Page 101 of The Santa Claus Con

Before Nathan flies out tomorrow. Before we go our separate ways. Before I don’t have a chance to see him again for another few years, probably.

I take in his face and all its soft lines in the morning sunshine. “Sometimes the truth works better than any lie, and that’s saying a lot because, at this point, the lies come easier.” I sound a little sad saying this.

“Do you ever feel too… lost? In the lies?” he asks. “Like you don’t know who you are anymore? Like your whole life is a lie?”

I’m careful with my arm as I turn to Nathan. “If your life is a lie, then mine is, too.” I reach for his hand. “And maybe two lies make a truth.”

His gaze travels from my hand up my arm, landing on my shoulder. “It should’ve been me. I’m the one who should be recovering from taking a bullet to the arm. I’m the one who deserved that.”

I make a face. “Deserved? Nathan, no one deserves that—”

“I’m not a good person, Scarlett.” He looks deep into my eyes, as if this will help convince me of this fact. It doesn’t.

“Come on, it’s not like you’re the one who shot me.”

He lets go of my hand and faces forward. “We’re supposed to be honest people. And I… I’m not.”

“Did something happen?” I ask.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“You can tell me,” I gently prod.

It takes him a few seconds to gather his thoughts. “Whenever I’d complete an exchange with the Durands and bring them the money from their sale, they’d give me my share. In return, I’d give that money right back to the FBI. The last few times, though… I didn’t.” He flashes a quick glance at me. “I kept the money. And then the case agent changed, and they never asked for it.”

I offer a small smile. “I thought you were going to say you shoplifted dishwasher pods or something.”

He exhales. “I always planned on giving the money back. I just haven’t yet.”

“Why not?”

A shrug. “Collateral, I guess. In case something happens to me… for all this.”

“The line between honesty and corruption is a thin one,” I say. “I don’t think you’ve fully crossed it, though. You can still give the money back. You have it, right?”

“Yeah, but that won’t change what I’ve done,” he says. “It’s the actions I took. The mindset. We have a code that we swore to live by. I broke my promise as soon as I hung on to that money.” His jaw clenches. “Ever since my brother died, I’ve helped out my nephew and sister-in-law here and there. My nephew was just a baby when my brother was killed. I do what I can to help make life just a little bit easier for them, when I can afford to do so. But I certainly don’t do it with stolen funds or with dirty money. If my boss finds out, I don’t think he’ll believe that.”

“Right, you steal one thing, you steal everything,” I say in a sarcastic tone.

“Exactly. I know the rules. I know the code. By heart, on my worst days.”

Except. “Stealing implies that you intend to keep the money, which you don’t. You’ve sacrificed so much for this operation, and now it’s over. You can still come clean.”

“Why are you not more appalled?” he asks, sounding surprised. “You swore to live by the code, too.”

I draw a line in the sand between us with my finger. “Undercover syndrome.”

“What?”

“Being undercover is psychologically challenging. You’re stressed, isolated, pretending to be someone else,” I explain, squinting against the sun when it peeks out from behind a cloud. “A lot of undercover operatives turn to coping mechanisms that become addictive or harmful. Maybe hanging on to that money gave you a sense of power where you otherwise had none. Or maybe you had a need to get caught.”

“I don’t think I wanted to get caught.”

“Not consciously, but maybe you wanted to reconcile the guilt that you had when you pretended to be bad. Perhaps a small part of you wanted to get in trouble, to prove that you really were everything that you had convinced others—and yourself—you were.”

“I’ve lied to pretty much everyone about who I am.”

I wipe the line in the sand away with my palm. “You’re a good guy whose lines were blurred trying to stop bad people. If there’s anyone who honors the code, it’s you. We all slip up from time to time. You can still set yourself free from this burden.”