I roll my eyes and laugh.

Before I make my way back to the car with Victor, I turn and look back at Fredrik.

“Is there anyone you were never able to break?” I ask.

Instantly, the grin disappears from his face and the mood shifts in the room. I regret the question without knowing the answer.

I notice Fredrik’s throat move as he swallows. The hardening of his jaw. The darkening of his eyes as if the memory is torturing him worse than the torture he inflicted on Andre Costa minutes ago.

“My wife,” he answers.

I suck in a sharp, quiet breath and swallow the lump lodged in my throat. But instead of being sickened by the truth, instead of feeling only revulsion and blame toward him, my heart begins to ache for him instead. I don’t know why, but all I can feel is pain.

Sarai

On the way to a hotel where I’ll be staying while Victor and Fredrik find David, Victor tells me about Fredrik.

“My God…Victor, why would he torture his wife?” I ask from the passenger’s seat. “I just…can’t imagine why he—”

“He had no choice,” Victor answers. “Years ago, Fredrik was just a contact. He never interrogated or killed anyone. He ran a safe-house in Stockholm. And that’s how he met Seraphina.”

“She was an operative?”

Victor nods.

“She worked under Vonnegut, just as I did,” he goes on, making a turn onto Canal Street. “A couple of years with Seraphina visiting him, they fell in love. But being in the Order, as you know, they couldn’t allow anyone to know how strongly they felt for one another. They married in secret—not legally, of course—and then after two years together, Fredrik began to suspect that Seraphina was deceiving Vonnegut.”

“But if he loved her why would he tell Vonnegut?” I cut in, assuming that was what he had been about to say next.

“He didn’t,” Victor says. “Fredrik confronted Seraphina. He wanted first to stop her, to save her from being eliminated by the Order. She admitted to him that she was employed by another organization and working against Vonnegut. When Fredrik couldn’t change her mind, instead of turning her in because he loved her so deeply, he fell for her lies and began working with her.”

My heart falls into the pit of my stomach, knowing where this story is going. The pieces of the puzzle that is Fredrik Gustavsson are finally starting to fall into place.

“She betrayed him,” I say, this time knowing I’m right.

“Yes,” Victor says. “Seraphina began using Fredrik to relay false information about her missions back to Vonnegut. Then, from what I understand, Seraphina began visiting Fredrik less. Long story short, it took him six months to find out where she had been going. He found her in another safe-house. With another man. You can paint the rest of the picture.”

I shake my head absently, trying to understand this hole in my heart that I’m feeling for Fredrik.

We drive to the end of Poydras Street and park near a riverside hotel. Victor turns off the engine and we sit in partial darkness for a moment.

“Blinded by rage and pain for Seraphina’s betrayal, Fredrik…,” he looks out through the windshield, lost in deep thought of that day, “…It was as if a switch had been flipped inside Fredrik’s brain.” He glances over at me, washing enough of the memory out of his mind so that he can continue in the same consistent manner as before. “He interrogated and tortured them both. He killed the man in front of her, hoping it would be enough to break her because he didn’t want to kill her. But she never broke. She was more loyal to her employer than she was to Fredrik, a man whom she claimed to love. She destroyed him. He has not been the same since. It was a very long time ago.”

I look down into my lap, still seeing only Fredrik’s face in my mind and I shake my head some more, not wanting to believe any of it.

“Is that why he is the way he is?” I look back over at Victor as he pulls his keys from the ignition.

“I think it played a large part in how he turned out,” Victor says. “She was his first interrogation and the first—and only—person that he could never break. After that day, after he told Vonnegut about her betrayal and further securing himself within the Order, Fredrik requested to be placed in the field instead of just being a safe-house contact. Vonnegut agreed, and a few years later, Fredrik was officially an interrogator.”

“I didn’t realize that interrogators had such a morbid list of trades,” I say with a hint of disbelief in the form of laughter. “He mentioned he occasionally assists in suicides, too. Kevorkian? That’s morbid.”

Victor laughs lightly.

“Fredrik is full of morbid surprises,” he says and then opens the car door. He gets out, carrying his briefcase in one hand and walks around to my side. “I need you to stay in the room until I get back. Though it will likely be sometime tomorrow before I do.”

I get out of the car and he closes the door behind me.

“You’re not going to let me lure David?”

“No. He’s already seen you, knows that you left with Costa. By now you’re probably the one person in this city who he wants to find.”

Before we make it into the lobby, I stop Victor in front of the tall glass doors.

“What happened to Seraphina?”

Victor looks behind me briefly in thought for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “He refused to talk about it, which led me to believe that ultimately, he killed her.”

Victor didn’t come back to the hotel until almost noon the following day. I did exactly as he had instructed and I never left the room, not even to get a drink from the machine we passed in the hallway on the way up. I ordered room service and requested it be left on the floor outside the door. I watched television and showered and peered out the window of the fifteenth floor at the bustling city of New Orleans below, all the while wondering what Victor was doing. If he and Fredrik found David and if David was suffering the same fate as his brother.

When Victor returned, he was as clean as he was when he left; not a drop of blood on his suit anywhere. Of course, I knew that didn’t mean anything.

He and Fredrik got the information they needed out of David and it happened to match the information that Andre Costa had given. Apparently, David was easier to break. Victor told me that Fredrik didn’t even have to resort to the needles. A part of me was glad for that. I just didn’t want to think about it.

Fredrik stayed behind with David, and Victor drove me back to Albuquerque.

“I thought we’d already established this, Victor. Why are you leaving me here?”

“Because you’re not ready for me to take you with me on missions.” He’s carefully packing a few items of clothes into a brown suitcase on the foot of the bed. “Certainly not all the way to Venezuela. It becomes much more difficult to stay in hiding when crossing international borders.”

I sit down on the side of the bed and then lay across it, letting my legs hang off the sides at the knees. I gaze up at the tall, vaulted ceiling.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Until the job is done,” he answers and I hear the latches on the suitcase clicking closed.

“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

“Whatever you want. Just stay out of trouble.” His crooked smile gives him instant forgiveness.

“Well, can’t I stay with Dina in Oklahoma? Or she could come here and stay with me. I’ll go stir crazy here by myself.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s too soon to risk visiting Mrs. Gregory either way. Once Fredrik is free, he will stay with you here in the house.”

I raise my back from the bed and hold myself up with my elbows propped against the mattress.