sutton.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath. Sutton herself told me Noah had tracked her down, that he liked her. I can’t blame him. It’s hard not to love someone as blatantly and unapologetically abrasive as Sutton. She just makes you want to. “I told you they were serious.”

“I believed you. I didn’t expect them to move so quickly, but apparently, they realized the FBI is in town.” I have to bite back a few choice things to say about this. Noah might have warned me, but he’s also endangered everyone I love by sticking around to stir the pot. “Your source. The one who’s informing on me and them. I need you to tell me who it is.”

“That’s a pretty big fucking ask, Ford.” Noah tries to sound pissed off, but he’s a lot less dismissive than I expected. Something about it bothers him, too.

“Yeah, yeah. Ongoing investigation. Leverage. I get all that—”

“I really don’t think you do,” Noah says. He’s as effortlessly condescending as a parent, that’s for sure. “I gave you a heads up as a courtesy. And my offer still stands. You tell me what you’ve been up to with the Koltsovs, and I can keep you alive. I can get a team down here to extract Sutton—”

“Let’s put our cards on the table,” I stop him. I just need to convince Noah my method will get him better results. In other words, I need to find something more compelling than persecuting me—not easy, but not impossible. “I know you don’t have shit, okay? If you did, you would arrest me, then use whatever you had to try to make me flip.”

“That’s a lot of assumptions—”

“Maybe, but I know you’re a decent person. You don’t like the idea of leveraging my safety just so you can do your job. And you like Sutton, you don’t want to see her get hurt.”

He’s quiet on the other end.

“This is simple math, Porter. The Koltsovs. My people. Your people. Three different groups, all caught up in something that feels off, right?” No one just gets the Russian mafia handed to them on a silver platter. Or me, for that matter. Not only am I good, I’m careful. Something doesn’t add up.

“I know the fucking players, alright?” There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, and I can hear Noah changing location. A beefy metal door slams shut, and then I register the unmistakable sound of wind blowing over his phone mic. Either he really did get out of a surveillance van, or he went out on a rooftop. “Alright, our conversation is private now.”

Something about the direction I’m taking the conversation has spooked him—enough that he couldn’t let us be overheard. Interesting.