LITMIR.BIZ

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and Sophie were a mess. Their past—or more accurately, lack of a past—was the river that separated them. It seemed no bridge he could build would ever allow him to cross it. No matter how much he changed his life for her.

      Because, in the end, for so many years he’d been nothing more than a name scrawled on the bottom of a card. Certainly not a father.

      Despite that, he liked to think he hadn’t been a total ass to her mother. When Helen told him she was pregnant he instantly knew he had to do the right thing and offer marriage. Only Helen knew she’d done the wrong thing by deliberately getting pregnant to hold on to a man whose life ambition was the CIA.

      He thought he’d done everything right by her. He’d volunteered to refuse the CIA offer and find a more stable career—possibly with another federal agency, or scrap those plans altogether and go to law school. He damn certain had put a ring on her finger.

      In the end, Helen had been the one to back away. She must have figured out that no matter how tightly she tried to hold him, he would always be looking over his shoulder wondering what kind of life he could have been living.

      When he’d been stationed overseas Mark had liked to tell himself that he remained a part of his daughter’s life. He’d sent her cards and presents on her birthday and holidays. He’d occasionally chat with her over the internet if he was in a place that had the capability. But no amount of justification could cover up the truth. Having spent the past fourteen years of his life outside the United States, he was the very definition of an absentee father.

      Hell, he hadn’t even made it home in time for her mother’s funeral.

      No wonder Sophie hated him.

      But she was stuck with him. Dom and Marie, her grandparents, who had been in the process of selling their home to move into an assisted-living facility when Helen died, had tried to make a go of having Sophie live with them. After a few months it was easy to see that two aging grandparents in questionable health weren’t up to handling a fourteen-year-old teenager.

      And not just any teen. Sophie was special.

      “What do you want to do for dinner?”

      “Surprise me, Mark.”

      There it was again. That hint of sarcasm. His daughter would turn fifteen in a few months but there were times when she sounded like she was double her age. He figured it was expected. The girl was a prodigy. A piano master by age nine who had been touring the country and the world for the past five years with the most highly respected orchestras and conductors. Giving her unique gift to the world, yes. But growing up way too fast for his taste.

      He’d seen her act sophisticated and gracious with some very important political and business leaders who came backstage to pay her compliments on her performance.

      Mark had also seen her roll her eyes at him like he was the dumbest man imaginable. He was proud of his daughter and the way she handled herself, but he also appreciated the other side, too. It reminded him she was still just a kid.

      “Okay, I’ll cook.”

      “I said surprise me, not kill me. The last time you tried to cook it was a disaster.”

      “It was hot dogs,” he said in his defense. “How bad could they have been?”

      “They were still cold in the middle and made me gag.”

      “Whatever.” Oh, my. Had he really stooped to responding to his daughter in her own teenage speak?

      “Besides I shouldn’t eat. I had a big lunch and I have to watch my figure.”

      The girl was tall and lithe with long straight blond hair. If there was an extra ounce of fat on her body, he didn’t see it. However, he had to appreciate that she was a performer who was conscientious about how she looked onstage.

      Mark decided to avoid the conversation—always a good thing when it came to women and weight—and instead went to check the mail.

      In the months that they had been living together they’d fallen into a routine. He couldn’t say it was a comfortable one, since Sophie was too prickly for that. However, Mark thought at least they were settling into some kind of normalcy, which he was convinced was a good thing. After all, she couldn’t hate him forever. It simply wasn’t practical.

      She practiced every morning at a studio where he rented space. From there she usually went to rehearsal with the Philadelphia Orchestra—her current assignment—at the Kimmel Center for a few hours. Nancy came three times a week in the afternoon.

      Mark wasn’t sure how he felt about Sophie trying to cram what most kids did during a five-day school week into what was essentially nine hours a week. But given his daughter’s grades, it wasn’t like he could protest. She’d already taken a preliminary SAT test and had scored only two hundred points shy of perfection. No, he wasn’t worried about her grades so much as he was the other things kids experienced in high school. Like making friends, going out to parties, getting asked to the prom. The last time he asked her if she missed that kind of stuff she scoffed at him as if all high school activities were beneath her.

      Maybe they were for a girl with her mind and talents. Who knew? Mark only knew that he was starting to enjoy their camaraderie even if it was seasoned with sarcasm.

      She had chores around the house, although they were simple. She was supposed to keep her room neat, help him with the grocery shopping—that being agreed upon after a totally awkward moment when he’d purchased the wrong brand of feminine products for her—do her laundry and collect the mail.

      Mark hired someone to handle the majority of the cleaning, which left him with providing dinner. That mostly entailed taking Sophie out to a restaurant of her choosing or ordering in. If this was to be their life together, then he probably needed to learn how to cook something besides grilled meat and hot dogs.

      Walking to the small table in the foyer where Sophie left the mail every day, Mark sorted through what was mostly garbage and stopped at a white envelope that had no addresses—his or a return—or stamps. Just his name. Sharpe.

      “Hey, was this in the mail?”

      Sophie looked at him. “Yeah, whatever was in the box downstairs I put in the dish. You know, like I’ve done every day for months.”

      He was going to have to explain to her that not every statement she made to him needed to be followed by a rolling of the eyes. The girl was going to give herself an eye condition.

      Mark opened the envelope with suspicion. Maybe it was from a neighbor. He hadn’t really taken the time to meet any of them, being too busy keeping up with Sophie and the business, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have them. Maybe they didn’t like Sophie playing her electric keyboard too late at night.

      There was only a single sheet of plain white paper inside. He pulled it out and saw the neatly typed sentence centered on the page.

      You’re going to lose her.

      The instant reaction in his gut was stunning and more powerful than anything he’d ever felt before. He lifted his eyes to his daughter, who had already dismissed him, and he thought, The hell I am.

      This, he realized, was what it felt like to be a father.

      And he kind of thought it sucked.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “YOU’RE SURE SOPHIE didn’t do it?” Ben lifted the note in the air, looking to see if there was any imprint in the paper. Some identifying mark.

      Of course Mark had already checked for that. But he hoped Ben’s trained eye might pick up something he had missed. Despite the fact that Ben had been a longtime rival, Mark also knew he was the best. The truth was, after Ben resigned from the CIA, Mark had lost much of his love for the job. He’d already been making plans to leave the agency when the death of Sophie’s mother sped everything up.

      Ben had been his benchmark: the agent Mark

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