Page 66 of Wrecked
“I’m sad that Ronald was killed.”
“Let’s walk.”
Her father, Phillip Skye, was one of the most powerful men in the world. Known only as Z, he worked at FBI headquarters in Washington, DC. Rather than take his earned corner office on the executive floor, he worked in a windowless shithole in the basement. On more than one occasion, she’d pulled out her service weapon as she made her way to his office. That’s how creeped out she’d been in that part of the building.
Today, however, they were meeting at their favorite place. The art museum. It was their go-to, father-daughter spot. After her mom had left them, she, her older sister, and their dad, had been lost. Nobody knew how to cook, their dad didn’t know about their after-school activities, what they were learning in school, or what subjects they were struggling with. While Addison and her sister were close, their dad was like a stranger to them. He worked long hours and they didn’t see him much. When he was home, he was kind to them, but he wasn’t super interested in their lives.
Somehow, they figured out a way to survive. They each learned to cook a few meals. He worked fewer hours, he helped them with their homework, watched Addison play team sports. Every month, he’d take them to a museum. DC offered so much in the way of arts, so they’d spend a day moseying around and learning.
Over time, this museum became their favorite. The art was beautiful, the museum tended to be quieter than some, and there were always new exhibits coming through. All three of them came to appreciate the works that lined these walls.
Addison’s sister became an artist, but Addison wanted to have a relationship with her dad that extended beyond high school. So, when he encouraged her to double major in International Relations plus Government and Politics, then take a job with the CIA, she did.
It was only after she’d been recruited into ALPHA, three years ago, that she learned about hisrealjob. He’d told his daughters he was a government worker who spent his days in meetings. They’d accepted that. They had no reason not to.
But her dad controlled a lot of what happened in law enforcement. And most of it wasn’t pretty. While her dad was slight and less than average height, he more than made up for it in power.
“Are we being tailed here?” she asked as they paused to study a painting of two small children.
“I have protection on me—on us—so yes, we’re being followed.”
She didn’t bother glancing around.
“I was told to go into hiding,” she said.
“Cooper will come up with a plan.”
“Or he’ll do whatever you tell him.”
“Cooper Grant doesn’t know I exist,” her dad said.
With her arm still looped through his, they meandered on to the next painting.
“Well, Sinclair Develin does, and he’ll relay the message.” She peered over at him. “Same thing.” She caught his eye. “This isn’t my first rodeo with you, Dad.”
His sheepish smile made her chuckle. Her father rarely admitted toanything.
“I’ve been recruited for BLACK OPS,” she murmured, “but I’m thinking of turning it down.”
He pivoted from the landscape painting to her. “Why would you do that?”
“Some of the missions will be international.”
“You enter a country, you take care of business, you leave.”
“Unless I don’t make it out. I wouldn’t want to get caught on foreign soil.”
“There’s no room for error on these missions, Addison.”
“Well, wearehuman, you know. Sometimes thingsdon’tgo according to plan. People make mistakes, missions go sideways.”
“You have time to consider this.”
In the course of her life, her dad had given her great career advice. She stayed silent while they finished studying a painting in one of the many side salons. When finished there, they moved to a larger room, her gaze resting on a huge painting hanging in the center of the wall.
A war scene, a bloody battle where there were no victors. She studied the faces of the fallen.
“Do you think I should take the assignment?” she asked.
