Page 82 of Code Name: Harbor

I was stirring the angel hair pasta and she said, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” I replied without thought or hesitation. Because there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her, and that probably includes leaving my smuggling life.

But she didn’t ask me to give that up.

Instead she said, “If anything ever happens to me, will you make sure to call my dad to let him know?”

My stomach dipped. “Josie.”

“Anything,” she reiterates, putting emphasis on the word. “If Mikhail grabs me, if I get hit by a bus, if I have a brain aneurysm and drop dead in the produce aisle at Met Market. I don’t want him to find out from the news or from Malik or from a uniformed officer at his door. I want him to find out from you.”

I should be relieved she’s not just talking about Mikhail but rather any unfortunate incident. Except I don’t want to think about it at all. “Don’t talk about that.”

“I’m talking about it because… well, I’ve never had someone who was important enough for me to put that responsibility on them.”

And those were exactly the right words. Telling me that this was an honor she’s never asked of anyone before, and I nodded without hesitation. “Yeah… sure.”

Josie sent me her dad’s contact information right then and there and I put it in my phone for safekeeping, hoping I’d never have to call the man.

But then about an hour ago, as I was waiting for the coffee to brew, an idea struck me and next thing I knew, I was calling Bill McAdams.

The doorbell rings as if on cue. “Speak of the devil,” I murmur and wipe my hands once again before heading toward the door.

Josie’s father stands there holding a small paper bag. He’s in jeans and a flannel under a canvas barn jacket, no concession to the weather beyond a wool watch cap he pulls off and tucks into a pocket. I noticed the first time I met him, Josie inherited his blue eyes.

“Good morning,” he says with a broad grin.

“Good morning,” I say, waving him inside. “I’m glad you came.”

“Hey,” he says with a laugh. “Any chance to hang out with my daughter, I’m going to grab it.”

Bill’s eyes sweep the interior of the great room, takes in the open kitchen to the right and the wall of windows overlooking the Sound. He whistles low. “This is a hell of a house, Finn.”

“Thank you. I really love it here.”

“My daughter still asleep?”

“Yes, sir. I imagine she’ll be up soon, though.”

“Then we have a window.” He hands me the paper bag. “Bagels. From the place on Queen Anne she likes. Don’t tell her I bribed you.”

“I’ll deny it under oath.”

He gives me half a smile, and it looks just like Josie’s half smile. I have to force myself to stop cataloguing the resemblance between the two.

Bill settles onto one of the island stools and I pour him a mug of coffee from the carafe. I get back to my chopping.

“Josie’s usually an early riser,” Bill muses in a way I can tell he’s fishing for information.

“She’s been working hard and is a little overtired,” I say neutrally. “She hasn’t had a day off for a while, so I figured she was due a sleep-in.”

He watches me cut for a beat. “She moved in?”

I still the knife and look up at him. “Not officially.”

“Unofficially?” he prods.

“She’s staying here temporarily.”