Page 43 of The Saint

“There are people working on that.”

That wasn’t an answer. She glared. “You’re certain about that, Cam?”

His expression faltered.

“Because they’ve done a lot to prove she’s dead. Why?” She shook her head. “What on earth would be the reason to arrestme? To build a bullshit case.” Amelia pressed her fingers to her temples. “My arrest wasn’t based in reality. So why? Who are they trying to prove Hailey’s death to?”

Camden raised his shoulders. “I have no idea. The details that were shared with me were… sanitized.”

“Sanitized?” She snorted. “Everything is smoke and mirrors and lies and—” Her stomach turned. She’d had the same thought more than once, but maybe Camden would confirm it. “Did they work for the CIA?”

“It’s not my place—”

“Camden. Come on. Tell me the truth. Or as much of the truth as you can tell me. Please?”

“The begging is killing me, sweetheart. Knowing a specific agency won’t change—”

“You’re the only one who has been truthful. You’re the only one I trust right now. Tell me.”

He held her gaze for an eternity. She didn’t know if answering would break the law or if he didn’t think she could handle the truth.

“They did.” Camden’s eyebrows rose as though to ask if that made any difference.

The CIA.Hailey and Jonathan worked for an intelligence agency. They lived their lives one way and secretly worked on projects they’d never uttered a breath about. “I knew that had to be the case. Nothing else made sense.”

The wind howled around the house. The lights flickered. Amelia finally found the edge of the water bottle wrapper and tore it free from the glue. She unwound the wrapper and studied the naked bottle, tilting it to one side then the other, watching the water catch and fill the bottle’s creases. “I really didn’t know them as well as I thought I did.”

His eye met hers and wouldn’t let go. “They were the people you knew them as. I promise. The professor. The researcher. Thesister and brother-in-law. They were very much those people you knew.”

“I’m not—”

The lights went out. The slow hum of appliances quieted. She shivered. They sat in the dark. He made no move to find a candle or use the flashlight on his phone. Amelia appreciated the cloak of darkness. Right then, she wanted to stay hidden.

Camden eased off his barstool. “You okay?”

“I’m not scared of the dark, if that’s what you’re asking,” she half joked.

“Stay put a second.” He pulled out his cell phone, turned on the flashlight, and opened two kitchen drawers before extracting an elongated lighter from a drawer and a package of four short, fat candles. “A well-stocked safe house always makes life easier.”

He lit two candles and left them on the breakfast bar between them then placed the remaining two on the coffee table. He lit them and returned to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

She shook her head. The turkey sub had filled her up, and since she hadn’t had much of an appetite for prison food, her stomach wasn’t in a rush to digest it.

Camden made a peanut butter sandwich and polished it off before he cleaned up his mess, putting the knife in the dishwasher and peanut butter in the cabinet.

“You’re efficient,” she pointed out.

“And you note things people do and then tell them.”

She laughed to herself. “Guess I do. I never noticed that. Yet somehow I missed that my sister, the person I’m closest to, worked for a bunch of spies.”

The wind picked up again. Camden leaned against the sink counter. Candlelight danced across his features. “It was their job to hide their work from you. They were trained to keep you in the dark.”

“I guess.”

“You sound like you don’t like what they did.”

She shrugged. “It’s not that. It’s the lying.”

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