Playing God (Helford #2)

(31) Naomi

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Sleeplessness and restlessness together kept me pacing the halls of the Cannes house late into the night, early into the morning. No matter what I did, no matter how tired I was, I couldn’t slip under. I just had this sickening feeling in my stomach that I hadn’t had before, but I knew what it meant—my mind was trying to tell myself that I had to be awake and live for as long as I can, because I don’t have much time left. My mind was trying to tell me to use the time I had now that I have it.

I thought about Geronimo, and I had no shot of sleeping.

So I paced. I walked around the basement, stopping into the media room and reliving the events of two days ago, smiling to myself as I found it in disarray, as no one had come through to pick up the mess we had made. I walked around the first floor, checking all of the windows and doors and nodding to the agent in charge of keeping an eye out, and they nodded back, used to this new habit of mine even though I don’t know how many words I had actually spoken to the man. I walked around upstairs, stopping at every door to make sure everyone was breathing on the other side, moving on when I was sure they were safe. I even went up to sit in the attic space, where Alexander DuPont had stayed until he had been evacuated only a couple of days ago. His makeshift desk was still in place, his chair pulled out like he had only gone to get some tea. I didn’t stay in the attic long because it made me feel extremely empty. It made me feel like the lone survivor after a nuclear war, pacing the destruction and not knowing if it was a blessing I had lived through it or a curse.

I was headed back to my room to find something to occupy my time—chatter or reports or maybe it was about time that I took up knitting—when I passed by the computer room, which had been empty only minutes ago, and stopped at the sound of clicking keys on the other side of the door.

Somehow, before I opened the door, I knew who it was, and I knew what I was going to do, but I opened the door and walked in anyway. Jonathon was sitting at the computer reading something, fully dressed, even wearing a pair of boots like he was expecting the opportunity to kick some ass today. He looked up when I slowly closed the door behind me, causing it to creak, and he smiled kindly in a way that showed every ounce of politeness that he had left to offer me.

“What are you doing up?” I asked him like it was a scandal and I hadn’t just been sitting in the middle of the attic for absolutely no reason at all. I fell into one of the desk chairs and pulled my legs up, sitting Indian style. Jonathon turned his chair around to lean his elbows on his desk, leaning away from me but watching me carefully.

“I could ask you the same question,” he replied briskly, “but you probably wouldn’t tell me, so I’ll just answer—I was checking on Shawn’s hard drive and making sure everything was alright. Just in case.”

“Do you expect to come in here and find something wrong with it?” I asked, looking pointedly at what he was wearing. He pretended not to notice what I was insinuating with my question, and instead answered much more honestly than I had anticipated when he said, “I keep feeling like Shawn is too smart to just hand us over the ability to access his information. I’m waiting for the day I come in here and find out all of the data yet to be accessed is gone.”

I was floored by this, if only slightly. I kept forgetting that Jonathon was a person who had fears of his own, I guess. I was a little surprised that he would worry so much about this until I reminded myself that this was his mission. That he was not in the position that I was and it would hurt him a lot more if he failed.