“How? Why?” She shot both of them hard stares. “And listen, I’m already pretty damn deep in this situation, right? So some explanations are not going to hurt—they will, however, keep me from going insane.”

Isaac’s jaw got to grinding, like his foot was being chewed raw by a Doberman but he didn’t want to let a scream out.

Not her problem. “I will go insane,” she said before turning to her father. “Do you hear me? I can’t live like this for one minute, one second . . . one moment longer. Not after that bombshell. You’d better start talking. Now.”

Her father all but fell into the armchair beside her, as if he were ninety years old and making the descent to his deathbed. But just as he had not cared about the cut on her hand, she didn’t grant him any mercies—and that was a shame. They had always been alike, in tune, of one mind. Tragedies, secrets, and lies, however, frayed even the closest of ties.

“Talk,” she demanded. “Now.”

Her father looked at Isaac, not her. But at least when Isaac shrugged and cursed, she knew she was going to get a story. Although probably not the story.

And how sad not to be able to trust her own father.

His voice was not strong when he finally began to speak. “I was first recruited to join XOps back in 1964. I was graduating from West Point and I was approached by a man who identified himself as Jeremiah. No last name. The thing I remember most about the meeting was how anonymous he was—he looked more like an accountant than a spy. He said there was an elite military arm that I qualified for and asked if I would be interested in learning more. When I wanted to know why me—after all, I was third in the class, not first—he said grades were not everything.”

Her father paused for quite a while, as if he were remembering the exchange nearly fifty years later word for word. “I was interested, but ultimately I said no. I’d already joined the army as an officer and it seemed dishonorable to pull out of the commitment. I didn’t see him again . . . until seven years later, when I had transitioned back into civilian life and was getting out of law school. I don’t know why I said yes exactly . . . but I was getting married to your mother, and I was joining the family firm . . . and it felt like my life was over. I craved excitement, and there didn’t seem . . .” He frowned and abruptly glanced over at her. “This is not to suggest that I didn’t love your mother. I just needed . . . something more.”

Ah, but she knew how he felt. She lived with that same itch for an edge that ordinary life didn’t seem to offer.