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Confessions of a City Girl: San Diego

Chapter One

“Elizabeth Valentine, look at me.” My father’s impatient voice booms through his Langley office, snapping me back to the days when I was a little girl, staring up at his domineering shadow, inevitably about to take the blame for whatever shenanigans my little sister Julia had just pulled.

My dad’s demanding career with the CIA meant that he never had time for us or our shenanigans.

But today, the unforgiving Director of the National Clandestine Service is making the time because I am a thirty-three-year-old woman with my own proven track record of over ten years in the CIA—a track record which is now tarnished, and potentially ruined with the grave error I made on my last mission overseas.

Austin’s death was my fault.

That reality shoots into my consciousness once again, too painful for me to fully realize, even six months after the fact. Instead, I want to run away from this sterile building, call my best friend Natasha, and tell her everything. But as a covert officer, that isn’t an option. Just like all of my other friends, Natasha believes I work for the State Department.

I can’t tell her that I watched my partner, Austin Black, die in my arms. I can’t tell her that he took a bullet…for me.

The memory of Austin’s translucent blue eyes as he collapsed against me within seconds of that bullet hit—the bullet he could’ve been spared if only I wouldn’t have confessed—

“Elizabeth.”

Finally, I look into my father’s stone gray eyes, wishing they were softer. Just for today.

“I know you don’t normally report to me, but this can’t go on any longer.” His knuckles turn white as he clasps his hands together over the desk. “It’s been six months since Black was killed, and you’re still walking around here in a daze, making mistakes, doing subpar work at best. What happened in Afghanistan that you aren’t telling me?”

“You read the report,” I say, wishing we could leave it at that. Wishing I could’ve gotten myself together these past few months so we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

“Yes, I did. Straightforward enough. One week in the safe house. An unexpected ambush. Enemy fire. Shot to the chest.”

Swallowing the truth—something I am all too good at—I look him in the eye. “Yes, that about covers it.”

“What the report didn’t mention, though, is that you were in love with the man.”

My father catches me off guard. He never uses the word love in my presence.

I swallow the knot that has gathered in my throat since last fall when my world was flipped upside down. “I didn’t…I mean, what are you talking—”

“Cut the bullshit.” He slams his fist against the desk, sending a stack of papers flying to the floor. “No one around here has the balls to say anything to you, to demand that you get your act together, partly because you’re my daughter, and partly because the entire team knows you were in love with Black. But I don’t give a damn. You knew this line of work carried risks, and you chose it anyway. Now your partner is dead, and life at the Company goes on. But if you can’t cut it around here—”

“I’m fine,” I snap. “It’s been a hard few months, but I’ll get it together. You don’t need to scold me like a child.”

My father ignores me, continuing in his stern tone. “You’ve always been so sensible, Liz. So focused, smart. I never thought you would let your feelings get in the way of your career, of your purpose at the Company. This not only cost Austin his life, it also cost us the entire operation.” He pauses, shaking his head at me. “I know there’s more to this incident than what you’ve reported.”

So he knows.

He knows that my love for Austin is ultimately what led to his death.

“Whatever happened between you two over there is in the past. But I won’t stand here and let you waste your career. You’ve worked hard for this, Liz. Harder than anyone else on your team. You’ve never used me to get to the next step—you’ve done it all on your own. But if you don’t get your shit together, you know what will happen.”

“Is it too late?” I ask, wondering if after the loss of Austin, I will lose my only other true passion—my career at the CIA. I have sacrificed everything—friendships, relationships, a love life—to make this job work. To follow in my father’s footsteps.

And to think, if only I had lied one more time—to myself, to Austin—none of this would be happening.

Austin wouldn’t have been killed.

My father shakes his head. “If you can pull your head out of your ass…” He pauses, and for a flicker of a second, I catch a hint of compassion in those hardened eyes. “No, it’s not too late.”

I clear my throat, straighten my posture. “Okay, understood. I’ll get myself together.” If only I knew how. If only I could lean on my friends to help me. But my father is right—I chose this career. I knew the risks. I knew about the isolation. As his daughter, I witnessed firsthand the way an undercover career in the CIA can destroy your personal life, bleeding into every relationship until each one is completely unrecognizable, until the only person you can count on is yourself…and even that is questionable.

“I spoke with your sister this morning,” my father says. “She wants you to come to San Diego, spend some time at her…yoga studio.” My father is pained just saying the words—he’s never approved of Julia’s escape to the West Coast, her adoption of such a “ridiculous hippy lifestyle,” as he so affectionately calls it.

Truth be told, while I am happy for Julia that she seems to have found her niche, I have to agree with my father on this one thing. I’ve never understood the whole yoga and meditation craze. Sitting cross-legged to breathe and just be with yourself? Twisting your body into all sorts of painful poses? No, thanks.

I’d rather drink a bottle of red and call it a day.

“Apparently she’s running some sort of retreat this week,” my father continues. “Says it could be perfect for you.”

“You’re actually suggesting that I go?” I try to keep the desperation from seeping into my voice, while in my head I am still clinging to the image of that bottle of red wine. “Isn’t leaving right now the worst thing I could possibly do?”

“Taking some time off to get your head straight is the only thing you can do right now, after this mess. Besides, you’re certainly not accomplishing much around here these days.”

His words sting, but he’s actually being kind to call it a mess. Austin is dead. I am the daughter of the Director of the National Clandestine Service; as such, I am never permitted to screw up, not to this magnitude anyway.

This isn’t a mess; it’s a complete disaster.

“Does Julia know anything?” I ask.

“Your sister knows the rules, Liz. She didn’t probe.”

“I don’t need to do yoga by the beach,” I snap at the preposterous notion. “I need to get back into the field.”

My father shakes his head. “You’re hardly in a state to head overseas.”

I clasp my hands together in my lap in an attempt to stop their trembling. “I’m an adult—you can’t force me to leave everything behind for some touchy-feely yoga retreat with Julia and her chanting yoga friends. I don’t see how that will help me deal with what has happened.”

My father’s jaw locks as he slides two pieces of paper across his desk. “You don’t have a choice in the matter.”

A quick scan of the first page reveals a flight itinerary with my name on it.

Departing Washington National for San Diego. 8 a.m. tomorrow.

Flipping to the second page, I find a photograph of a bronzed man twisting himself into some ridiculous, upside-down pretzel pose.

“Who in the hell is this?” I ask.

“Patrick Roberts,” my father answers. “Your sister’s new husband.”

His words have to sink in for a few moments before my brain can come up with a coherent response.

“Julia got married?” I spurt finally. “Without telling me? To this guy?”

My father nods, disapproval lining his scrunched-up brows.

“Wait, his last name is Roberts?” I say. “So Julia’s name is going to be Julia Roberts?”

My father sighs. “You know Julia has always had that silly obsession with the actress—but to take it this far. My God.”

Since the first time we watched the movie Pretty Woman as little girls, my sister has been obsessed with Julia Roberts. She’s watched every single Julia Roberts film too many times to count, and in our college days, she even dyed her hair the exact same shade of red and opted for golden brown contacts in an attempt to capture her look—which was silly because my sister is absolutely gorgeous and has never been short on male admirers.

“You know there’s a reason behind her Julia Roberts madness, though, don’t you?” I say to my father, wondering if he even remembers.

He draws his lips into a tight line, his gaze darting out the window.

“Mom had her laugh—that same, contagious laugh as Julia Roberts,” I say softly. “And once she left—”

“Once your mother disappeared from our lives,” my dad cuts in, “I was expected to care for two little girls on my own.” For the first time in our conversation—and perhaps the first time in years—I notice my father’s emotionless shield lifting, and I see the hurt, the disappointment, the shame in his eyes. “Which is why I need you to go to California and check out your sister’s new husband.”

“Do you have a reason to believe there’s something off with him?” I ask, gazing down at the crazy pretzel photo. “Well, besides the fact that he can twist his body in ways no one’s body should ever be twisted.”

“Apparently, they eloped last month. She just told me on the phone last night. A quick background check left a few unanswered questions. Something isn’t quite adding up, and I don’t have time to deal with this. I trust you’ll be up to the task, though.”

“You do realize this is why Julia moved across the country. Why she chose to run off and get married without telling you first,” I say, unable to hide my exasperation. “Because of this—your looking up every single guy who has ever come into our lives, right down to our first kisses in junior high school, thinking they must be hiding some monumental secret. Not every man is out to sabotage our lives, Dad.” I raise up the photo of Patrick, the long-haired yoga pretzel. “Especially not this guy. If this is just some ploy to get me to—”

“Austin was my most skilled agent,” my father cuts in. “You were privileged to work alongside him. But you let your feelings get in the way, and now he’s dead and your career is on the line. If you want to have any chance at keeping your job, at getting your life back together, you’ll go to San Diego and you’ll find out who in the hell this Patrick Roberts character is. Do you understand?”

I stand from my father’s desk, gripping the flight itinerary in my hands, wondering why I ever believed that following in his footsteps would make him love me more.

“I understand,” I say, swallowing my tears, my pride, and my desire for a real parent during one of the hardest years of my life.

Just as I am letting myself out of his office, he calls out to me.

“Elizabeth, wait.”

I turn around slowly, dreading whatever words might come out of his mouth next.

But when I catch his gaze, a pained look passes through those stone eyes.

“You may not remember this since it was just after your mother left, and you and Julia were only little girls…but my partner was killed too.”

All I remember of those years is hearing my dad cursing behind closed doors, and then leaving us with our grandmother again. Leaving…always leaving.

“I know what it feels like,” he says. “Take this week to get your head on straight, then come back here and prove that you can do this.”

Slipping out of his office, I walk numbly down the corridor.

One week in San Diego. Do some yoga. Investigate my sister’s new husband. If it means keeping my career, keeping some semblance of the life I had before everything turned upside down, I’ll do it.

I’ll do anything.

But first, since I can’t call my girlfriends and vent about any of this, I really need to get home to that bottle of red wine.