Page 40 of License to Kill

“You’re correct,” I agreed.

“I thought we’d take some time to discuss your future.”

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Enlighten me.”

“I’ve done the work hard for the future game, Dr. Howards. I’m done. If my future ended five minutes from now because someone figured out it doesn’t matter to me if I have five minutes, five years, or five decades left, I’d be fine with that. I don’t care if I don’t have a future. Preparing for the future is just a pretty way of setting myself up for disappointment.”

“And what about those you’d leave behind?”

“That’s their problem, now isn’t it? They left me first.” ‘They’ could mean so many people, and of them all, I could only think of one who had actually cared enough about me to give me half a chance. I wondered if I’d see Mellisa again. “I’m tired of people pretending they care about me and abandoning me when I’m no longer convenient or easy to have around. I’m tired of people pretending they care about me until I need something before turning their backs on me. I’m tired of being stupid enough to actually think I might be important enough to be fit in their little box. I’ve always been expected to make my box fit the needs of others. Maybe I just wanted someone to make a little space for me in their box. But it’s the same story with everyone who has been abandoned, isn’t it? We don’t want a box to call our own. We want space in someone else’s box, with the security of knowing that space will always be there when needed.”

“But what if there are people willing to give you space in their box?”

“Do you know the difference between a box and a prison?”

“What?”

“I can leave the box.”

Dr. Howards’s eyes widened, and for the first time since he’d walked into my cell, I got the feeling he understood.

As I had with Jake and his parents, I fell silent with no intention of speaking another word. There was nothing left to say.

Dr. Howards insisted on returning every day, and when he couldn’t get me to say a word, he did the talking, telling me the latest news, both local and international, and filling me in on what I had missed during my time spent as a fox. Most of it meant little or nothing to me, although I learned one important thing: those behind the Greenwich kidnapping still hadn’t been caught.

I’d done a lot of harm to the group behind it, but we hadn’t gotten them all, and we hadn’t nailed the mastermind of the plot.

I almost reminded Dr. Howards I was no longer in the business of hunting down criminals, but I remained silent.

I had already played my part.

It didn’t take me long to figure out trust was a two-way street. I didn’t trust him, he didn’t trust me. He planned his visits in such a way he could confirm if I ate and what I ate. No matter what was left for me, I found no enjoyment in it. Half the time, I didn’t even notice or care who brought which meal.

When I did eat, I didn’t really taste anything at all, and I only picked at it enough to keep the worst of the hunger pangs at bay.

Eleven days after I ran out of things to say, Dr. Howards brought two briefcases with him, and he set a two-inch thick stack of forms on the table. “I have a project for you.”

What made him think I actually cared? I should have just stayed curled in the armchair, but I got up, sat at the table, and clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t sigh. I grabbed the stack, pulled it to me, plunked an elbow on the tabletop and propped my chin in my palm before flipping open the top folder.

FBI confidentiality agreements and warnings filled the first ten pages, and I straightened, leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms over my chest, and shook my head.

“This is an excellent opportunity for you to do substantial, meaningful work. You don’t have to pass field evaluations to handle it, and it is well within the scope of your experience and specialties. You will, of course, be paid for your time and effort. Sign the NDA, take some time to review the documents, and think about it.”

He set a pen on the table beside me and waited.

If I didn’t sign, he would hover until I did, so I saved us both the hassle and scribbled my first name on the appropriate lines. Dr. Howards frowned, but he didn’t question the omission.

He’d talk about it to someone, of that I had no doubt. Maybe he’d come back later wanting to know why. Then again, maybe he already understood.

“I’ll leave everything you need here. If you find anything interesting, use the intercom, and someone will come around.”

I glanced in the direction of the door and the stainless steel panel with a single button on it, something I hadn’t bothered to use since I’d been locked in my comfortable little prison. Acknowledging him with a shrug, I closed the folder, picked up the stack, and dumped it on the coffee table to deal with later, if my curiosity resurrected from the dead enough for me to bother.

Day and night meant little to me in a prison without windows, but I got the feeling it was night when Jake came and hovered in the doorway, watching me engage in a staring contest with the closed folders.

“Are you ready to talk?”