Torn (Deep 8, #5)

18. Roger

EIGHTEEN

Roger

As we toured the house, fragmented memories began to resurface. I remember running up and down the hallway, playing a game where I escaped the large floating red flowers. My father would yell at me, telling me to behave, but Amalia would smile and offer me a snack in the kitchen.

I try not to give myself away. "How do you know my father?"

Her shoulders slump, and she looks at me through sad eyes. "Your father liked to hang out with the uber-rich while he was visiting. We met at a party and became friendly."

"You mean you were in a relationship with him," I respond.

"Yes, if you want to call it that. We were on and off again over the years and remained friends. He told me about a group he was investigating called Deep 8. He gave me details here and there, but nothing concrete."

Amalia twists her fingers together on the table. "When I was very young, I became pregnant by the love of my life. He was my father’s bodyguard and not on the approved list of suitable men to marry. I had a baby girl but was forced to give her up for adoption."

"I didn’t know you had a daughter," Harlow says softly.

Tears shine in her eyes. "She’s beautiful, and I’ve kept track of her over the years. When I found the courage to introduce myself to her, your father came and gave me a piece of some device. He told me to keep it safe and give it to no one. My daughter’s life depended on it. He showed me recent photos of my daughter he came across in his research on Deep 8. I was on their radar maybe because I sit on the board for the Western Bank de Luxembourg. He informed me if they ever found out I had the piece, she would be tortured and killed. I’ve been keeping it for a while."

"Why didn’t he keep the piece?" I asked.

"He thought it was too risky and it gave me leverage or so he thought. His paranoia got the best of him, and he knew they were watching him. He said they were sending him photos of you and your mother, as well as other people in his life, like me. He thought I was the safest bet. They wouldn’t think to look in the safety of Luxembourg."

Her face hardens. "When I saw you, I put two and two together with his disappearance. He told me years ago you became an agent working for the American government. Deep 8 must be on the government’s radar by now. Everyone wants that piece, but I won’t give it up. They may kill my daughter anyway, so as long as I have it, she lives another day."

A nervous energy blankets the room at this unexpected twist in our quest to retrieve piece number two. Amalia is stuck, but maybe I can convince her to give us the piece without revealing too much.

"We can protect you and your daughter from Deep 8." I offer.

She laughs. "Do you know what they are capable of? From what Lucas told me, they have members in the highest levels of government, though he won’t say who. They have eyes and ears everywhere, even in my own home. I have to scan my house once a week and I find it difficult to trust anyone. My life has been lived in a glass cage for the last few years, trying to keep them away and protect my daughter at the same time. The loneliness eats away at me."

She looks over at one of the security guards and nods her head. "I’m sorry I have to do this, but you two won’t be leaving here until I figure out what to do."

Two security guards pull their weapons and stand behind us while zip-tying our wrists. "I was hoping to go to New York City," Harlow sighs.

"It looks like our next stop is Lake Locarno, but not yet," I respond, signaling her to hold tight on hitting the panic button.

Amalia looks between us like we’ve lost our minds. "Your next stop is two holding cells in my basement. These old houses have secrets hidden everywhere. We’ll talk more tomorrow." She walks away as we are led to the basement.

I rub my wrists as a musty smell fills my nose and we’re led to two cages beside each other. She wasn’t smart enough to split us up. This gives us time to strategize and devise a plan to contact the team if necessary.

An ancient stone wall separates the holding cells, and each one has a bucket, bed, and sink. The floor is packed dirt, holding onto the dampness of being underground. The bed has linens and heavy blankets. At least she doesn’t want us to die down here.

Harlow’s back hits the wall with a thud and she sighs. "I’ve created this mess. I thought getting to know Amalia would get us closer to the piece and finding Lucas. Once we get out of here, we will go our separate ways. You’re better off without me."

I snake my arm through the bars on my side and get her attention by waving my hand. "Hold my hand."

"Don’t, Roger. You have everything you need to complete this mission. I’ll go back to Australia and take the hit for losing Lucas. I’ll be fine."

"I need you. There is no way this op gets completed without you. Your strategy was spot-on, and everything has been planned down to the last detail. Amalia may need some convincing about giving us the piece and you are the person to coax her." I wiggle my fingers. "From the moment I met you, I’ve been in awe of you. As they say, ‘You complete me.’ It’s so cliché but without your experience of living among the wealthy, we wouldn’t be here. I couldn’t have pulled this off without you."

Her fingers slip into mine. "I hated my life back then. Don’t be fooled. There’s a price, even when you’re wealthy. I was controlled by money and my life was not my own until…" She fades off.

"Until what?"

"There’s an old Japanese saying, ‘The blade of grass that grows too high gets chopped off.’ There were many times I was that blade of grass."

"I don’t ever have to worry about that. I was the blade of grass that was brown, wilted, and stepped on by my father. I would give anything to be special enough to be seen. Besides, I could always duck." I offer humor to get our minds off the severity of the situation.

Her laugh fills the space between us that feels a million miles away. I only have the touch of her fingers, which is never enough.

"We may have grown up in different ways, but we’ve come out the same. You try to muddy your star, and I try so hard to shine, but no one sees me. No one knows who we are. I think that’s why I wanted to become an actor."

Her fingers grip mine. "I see you. You’re kind, determined, funny, great husband material, and a generous lover. Lucas is a narcissist. His world is only ever about him and no one else. You are his scapegoat. He needs someone to blame to make himself look better and will manipulate everything to get his way."

We sit in silence for a bit.

"I’m sorry," she whispers.

"There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s taken me a long time to realize who he is. Denial is a powerful enemy for a child of a narcissist. I always hold on to hope that he will love me for me without conditions, critiques, and threats. It didn’t take you long to figure out what has taken me a lifetime."

"I will hold your hand all night if you want me to. I’ll be here no matter what happens." She kisses the tips of my fingers.

"I think we better get some sleep before I end up with a hard-on for the rest of the night. Thank you, Mrs. Dujardin."

"Good night, Mr. Dujardin. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning."

Talking to her was better than any therapy session. The reality of who my father is hits me like a bolt of lightning. I need to separate myself from him as my father and his toxic personality to find out what’s going on. I don’t think we have the full story. A narcissist only does for themselves, but the portrait being painted is one of self-sacrifice.