Page 88 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

I can’t help but be relieved it’s over. That Oumar and Mariam are finally not only together, but somewhere safe.

It’s the ending I always pray for. A conclusion that brings justice and maybe eventually, healing.

What I try not to think about is the reality that every time the leader of a network is shut down, someone else will rise up.

It’s what gives me job security, but I can’t focus on that negative aspect of my work.

While we might not have stopped the next insurgency, we did stop this one.

I walk over to the large window of my apartment.

Sunlight is streaming through the glass, and I put my hand against the window and feel the warmth.

Cars drive by. People walk down the avenue below me.

They have no idea that a week ago, I was involved in a coordinated attack involving Navy SEALs and today the world is safer.

And what seems even stranger is that they will never know.

After several intense days of writing reports and working through intel, Hawke told me to take some time off and get some rest. Get out of Paris for a few days if I want to.

If I’m honest, all I really want to do is sleep.

I might end up taking a long drive out of the city.

For a long time I’ve wanted to go to Giverny, where Monet’s home is located.

Or to Mont Saint Michel, which is famous for its architecture and history.

Somewhere different. Somewhere where I can see the French countryside and catch my breath.

There is one bittersweet afternote to my time off. I had just finished debriefing Mariam when I found out that my neighbor, Mr. Basile, passed away. His son and grandson came in for the service, and gave me a book with one of his wife’s red scarves tied around it.

“He wanted you to have this,” his son told me. “Said you’d understand why.”

It was a worn copy of a book, her neat handwriting in the margins underlining passages on love and learning how to find beauty in the quiet moments. The reminder was timely, especially after my week. I’ve never been good at sitting still and finding peace in the quiet.

My phone goes off. It’s a text from Graham.

He wants to know if I’m home and if he can stop by for a moment.

I hesitate, not really wanting to see anyone, but I go ahead and tell him yes.

If I’m honest, I’m surprised at how much I’ve come to lean on him, to welcome his advice, and realize what an asset he is to our team.

That isn’t something I take lightly. While I never expected him to be any less, it does help to have someone I know I can count on to have my back.

He’s highly skilled, and I’ve come to realize I can trust him with my life.

But he’s also a reminder of William.

William had always had my back. It seemed he was able to read my mind and anticipate what I needed. It’s impossible not to miss William and what I thought we would have together.

Graham must have been close by when he texted, because my intercom goes off almost immediately, and I buzz him in.

A minute later he’s knocking at my door.

I cross the room, wondering if I should offer him something to eat or drink. I just hope he doesn’t stay. When I finally open the door, he’s carrying a large manila folder, standing awkwardly until I invite him in.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, pointing him to my couch while I sit down on a padded armchair.

He takes a seat, still looking uncomfortable. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. I know you must be tired.”

“I am, and on top of everything we went through, my favorite neighbor died.” I hold up Mr. Basile’s wife’s book, then set it back on the coffee table. “His son brought me this book as a gift to remember him. It belonged to his wife.”

“I’m sorry. Hawke said you were taking some time off. Told me to do the same thing.”

I nod. “I’d say we both need it.”

“Any plans?” he asks.

“For now, to get some sleep. Then. . .I’m really not sure yet. Time off is rare, and I know I should do something with it, but honestly, I’m just tired.”

He taps his fingers on the envelope he’s still holding. “I won’t stay long.”

“I didn’t mean that, I just meant…” I glance toward the kitchen wondering why I suddenly feel so awkward. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No. I’m fine. Thank you.”

I clear my throat. “I want you to know I was impressed with how you handled things. Thank you for having my back.”

“Of course, though honestly, I’m just glad it’s over.”

Until the next assignment anyway.

“Any updates on Oumar?” Graham asks.

“Yes, he’ll be leaving the country—with Mariam. Possibly even Europe. I won’t be in on that decision, but it’ll be somewhere safe.”

“That’s good news.”

I nod, wondering why he’s stalling. Wondering why he’s really here.

“Tell me about your neighbor,” Graham says.

“Mr. Basile. . .” I shift in my chair, surprised by the change in conversation. “He was a really good neighbor. I often ran into him on my way home from work, and we would talk about everything from politics to local artists to our spiritual convictions. I’m really going to miss him.”

“You’re a good person, Samantha.”

I should take it as a compliment, but instead I frown. There’s something behind his words I can’t quite put my finger on. A subtext I can’t read in his expression.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately, making me wonder why he’s circling the conversation.

“I need to talk to you about a couple things, starting with Mr. Basile.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is no record of him having a wife or any children.”

I stare at Graham. Not sure if I heard him right. Not sure if I want to.

“He had a wife,” I say. “She passed away years ago, and her name was Elise. He showed me pictures of her and their son. In fact, I’ve met their son.”

“This isn’t easy to tell you, but you need to hear it. I have credible information that he never married. Never had children.”

I shake my head and feel the room start to spin. I don’t know what to think except it has to be a misunderstanding. I’ve seen those pictures. Mr. Basile told me they were of his wife. Of his son. Why would he lie to me about his family? And why would Graham even have information like this?

I decide to start with the information Graham is giving me. “Why would he lie about having a family? Why would he lie about who he was?”

“Because he was gathering intel on you.”

I lean forward. “I’m sorry, what?”

Graham rubs the back of his neck. “I know this isn’t easy to absorb, but he was gathering intel on you.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I’ve called in a favor to a friend in French intelligence to see if there’s a connection there, but I haven’t heard back. Right now, I just know he was hired by someone.”

I press my hand against my chest and shake my head. “He was an eighty-year-old man. Who hires an eighty-year-old man to do long-term surveillance? This. . . None of this makes any sense.”

Because I’m supposed to be the one watching, not the one being watched. And the idea that Mr. Basile—kind, harmless Mr. Basile—was collecting intel on me feels like a punch in the gut.

I start to replay every casual conversation, every quiet gesture, every afternoon wave across the hall. I let my guard down with him. Trusted him. All the while, he was studying me? Tracking me? If this was true, how was it possible that I didn’t see it?

“You’re sure about this?” I ask.

Graham nods. “You never suspected anything?”

“Of course not. Never.” I drop my hands to my sides. “Why would someone do this? What information were they trying to get out of me?”

Graham looks past me to the clock on the wall. The room is quiet, and I can hear the minute hand ticking off the seconds as I wait for him to answer.

“Graham?” I press.

“I believe the reason he was surveilling you is connected with William’s disappearance. Because I have evidence that William might have been working for another government.”

“No.” The word rips out of me. “No, that’s not possible. William would never betray his country.”

Would never betray me.

I stand up so fast the wooden legs of my chair skid across the floor.

I start pacing in front of the window while my pulse pounds in my ears.

I’m angry. . .confused. . .because what he’s saying implies that William’s disappearance wasn’t an accident or a coincidence.

That it was planned. That there was definitely more behind what happened that day.

Without even thinking, I swipe a stack of files off my desk. They hit the floor in a paper storm.

“Did you ever talk to him about William?” Graham asks.

His voice is calm, but he’s watching me closely.

Watching the confusion that’s starting to suffocate me.

The vulnerability. This isn’t supposed to be me.

I’m the one who sits, watching across the table, while someone tells me their deepest, darkest secrets.

“I never spoke to him about our relationship,” I say, forcing my breath to even out.

“Did he ever see you together?”

“Yes, but I just told him we worked together.”

Which was true.

I stop pacing. My hands are shaking, so I curl them into fists, then stare at the mess I made—papers scattered across the floor like a crime scene. I swallow hard, but it doesn’t settle anything.

“I know this is hard,” Graham says. “I know you have questions about what happened to William.”

I raise my brow at his statement.

“I also know that you were planning to get married.”

I shake my head. “How would you know that? We didn’t talk to anyone about our relationship. I hadn’t even told my family. We’d planned to, eventually, but we needed to make sure our relationship wouldn’t affect our jobs.”

“I’m telling you because I feel like you deserve to know the truth.” He hesitates, then places the envelope he’s been holding on the coffee table between us. “It’s intel about William.”

“William. . . I don’t understand.”

“It’s from a reliable source.” Graham pauses. “A source who wants you to know that digging for answers is risking your life.”