Page 108 of The Shadow Friends

He looked down at the bandages on his chest and said, “It’s my very first bullet wound.”

“It’s your only bullet wound,” said Ingrid as she carried away his empty breakfast tray. He had complained that hospital food was inedible, yet he’d still managed to polish off the whole meal. Clearly, his appetite was back.

“And now I almost feel like one of you,” said Lloyd.

“None of us have ever been shot,” Declan said. “You’re the first.”

“Lloyd,” Maggie said, managing a smile despite her painfully swollen face, “you are one of us.”

That made Lloyd go quiet for a moment. He looked down at the IV tube taped to his arm, and he took a breath. “I have to confess something. Something embarrassing. The truth is, I was utterly terrified.”

“You’d be crazy if you weren’t,” said Ingrid. She sat down beside him on the bed and took his hand. “Although I do question your intelligence. Running into the house like that.”

“I was terrified for you.” He looked at her, and in the bright light of the hospital room, Ingrid saw how the years had left their wear and tear on his face. The same wear and tear she saw on her own face when she looked in a mirror. They were both growing old, and she was grateful they could still do it together.

She touched his cheek, rough with gray stubble. “Let’s not do this sort of thing again, all right?”

“But what if he asks you to? Your friend, Rodrigo?”

Ingrid could feel them all watching her, waiting for her answer. She could see the questions in their eyes.

At that exquisitely inopportune moment, they heard a knock on the door. It swung open, and there he was. Rodrigo.

“Ingrid, can we talk?” he said.

She looked at her friends. “We can talk right here.”

“This is sensitive. Agent Minnihan’s on his way, and he’s going to ask questions. We need to decide how to approach this.”

“My friends here already know.”

Rodrigo frowned. “Know what?”

“How Hannah Murray died. I told them.”

At once, he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “What did you tell them?”

“Everything. I trust them. Now you need to come clean.”

“Come clean? I’m not sure what you mean,” he said innocently, but Ingrid could see that the sly Rodrigo she once knew was back in action, his mental gears turning as he weighed possible responses, calculated which path would lead to the least damage. The years had not changed him. When it came to sticky situations, Rodrigo could still count on his wit and charm to extricate himself. The same charm that had once ensnared Ingrid.

“Tell us the rest of the story,” said Ingrid.

“There is no—”

“Jon Marcus,” said Ben. “We already know about him. Why he did it.”

Rodrigo looked at Ingrid, then back at Ben. “When did you find out?”

“After Ingrid told us what Marcus did, in the kitchen, I went to my sources at the Agency. We already had a pretty good idea who Marcus really is, and they confirmed it. ‘Jon Marcus’ is just a cover name.”

“He’s Gordon’s son,” said Ingrid.

Rodrigo didn’t respond. Instead he turned toward the window, as if to avoid their gazes. Avoid letting them see the truth in his face.

“He was only twelve years old when his father was killed,” said Ingrid. “A boy that age doesn’t forget how his father died. Certainly, Gordon’s son didn’t.” She paused. “How long have you known this, Rodrigo?”

“Not long.”