his head toward Maya, thinking he would give her that promise, but then realized she was asleep. The exhaustion and stress of the day had caught up to her. He couldn't blame her. They'd been moving at a very fast pace and with the emotional trauma she'd gone through, it was amazing she hadn't passed out before now.
His gut tightened as his gaze swept across her sweet face. He loved the way her hair fell around her forehead, the rosy hue in her cheeks, the part of her full lips, the strength of her jaw contrasting to all her soft curves. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met before. She was passionate, fiery, scrappy, and yet also kind, sweet, and caring. She had a generosity of spirit that impressed him. Even as angry as she was with him, she'd still supported him today.
He probably hadn't deserved her support, but he was glad she'd been with him. And her smart insight into his life, his parents' motives, had made him realize that they'd been in a very difficult position. Their friends had asked them to do something ridiculously huge—take care of their son—and they'd done it. They'd been extremely good to him. They'd changed their lives to protect him.
Could he really judge them?
Part of him still thought yes, he could judge them for not telling him when he was old enough to understand. But then, he hadn't been in their shoes. And, really, none of this was their fault.
But maybe he could have discovered what happened to his parents earlier if he'd known. Maybe he could have used his resources to get to the truth before now. Or perhaps he would have ended up exactly where he'd ended up before, because the only leads had come from Natasha's journal and from Daniel Bragin.
His mind spun in circles. He was getting nowhere fast. He still didn't have enough facts to come up with a clear picture. Hopefully, Brandon would be able to tell them more once he decoded the cypher.
As he opened the garage door and pulled inside, he glanced at his watch. It was four o'clock. The day had flown by.
Maya woke up as he turned off the engine.
She gave him a sleepy, confused look. "Are we home?"
"We are," he said, thinking his house felt more like a home when Maya was in it. He knew she was still angry with him, but he admired the way she'd managed to compartmentalize that emotion so that they could keep working together. "Feel more rested?"
"A little, but I still feel tired." She gave him an expectant look. "What now?"
"I'll check out the house. You wait here. And this time, don't have a panic attack while I'm gone."
"No more secrets, right?"
"No more secrets," he confirmed.
"Then I should be fine."
He went into the house, making a quick pass through the rooms. All was well. Maya was halfway through the door when he got back to the kitchen. He waved her inside. "We're good."
She set her bag down on the kitchen table. "Any word from Brandon?"
"Not yet."
"So, we wait."
"Are you hungry?"
"I'm still full from lunch, but you should eat if you're hungry."
"No, I'm good." His stomach had been churning since his parents had finally admitted the truth. "I'm going to get the boxes out of the car."
"I'll help."
"You don't have to."
"I honestly don't mind. It will only be one trip if I help."
He nodded and they walked back out to the garage. They took the boxes into the house and down the hall to the living room, where he set them on the floor.
Maya sat down on the couch as he put the chess set on the table. The chess board sat inside an ornate black-and-gold box. He opened the lid and took out the board, then the hand-carved pieces from a side compartment, setting up the game.
"It's beautiful," she murmured. "It feels very old."
"My father said his dad got it as a boy right after World War II."
"We should play a game."
"Do you know how to play?"
"Not really. You could teach me."
"I barely remember myself." He sat down in the chair across from her. "I started last night's game with this move," he said, as he moved the pawn. "Bragin told me it was the Markov gambit. I guess my father had an opening move named after him."
"What else did Bragin say?"
"Only that my father beat everyone at the club. That he was a sharp, ruthless, aggressive player, and he moved quickly. I remember that