“Agent Caldwell, are you in position?”
I didn't reply to the CIA communications handler whose voice buzzed in my ear. Why did they even ask me that anymore? Of course I was in position. I had been in position every day for the last four months. Hell, I had reported in every day for the last four years.
“Julia Statton?”
Hearing my ‘teacher’ call out my government alias, I raised my hand. When I met her eyes, I smiled. “Here.”
Hopefully, that conveyed a loud and clear to operations that I was in class sitting in front of my latest assignment.
“Cole Thomas?” The teacher continued with roll call.
He moved behind me—the shift in the air barely perceptible to regular people, but I’d been trained to pick it up—probably lifting his hand up in acknowledgment that he was sitting in our junior English class at eight o'clock on a Monday morning.
The worst part about this undercover assignment was having to go back to school. When I was recruited six years ago, I went through an insanely accelerated education process and came out last summer with my Bachelor’s degree in Political Science. So real-life high school was easy in comparison—I didn’t even actually have to do anything besides show up, able to easily maintain my cover as a straight-A, high-society girl without really having to pay attention.
But being in eleventh grade English again proved a cruel form of torture. I mean, all torture was cruel, and this was no waterboarding session. It still sucked, though. It must suck for every seventeen-year-old. I’d asked for it, begged for a chance to get a bigger assignment, and I’d landed it. My very own solo mission. I wanted the chance and, boy, did I ever get it.
The plastic point of a pen cap poked into my right shoulder just enough to feel uncomfortable.
Cue to move ahead now that he’d initiated contact. I turned to face Cole, plastering a phony ‘I’m into you’ smile on my face. Seriously, how dumb must I really look right now? What wouldn’t we do for our country, right?
He started talking before I even made eye contact with him. “Have you finished the report on The Scarlet Letter?”
Despite not allowing myself to see him as anything more than a target, I had to admit, he was handsome, his face angular and sharp, but with full lips and warm eyes, making everything harsh and soft balance out. His light blue irises sparkled at me. I shook my head slightly. He’s your mark, not your crush, Caldwell.
“So, you didn’t do it?” he asked, probably taking a cue from my shaking head that he misunderstood.
Would I even really do the report? Someone at the agency would give me one. I mean, maybe I did one once at Eisenhower at fourteen? But recent events didn't allow me time to do the actual homework. I was too busy playing babysitter to Cole.
“Yeah, no. Sorry. I finished it over the weekend.”
I stumbled over the lie, twirling a piece of long blonde hair around my finger and drawing his attention to my movement. I licked my lips to distract him further. Seventeen-year-old boys represented an easy target, like play dough, so easily pliable.
Cole rolled his eyes and then quirked a half smile at me. I could be watching worse things day in and day out. Pretending to have a crush like a regular teenager, and having it be sanctioned, was kind of nice. I was trained to make my emotions reflect each situation appropriately. Everything I did was calculated. It always had been. I thought back to when Bergeson and Swanson had knocked on my door, back when Utah had still been home. I’d been barely thirteen. Hell, Mother Nature had given me her first lovely gift only just the month before.
“Your daughter has shown unique ability in her testing,” they’d said to my parents, using the words “special” and “gifted,” making my parents beam with pride. They hadn't mentioned the unique ability I harbored or why the private academy was so special.
An invitation came addressed to my name with the seal of the United States on it, “Julia Caldwell” embossed on the envelope.
“If you have any questions for us, Julia, please don’t hesitate to call.”
They’d handed me a business card and addressed me like an adult. Then the two men clad in pristine black suits had placed back their sunglasses at nearly the same time, like a well-choreographed dance. Inside the envelope had been a brochure to the Eisenhower school in Washington, D.C. It had also held three first-class plane tickets and an outline of a brief itinerary should we want to take a visit to the school.
We’d left that weekend for D.C., and by Sunday, my parents had signed the contract for me to be enrolled in a specialized government school, at the same time relinquishing my care to the United States Government.
“Julia? Julia!”
Cole, trying to whisper. I met his eyes. He tilted his head at me.
“Where’d you go?” he asked through a soft chuckle.
I shrugged and played the blonde ditz. “Daydreaming about the new spring fashion week designer lines,” I said through a perfectly fake smile.
Part of the reason I was on this assignment was because of my age and the ease with which I could blend in with everyone here. I was supposed to blush when Cole, the most popular boy at the school, gave me special attention. I’d been assigned to get close to him in hopes of getting intel on his father, a known dealer in all things that went boom.
Easy on paper, but not an easy feat when he was constantly surrounded by the elite of New York. I had been going to school with him for four months and the most he had acknowledged me had been when asking for a pen or poking one in my back.
I knew my assignment but the teenager in me wanted him to pursue me, like any boy goes after a girl. Call me crazy, but I was still a nineteen-year-old girl, regardless of being trained to shut down my emotions on command. Thankfully, the butterflies in my stomach didn’t betray an emotion across my face. Despite my best avoidance efforts, I couldn’t deny that Cole was hot.
He was hot hot. Mikey was sweet hot. But Cole was, yeah, melt-in-your-mouth hot.
“So, can you help me with it today?” he asked, looking slightly impatient.
The look in his eyes struck me as intense and pleading. How could any sane girl resist that? He was too handsome for his own good.
But back to business—this was the first time he had asked me for help, giving me an opening to acquire more information on him. I had to take it; it could be my big break. My chance to shove it in all the old geezers’ faces. I belonged. I was strong, I was made for the secret agent life.
“I'm not going to write it for you, but I will help you outline it. Fair enough?” I said.
Cole squeezed my shoulder in thanks. The sparks shooting down my arm definitely weren’t part of my training. The government may have trained me in control, but tiny parts of me still lived in the hidden corners of my soul.
“Meet me in the commons after school,” he said.
I nodded before turning back around, my blonde hair falling behind me. I’d had to dye my natural hair for the first time in my life when I came to New York. The agency had intel that Cole preferred blondes, so my warm, light brown hair had to be bleached. At least, he didn't have a thing for black hair and pixie cuts, because I would so draw the line. I was allowed to have a little vanity; I could wear a wig if they wanted me to have short hair.
I thought back through what I knew about Cole. This would be the first time I would be able to get him alone. My goal hinged on my ability to snag his interest and keep it. Cole was in a unique situation. His father happened to be one the wealthiest individuals in America; he also happened to have acquired that money illegally. Hank Thomas procured weapons. He refurbished them, changed them, and adapted them to become even more deadly than they’d been before. Mr. Thomas likely had enough holdings to effectively wipe out half of Europe, if he so chose. He refused to sign any sort of exclusivity agreement with the government. By playing his cards that way, he forced our hand. If he moved against the country via WMD sales, we would be forced to move on his family—the one thing he actually cared for, other than money.
The bell rang and I waited until Cole got up to follow him out into the hall.
“Agent Caldwell, is the target secure?” The comms agent’s voice buzzed in my ear.
I had to hold my cell phone to my ear, even though there was no one actually on the other end. Weird enough for a student to actually make a phone call instead of texting—I couldn't very well be parading around the halls talking to comms like they were my invisible friend. Especially considering my current identity as New York’s high-society’s latest ‘it girl’ would be at stake.
“Target is secure. I have eyes in all of his classrooms. The feeds should be going live any minute. The semester change of schedules really messed with things. Besides, where would he go in between eight this morning and fifty minutes later? You guys need to relax,” I said in a quiet huff. “Hey, there wasn't a way to get me physically in any more of his classes?”
I spoke quietly into my phone. To anyone watching, it would look like a heated conversation.
That would be a negative, Caldwell. We didn't want it to be obvious. He has other people watching him. Your fake internship should be cleared with the front office, making it so you can technically leave the campus this semester. Don't go too far from campus during the day. Does he know you live in his building yet?
Lord, if only I could still report to Bergeson. I swear we had the same conversation daily, twice. They were always short and abrupt when they talked on comms. I had the full report of my fake internship at the apartment. I got it a week ago. I had my story down, jeeze.
“Negative, but that will change tonight. He asked for help with an assignment. I’m going to suggest we go to my apartment so we can use the material I already have. I need an outline for The Scarlet Letter, something not plagiarized from Wikipedia,” I said with a cringe.
The comms agent laughed out loud.
“Caldwell, I can't believe you have to do high school again.”
He must’ve heard my groan. “Don't remind me. It’s bad enough to be here six hours a day.”
Three distinctive clicks on the comms let me know the signal was dropping.
“Check in tonight at 22:00,” his voice buzzed.
The reception went scratchy. I couldn't really use the common protocol that we used in the field when dropping comms in the middle of the hallway.
“Sounds good. Talk to you soon.”
The agent laughed again and the buzz in my ear died.
At two-thirty, the bell rang, ending the school day. At the time, I was across the street in a safe house established for my use so I didn't have to take every class but could still be at the school at a moment’s notice. My records were as fake as the buttery blonde highlighted hair I had. I had sat in the salon chair for hours. God, the amount of foil it took to pull off this look, you would think I was E.T. trying to phone home. The school wasn't aware I wasn't actually doing an internship in fashion. As far as anyone could see, from the designer bag I carried on my shoulder to the five-inch heels on my feet, I was from the wealth of the Upper East Side. A far cry from the way I used to live in the quiet suburbia of Utah.
I waited another minute and then made my way across the busy street and back into the school.
Cole sat on the benches that made up the commons, talking with some other guys but also scanning the cliques of students. When he noticed me, his face lit up. My cheeks burned slightly. For once, I didn't control an emotion, unable to help it. Besides, the agency had taught us that, on occasion, physical attraction could be hard to deny regardless of how much training we underwent.
Cole’s eyes roamed over my body and a cocky smile played on his lips, apparently getting the reaction he had hoped from me. I scanned him, taking him in as every girl in the school saw him.
At six-foot-three, with light brown hair short on the sides but left a little longer on top, he could pass for a Hemsworth brother. Cole was made to row crew. His eyes reminded you that he wasn't innocent, but he had a baby face. He had a man's shape and was filling out his shirt in ways that made all red-blooded girls swoon and made him look older than the seventeen years he had lived. I didn’t remember Mikey ever looking like this.
Why was I comparing Cole and Mikey, anyways? That should’ve been an academy class—how to deal with boys one-on-one.
Cole had on the standard boy’s uniform of a light blue button-up shirt and a dark hunter green tie. He had opened his top button and released the knot of his tie. His gray flat trousers hung straight, custom cut. No way something off the rack would fit a body that well. All of my observations were from a simply tactical standpoint. It’s not like I actually was checking him out. This was all for the mission, and if I kept telling myself that, I’d believe it.
“Julia, you ready?”
I glanced up into his green eyes and smiled. “Yeah, I have the stuff on my computer at home. We okay to go there?”
Cole nodded and put his arm around my shoulders. Some guys behind us catcalled and whistled. I looked up to Cole. His cheeks were turning red. Apparently, he really did have a thing for blondes.
He walked toward a black limo, and I had to hide my excitement. I had been in a limousine exactly once since coming on assignment in New York. I had been in every American-made SUV on the planet, specifically black SUVs with bulletproof glass, in my time with the government. Not a small luxury to me to see Cole with a driver and car whenever he needed. That stuff proved outrageously expensive, but this was his life. Also Julia Statton's life. The driver held the door open for us and nodded to me as I got in the car, followed by Cole.
“150, East 57th Street,” I called out to the driver.
Cole gaped at me, confusion settled in his brow line. “I thought we were going to your house.”
I nodded to him, masking my excitement. Here came the fun part. “We are. I live on the thirtieth floor.”
My voice came out with a well-practiced confused tone.
Cole opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I live on the forty-fourth floor. We have the entire top floor, actually.”
I mimicked the expression that should show shock across my features.
Cole smiled back at me. “We have been in the same building the entire year?”
I nodded and smiled.
“I guess so? I had no idea you lived there.” Liar liar, pants on fire. “Well, I guess it will make studying easy.”
Half of the last statement was true. It would make keeping Cole close to me—and by default, the US government—easy.
As we walked through the lobby of the immaculately appointed building, we made our way to the elevator and I felt eyes on me, bringing to my attention that I wasn't the only asset assigned to Cole by the government. The elevator attendant was there—also an agent.
“Miss Statton. Mr. Thomas. Good afternoon.”
I smiled and waved. Cole gripped his shoulder. The man had been in place for over ten years. Cole had grown up seeing his face, reinforcing his trust in him. Cole smiled.
“Hi, Jimmy. We’re going to Julia's floor.”
He nodded and slid the key card in the slot to get the cart to move and up we went. The apartment I lived in was nice. I had my cover story down. No mom to mention and a father constantly overseas to do business, leaving his daughter in New York to fend for her, surprisingly responsible, self. It probably seemed far-fetched to some, but it wasn’t nearly as crazy as the truth of my real identity as a government agent.
I stepped out of the elevator and through a hallway. Only one other apartment sat on this floor, it being a partial penthouse. I unlocked the door and pushed it open to reveal shiny dark wood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows that extended past the great room and looked over Central Park.
“Great place,” Cole said as he paused, looking around. “I can't believe how different our two floors are.”
I nodded. Yeah, different enough that every word said and every move made inside these four walls was documented by the government—outside of the bathroom, anyway. I hadn't had privacy since the age of thirteen, and I had all but lost the ability to be shy within six months of living in DC and sharing a dorm with co-eds at Eisenhower.
“My view is better,” I joked.
He linked his arm around my neck, flirting by putting me in a headlock. Every instinct in me wanted to react to fight him off, but I played my part and grabbed his sides, making him laugh and release me. I didn’t want to like the feeling of his arms around me, nor did I want to get comfortable with him. He was my assignment, even though somewhere inside, I wanted to toss my hair over my shoulder and flirt my heart out.
“Come on, the office is this way.” I headed off in the general direction of the room that housed my fake office. I opened the laptop that sat on the desk, and Cole pulled a chair over to sit by me.
As an agent, I’d been trained to notice everything. But I definitely didn’t notice his thigh brushing against mine, ignoring the goosebumps on my arm and the feelings they made the only way I could keep myself in check.
A black blank screen stared back at me. Freak. The tech guys must not have been ready yet. I swear I’d been completely clear on what I needed for tonight. Cole looked over at me and he tapped his finger on the space bar. One single, blinking white cursor stared at us.
“Weird, I don't know why it isn't working.” I closed the screen and unplugged the laptop. “Let's go to the kitchen and you can have some food while I figure out what's up with the computer.”
He nodded and I glanced up to the camera in the old English bulldog bookend. My lifted eyebrow and pursed lips must give the idea to whoever was watching that camera that I clearly wasn’t impressed. Cole stood up and held out a hand to me. I took it, and the smoothness of his large hand was in contradiction with the friction of mine. His eyes appeared intense, and I held his gaze a moment too long and sat frozen as the warmth his touch gave me spread through my body.
I had lost control of the situation by not reining in my hormones. Great. Someone would give me crap about this. Without a doubt.
I dropped his hand and picked up the laptop, assuming the tech on the other end got my message any evidence of the agency should be completely hidden when I reopened the device. Boys were always hungry, right? Food was the answer. Delay via his stomach. I opened the pantry and played Vanna White to the food it displayed.
“Have whatever you want. There is stuff for subs in the fridge.”
I went around the table and opened the laptop so the screen faced away from Cole. The basic computer home screen pulled up and just like magic, the information I needed to help Cole with the English assignment made itself available on the display.
Cole made himself comfortable in the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets and piling toppings on a plate of chips. My lips pressed into a smile, making my control slip. He glanced up at me. Caught. I shook my head slightly.
“I just had to reboot. So bring your food over. I hope you made enough for both of us.”
Cole carried over a plate of nachos covered with anything he’d found in the fridge. I would be lying if I said I wasn't impressed by his ability to make something out of nothing. He gave me a half-smirk that had me pushing back the emotions every seventeen-year-old would feel when the Cole of their school smiled at them like that.
I wasn't every girl. I was trained, and well.
I swallowed once and forced my heart rate to slow and my breathing to become deeper. Stupid, stupid hormones. But hormones, I could control. I’d been taught every single way to push the emotions away, and I did just that.
Cole flinched slightly when I slipped my well-formed mask into place.
“Why do you do that? Every time I feel like we are about to break into something deeper than the weather, you shut down. Your eyes change. The green in them swirls around and gets darker. You put up these walls higher than the Empire State building.”
The mics placed throughout the apartment had to have heard that, and just in case anyone at the agency wanted to replay it over and over, they had the video to view. I would be in trouble for this. How could he even recognize a change in me? I hadn't flinched, not one hair on my body raised in alert to the shift in my emotion.
“I can see your mind reeling, and I know you don't share a lot. I get it. Really, I do. Everyone at the school knows you don't share your secrets. I get that, too. I haven't ever had anyone care enough about me to talk about…” Cole paused and waved his hand in front of his face. “This shit, either. But Julia, you can trust me. I'm not going to disappear on some flight the second I get a phone call, like your dad does. I know he is away on business right now, and I'm guessing he is away what? Ninety-five percent of the year?”
Holy rant.
I nodded slowly. Maybe the time had come to turn on my fake water works. My actual dad was in Salt Lake probably setting up the annual family winter retreat to Park City. I had been on skis since the age of three and hadn't been back to Salt Lake for longer than twenty-four hours in the last six years. I missed my parents, so part of the tears actually would be real.
Cole walked over to me and pulled me into his arms and crushed me against his chest. Surprising how comfortable I felt in his arms.
Wrong, Julia! You aren't allowed comfort, only calculations.
How could I spin this to be a gain for my country? Cole obviously wasn't as close to his father as our intel had suggested. Having me in place was a security precaution.
He placed his lips against my ear. “Come for a ride with me. My bike is in the garage.”
I nodded against his chest and looked up directly at the camera.
“Are you trying to tell me you don’t want to get your homework done?” I mocked shock on my face.
He smirked at me and rolled his eyes. “First time I have been able to get your attention all year. Yeah, I don’t want to do homework.”
He trailed his fingers along my arm. This was it—hook, line, and sinker. Cole was done for. Who knew how easy it could be to make a boy fall for you? A few glances here, a couple touches there, and bam, we were going to his place.
“Let me grab my coat and put on some different shoes before we go.”
That was about as much heads-up I could the agency if they felt the need to tail me. I slipped off my five-inch heels and avoided the urge to rub my feet. Those shoes hurt, but any New Yorker wouldn't even know the difference.
I opened my lavishly appointed closet and grabbed a pair of combat boots and socks, slipped on leggings, and threw on a hoodie followed by a leather coat. I walked out to find Cole sitting on my bed, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. I hadn’t closed the closet door as I changed. Had never needed to in the past. Dumb.
“Did you just see me?” I began as Cole started nodding with far too much enthusiasm. “You know that isn’t the gentleman's way of handling things. You should’ve waited outside my room.”
I raised my eyebrows at him.
He held up his hands.
“I never claimed to be a gentleman,” he said with a wink.
I rolled my eyes with so much exaggeration it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck in the back of my head.
“Head out of the gutter, Thomas. Let's go,” I said, shaking my head.
Cole pushed off the bed and followed me out of the apartment.
“I want to run up to my place, change clothes and stuff,” he said as he reached for my hand, like that was something completely normal.
I nodded. We were already out in the hall when he made the statement, so I didn't know if comms had heard it or not. I didn't need them busting in his door. I twisted my stud diamond earring in my ear and clicked on my practically invisible earpiece.
“All right. I'm excited to see how much better your apartment is than mine.”
My attempt to get the message across to the agency that I was going up a few flights, instead of down on the elevator. My earpiece clicked.
“We hear you. Going up to lover boy’s, got it.”
I cringed and switched off the piece. If Cole's dad was as paranoid as the agency made him out to be, he no doubt had some sort of device that detected bugs, and I wasn't going to get caught with mine on. Cole turned back to me and shook his head. He pulled out his wallet and fished out a black key card that gave him access to his penthouse.
The elevator opened directly into a stunning marble foyer that had to have thirty-foot ceilings. The chandelier hanging in the entry sparkled like the diamonds in the Tiffany and Co. windows on 5th Avenue. I let out a breath and Cole draped his arm lazily over my shoulders.
“Come on. My room is on the second floor.”
This place was huge. The floor plan the government had on file wasn't nearly as detailed as it should have been. If I had ever been sent here, I would have been screwed. I made a mental note to add everything I saw to the schematics in my safe. I stopped when we passed through two double doors and into the great room.
“Wow. This is stunning.”
No fake emotion here. At least the agency wasn't here to monitor my reaction. Cole laughed and pulled me along. It was what he saw every day and my view was good, but a lot more of the city could be seen from up here. The claustrophobic feeling I got on the streets from time to time existed a world apart from this penthouse suite. Or maybe it had to do with the idea that I wasn't being watched right now. My head was still over my shoulder taking in the view when Cole came to a sudden stop.
“I didn't know you were in town, sir.”
He slid his arm off my shoulder, and I didn’t exactly love the cold that crept up in its absence. I looked up into the empty green eyes of what appeared to be Cole plus forty years. Hank Thomas. His lips were pressed into a firm line; he trusted no one, apparent by the way he held his body and the intimidation he was used to commanding. He held out his hand. I reached to shake it, and he gripped my fingers uncomfortably tight.
“Hank Thomas,” he said coolly. “You are the girl that lives on the thirtieth floor, if I'm not mistaken. I still have yet to meet your father. When will he be in town next?”
Not good. I couldn't tell if I was made or not yet.
“I'm Julia Statton. This is my dad's busy season. He won't be back until the end of the month and, even then, he will probably only stay for a day or two to refuel before heading to Prague.”
My fingers were going numb from the force of Hank Thomas' grip. Cole placed a strong hand on his father's arm.
“We go to school together, Dad. Julia's dad is gone as often as you are. Stop grilling her. You know what it’s like to have the majority of your clients overseas.”
Hank Thomas slipped on a mask I was familiar with: the fake happy one.
“You’re right, son. I'm sorry, Miss Statton. I tend to be a bit protective of my son.”
He finally released my hand. His eyes twinkled as he waited for me to show weakness by shaking off his crippling grip. I didn't give him the pleasure. Cole grabbed my other hand and entwined our fingers.
“We’re going for a ride. I’ll see you when I see you.”
Anger showed on Hank Thomas' face as he took in our hands and his son’s attitude. He quickly replaced it with a calm façade.
“I am going to be leaving tonight for a while. I'm not sure exactly when I will be back,” he said.
Cole shrugged. “You never are. It doesn't really matter.”
Hank eyed me and dropped his gaze to our linked hands again, then looked up at Cole.
“I want you to join me this week. I have one of the jets set up to bring you to me on Wednesday afternoon. I've already cleared it with your school.”
Cole tensed and gripped my hand a little tighter.
“Dad, you know I want nothing to do with you and your business. I just started a new semester and changed classes. I can't just take off whenever you feel the need to try to act like a real father,” he spat out.
Hank Thomas glared at his son. The animosity wasn’t something I had been expecting; our intel hadn’t pointed to any disruption in their family unit at all. In fact, it was the exact opposite. They went to Yankees games together and brunch every Sunday. Was this teenage rebellion, or had we been that wrong?
“Not up for discussion. I already cleared it with your school and told them I have provided a tutor for the time you will be missing. Enjoy your night.”
Hank walked past the two of us toward a door that had a fingerprint scan to allow access to the room. He placed his thumb on the device and waited as his identity was verified.
Cole pulled me toward his room. This wasn't good for the agency. Hank taking his son out of the states would be for very specific reasons. He had done it in the past during intense discussions involving his dealings in the Middle East. Hank pulling him now meant something was coming.
Cole slammed his door shut and pulled his fingers through his hair.
“How wrong is it to hate your father? Is it because I’m seventeen, or is it because he’s the biggest asshat on the planet?”
I laughed and then covered my mouth. Cole had just described the agency’s biggest problem as an asshat. Hank Thomas really was, in all honesty, exactly that.