THE HOT SHOWER felt great. Everything is so much better now that he no longer smells like gasoline. One more mission for the record books. Or it will be when the timer goes off and school lets out—for good. The whole Hannah thing still makes him feel a little guilty. He doesn’t really want her to die. He had never once in his life considered hurting anyone intentionally until NEED came around. He isn’t a serial killer or anything. It’s not like he picks targets and goes after them for his own sick reasons. Like any military or mercenary operative, he’s just a tool. Is it his fault NEED pointed him at Hannah in order to reach a goal? Hannah is a pawn, plain and simple. He’ll just have to compartmentalize his guilt and move on. CIA guys must be able to do that, so he’ll do it too.
“Ethan.” His mother’s voice comes from the other side of his bedroom door. “Is everything okay? I think I smell gasoline. Do you?”
He kicks the wadded-up ball of clothes under the bed and walks over to unlock the door. “The gas smell is me.” He stays calm. Thinks on his feet. Keeps as much to the truth as he can so it doesn’t sound like a lie. “I spilled gas on my jeans and boots when I was at Miguel’s earlier. He needed help refilling the snow blower. Turns out I’m not much help. At least not with stuff like that.”
“You have other gifts,” his mother says with a smile. But the smile doesn’t look real. Or is he just reading something into it? After a few moments, she asks, “Are you okay . . . you know . . . otherwise?”
His mother stares at him and he fights to keep his expression unruffled. “I’m fine, Mom. I mean, as okay as I can be, considering.” He shrugs and looks down at his hands. People always do that in the movies when they want to look sad. And he’s supposed to be upset about Amanda Highland’s death. “It was good to hang out with Miguel. It made things less freaky.”
“Well, I’m here if you need anything. And if you don’t want to talk to me, Dr. Jain called us a little while ago. She’s available for any students who are upset. I promised her I’d pass that information along.”
“Thanks, Mom. See you in the morning.”
She hovers in the doorway for a minute before wishing him good night. He counts to ten, locks the door, and walks over to the desk to turn on the computer. The red letters of NEED glow bright. He gets a buzz just seeing them. And the buzz grows more exciting when he clicks on his home page and sees a new assignment. Unusual, since technically he hasn’t finished his last one, but he’s not about to complain. After all, if he wants to become a professional operative, he needs to practice. Practice makes perfect.
He grabs his coat out of the closet, pulls his work bag out from under the bed, and unlatches the window. NEED doesn’t want people to break its rules. She opened her mouth. Said too much. Now he has to make her pay.