Page 81 of Code Name: Reaper
“Whether you answer it or not, I’m going to ask one more. Is Mercury dead or alive?”
Vera stood, picked up her bag, and walked to the front door. She pulled it open, but stopped and looked over her shoulder. “She’s alive, Charity, and she’s trying to make sure you remain that way too.”
The two ofus sat in stunned silence for a few minutes after she left.
Amaryllis broke it first. “Well, that was enlightening.”
I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic. “Are you okay?”
“Define okay.” She stared at the closed door. “My parents were murdered. My uncle is dead. My mentor—who lied to me about her identity—is in hiding to protect me from the same people who killed my mom and dad.” She turned to me. “But at least she’s alive.”
The relief in her voice was unmistakable, even wrapped in pain and anger.
“Is there anyone you want to talk to about this? Wren or Nemesis, maybe?”
“Not tonight.” Amaryllis stood and walked to the window. “Tonight, I want to pretend I’m a normal person having dinner with my boyfriend’s parents, albeit to question them about whatthey know about an investigation that may be getting people killed.”
“Am I your boyfriend?”
“Of everything I said, that’s what you picked up on?”
“Answer my question.”
“What would you rather I call you? Lover? Partner? Lovable source of annoyance and frustration?”
“I like everything up to and including lovable.” I crossed the room and pulled her into my arms.
“Good, because your mother scares me, and I need all the moral support I can get.”
I laughed. “She likes you.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Lots of little things.”
Amaryllis rolled her eyes. “Nothing like a bullshit answer, Agent Black. So, what time are they coming over?”
“About that. Are you sure you don’t want to postpone?”
“Positive.”
“How’s an hour from now?”
“As long as you don’t pour me any more whiskey, it’ll be perfect.”
My parents arrivedwith enough takeout containers to feed half of Newport News.
“I hope you’re both hungry.” My mother set the bags she was carrying on the kitchen counter. “The restaurant may have thought I was catering a party.”
“Smells incredible,” said Amaryllis, helping unpack the food.
My father came in carrying wine and a bottle of bourbon. “Thought we might need options.”
The four of us settled around the dining table with enough Italian food to last a week. For the first twenty minutes,the conversation stayed safe—my mother’s stories from her diplomatic life, my father’s early days in tech, and Amaryllis sharing memories of growing up in the area.
But I could see my parents exchanging glances, reading the tension between us even when we tried to hide it. My mother had always been able to sense when something was wrong, a skill honed from years of navigating international crises.
After we’d finished the main course, my father leaned against his chair. “You mentioned wanting to know about the defense contracting world during my time at Cerberus.”
