November 1st, 2013
Hi Jane!
Hello from college! It’s Lucy here, sending you a letter snail-mail style to let you know how I’ve been settling in. Dave’s coming to visit me next month. Tell me when you can come see me as soon as you can. I talked to Emma. I know she comes across as competitive and she has a crush on Adrian, but deep down she’s trying to tell you to be careful about him. She thinks he’s planning something dangerous for you, and she knows she’s safer with Adrian than you are with him. Not saying you can’t work for him as an executive — but maybe being in a relationship is too close and too dangerous. Maybe it’s time you moved on and started a new chapter of your life with someone else. Just because he’s the first guy who likes you doesn’t mean he’ll be the last. Please fill me in on everything going on in your life — I miss you so much.
I love you,
Lucy
I could fend off the British royal guard, CIA operatives, and a pack of hungry Swiss marmots, but I couldn’t outrun a woman selling me scarves at the price of four for fifteen euros.
“Five, fifteen!” The woman held up five fingers, her scarves draped across the same arm. “Good cost!”
I shook my head. My feet flew faster across the piazza, headed straight for the vendors selling paintings.
But the woman persisted, her heels right behind mine. She leaned closer to me, her scarves nearly flying in front my face as an evening breeze blew. I felt a scarf being pressed into my hand. I tried to shove it back toward her.
“One for one euro! One euro, final cost!”
“Fine.” I plucked a euro coin from my pocket and handed it to her. Actually, one scarf for one euro was a pretty good deal.
The woman handed me the scarf, took my money, and walked away with an unceremonious huff. I was left with the scarf, a sudden loss of dignity, and one euro less than before.
I wrapped the scarf around my shoulders. The purple fabric covered my bare arms and draped over my white dress. Goodness gracious, Roman vendors were pushy. At least she finally left me alone. A sense of relief washed over me as I reached the fountain in the middle of the piazza.
The vendors selling knockoff paintings and cheap scarves still stood on the outskirts of the piazza, waiting for the tourists on travel tours to walk by. No doubt the woman with the scarves had gone back there too, on a hunt for another victim.
I turned my attention back to the piazza fountain. It was beautiful, especially at night when the day crowd died down and the gelato stores stayed open. My stomach rumbled with the thought. Gelato. I glanced away from the bare bottom of the fountain sculpture and toward the gelato store. Gelato places and pizzerias felt like nearly half of the Roman shops to me.
My feet pattered across the cobblestone steps toward the gelato store. The person working behind the counter appeared pissed off, like gelato store scoopers tended to normally look like. His dark hair tied neatly into a bun at the back of his head, and he fixed an expectant gaze at me.
I pointed to the mint flavor and abandoned the English I’d used with the vendor. “I’ll have the mint gelato in a cone, two scoops, please,” I said in Italian.
The man nodded and rung it up on the register. Hmmm, maybe if I’d used Italian on the woman she would’ve taken me for a local and not followed me for literally ten minutes telling me to buy her scarves.
I reached into my pocket to pay for the gelato, but the man shook his head. He pointed behind him. The door behind him suddenly swung wide open, revealing a woman in a sleek black floor-length dress, evening make-up, and heels which belonged at the Met Gala and nowhere else. The woman was Marge.
“Nice scarf.” She pushed aside the counter separating the back of the gelato store from the front. Marge inclined her head in the direction of the piazza fountain. Without another word, she walked on ahead of me.
I glanced between her retreating figure and my gelato still on the counter. All right, free gelato. I grabbed the gelato and a plastic spoon, and then ran after her.
“How did you find me? I only stopped at the gelato store because the woman…”
“…selling the scarves finally sold you a scarf there for a great price. She works for Central Intelligence.”
My jaw dropped. I nearly dropped my gelato too.
Marge weaved her way through the vendors toward one in particular. I watched her with a wary eye. She stopped suddenly in front of a painting, and I halted behind her.
“From this moment onward we will not address each other or anyone else by titles, proper or formal, and all of our conversation will be in English, not Italian. Am I clear?” Marge’s tone was low and hurried. She didn’t look at me, but at the watercolor landscape in front of us. “I understand you have information regarding the newest assignment. Please inform me of everything discussed during your last meeting with your past informant and now.”
I swallowed my bite of gelato, letting the coolness of the mint fill my mouth. Ah, one thing I could get used to in Italy: eating gelato every day. The bugs and the rude waiters, not so much.
“I landed yesterday. I’m staying on the outside of Rome, and I’m supposed to meet with my client tomorrow.”
“Your past informant alerted me of your safe arrival yesterday.”
“How would he know?”
“He was on your flight, and he is staying in the hotel room next to yours.”
“Tristan’s spying on me? Are you kidding?” SPLAT. My gelato slipped from my hands in my surprise and landed on the cobblestone floor of Piazza Navano. I felt critical stares against my back from the other passersby. “You don’t trust me to follow through on the mission?”
“No names,” she seethed. The made-up Marge still didn’t turn to me. If any passerby glanced at us, all he would see was two women dressed up for a night on the town who admired art, not demolishers of the largest assassination corporation in the world.
I imagined her mouth pressed into a thin line, the creases of worry etched onto her forehead and along her cheeks. “Don’t worry. I don’t believe you’ll double-cross us, but the directors of the CIA don’t want to take any chances.”
I crossed my arms. “I’m risking everything here. I’m turning my back on people I grew up with.”
“Murderers.”
I remained silent for a moment. She was right. I couldn’t deny the parents killed, babies slaughtered, and guiltless hundreds of bodies perished at the hands of Covert Operatives. For what?
I shuddered. For money.
“I assure you, there is no longer any part of me who believes in the mission of Covert Operatives. No one wants to see the organization destroyed more than I do.”
Marge still didn’t turn to me. “I know. Tristan knows. But orders from the top are still orders. Continue your stream of helpful information and everyone else will trust you’re on the side of the good.”
There it was again—some magical division between good and bad. Some mumbo-jumbo about taking sides. I sighed. There was no way anyone in Covert Operatives would say they were on “the bad side.” It was a way of life, not some line between right and wrong. When everyone else you loved and admired and respected was involved in the same program you were, how could you call it wrong?
“Your past informant is in deep cover. He has gained the trust of your new client. We cannot afford to lose this opportunity to understand how a contract is conducted.” Without another word, Marge spun around and walked away on her stilettos.
I continued to stare at the painting while her heels clicked away against the cobblestones. It was a replication of a canal in Venice. The Italian landscape in the background served as the main attraction, with winding turquoise canals and looming ivory domes. The tall, antique buildings with brightly painted shutters and even brighter walls loomed over the narrow canal.
Yet it was the detail in the foreground which caught my attention. Inside the canal was a woman who was drowning, and a man who was reaching out in an attempt to save her.
I frowned at the painting. The vendor walked around the corner and gestured to the piece. “Interested in buying?”
“What is it supposed to represent?”
“Why, a man saving his woman, of course. She is drowning because she did not know what she was getting into.” The man shrugged as if this was the most common situation in all of history. “She’s not strong enough to make it on her own.”
I may have not known what I was getting into when I agreed to spy, but I sure didn’t need someone to save me. I gave one last look to the woman in the painting. That’s not me.
I turned around and trained my eyes back on the lighted streets of Rome leading away from the piazza. The street lamps began to flicker on as the darkness of night descended over Piazza Navano.
I wasn’t some damsel in distress captured in a painting. This girl was strong enough to make it on her own.
****
“I’m sorry; I thought you were a friend of mine!” I called out over my shoulder in desperation.
The pink bathrobe-clad man still held up the pepper spray bottle as he stood in front of his wife, the spray aimed directly at my face. He swore at me in French again and edged closer.
I scurried away from him and out the doorway without a second glance. As soon as I stepped back into the hallway, I slammed the door shut and leaned against the wall. All right, so Tristan was definitely not in Room 307. It probably hadn’t been such a great idea to pick the lock and enter the suspected room of my own accord.
Which meant Tristan was probably in Room 305. I nearly picked the lock again, when the image of a fat man yelling in French and pointing a lachrymatory agent at me suddenly entered my vision. Yeah, I was in no mood for a repeat.
I chose to knock on the door instead. Just in case, I tensed my body to prepare for a quick getaway should the situation turn hostile.
The door swung open, revealing a tanned man covered only in a low-slung white towel and an alarming lack of shirt. “The pizza was delivered quite fast, no? I…” Tristan’s voice faded. The tell-tale smirk emerged as soon as his eyes registered who I was. “Hey there, kid.”
Time for the kill.
I pounced on Tristan, my right leg springing up into action to deliver a blow square on his chest. He fell to the floor, belly-up, in less than a second. I crouched closer and poised my fist right above his chest, ready to make contact again.
“Why are you spying on me?”
Tristan’s infuriating smirk stayed on his face, like he found the whole situation entirely hilarious rather than worrisome that my right fist could kill him in seconds. “CIA’s orders. And I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“Marge told me.” I raised an eyebrow. My fist remained above his chest, ready to strike a blow. I chose to ignore the second part of his sentence. “Should I tell her about your history with Adrian?”
Tristan scowled. He pushed me off him. “Why would you?”
I contemplated kicking him to the floor again. “She doesn’t know. Why didn’t you tell her?”
“I can handle the situation with Adrian on my own.”
“You couldn’t handle him if you tried.”
“Trust me. I’ve got a plan which will take care of him.” Something sinister brooded in Tristan’s face. It was darker than the usual playful expression which graced his features. A chill ran up my spine.
“You’re going to leave him alone for now, right? He’s important to the mission.”
Tristan snorted. “How close have you two even been since our kiss?”
I winced.
As Tristan watched my expression, the corners of his mouth curved upward. “I’m guessing you guys haven’t exactly been the best of friends. We don’t need Adrian anymore. Since you’re an executive, you still have information.”
I followed him further into his hotel room, beyond the sofa threaded with gold and the expensive turquoise Chinese vase. The room looked exactly like mine: the best CO money could buy. Or Harry Croyden, in his case.
I scanned the room as I spoke. “CIA agents have tried to catch Adrian before and they all failed.”
Tristan walked toward the mini-bar behind the sofa and lifted up an already uncorked bottle. Next to the bottle rested two small tumblers. “Sherry?”
“No thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Tristan poured out a glass of the dark liquid into one of the tumblers. The electric light above him reflected on the clear crystal. “We’re both meeting with Croyden tomorrow. Don’t forget.”
“If you’re one of his men, shouldn’t he have arranged hotel arrangements for you? He would decide where you stayed.”
“Who do you think suggested this room?” He lifted the glass in my direction. “Cheers, kid.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“Call you what?”
“Kid.”
Tristan took a long sip from his glass. The only sound heard in the room was the quiet clink when he set the glass back on the wooden counter of the mini bar. “You’re not a kid to me anymore.”
“And what am I now?” I walked closer to the mini bar. His knuckles turned white as he clutched the glass harder. My voice shook with anger. “Some girl who’s risking her life to spy for the organization who raised her? Some girl who still isn’t trusted by the CIA even while she’s working as a double agent? A girl who watched her best friend lose consciousness from a bullet wound inflicted by information I leaked?”
It wasn’t until I felt the heat from Tristan’s breath upon my cheek that I realized how close I’d walked toward him. I pulled back.
But the damage was already done. Tristan’s arm snaked around my waist, his hand gripping the side of my waist as tight as he’d clenched his glass moments earlier. He set aside the glass onto the counter sometime during my speech, yet I still smelled the sherry on his breath.
I swallowed. Neither of us said a word. The silence hung between us, thick with questions. There was nothing definite; everything had yet to be decided.
Tristan made the first move.
Taste. Taste was the first sense which invaded me—the sweetness of the sherry transferred from his lips to my own. He kissed me, wholly and fully, until the taste of sherry was on my lips and not just his own. His mouth pressed against mine, hard enough to leave a bruise. He didn’t meld his body against mine the way Adrian did. There was nothing soft or tender about his attack.
SMACK.
Tristan staggered back as he cradled his right cheek in his cupped palm. “What was that?”
“I could ask you the same question!”
“You loved the kiss,” he sneered.
I wanted to rinse my mouth and gargle mouthwash until the aftertaste of sherry was gone. My hands balled into fists.
His upper lip curled downward, but mirth played in his eyes. “You asked for it.”
“No way. I can’t kiss you. I’m still with…” I stopped. The words I’d planned on saying froze at the back of my throat. I was not with Adrian King anymore, as much as my body still believed it true.
Tristan either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me, because he pressed on just as his invasive lips had. “I know you want me. Don’t deny it.”
My jaw dropped. The nerve! “You’re my informant, and now my partner for the CIA. Nothing more.”
Tristan’s eyes darted between my eyes and my lips, as if he couldn’t decide which was more important to look at. “I don’t get it. You were flirting with me, and then you kissed me.”
I made a sound of frustration and threw my hands in the air. “When did I ever flirt with you? And you kissed me.”
“What about all the late night phone calls?”
“You mean the times I called you to tell you information I’d found?”
Tristan shook his head, like he was denying lies I called out. Through gritted teeth, he muttered, “I don’t think I’m making myself clear. I think you’re strong, and beautiful, and smart. I want you.”
“Well, I’m flattered.” I sighed. “But I don’t feel the same about you.”
Silence descended for a few moments. It was pregnant silence, filled with the recent events between us and all the words left unsaid. Finally, he spoke, but his voice was so low I barely made it out. “You’re making a mistake, kid.”
I watched him. I watched the way he trudged back to the mini bar, as if he was suddenly devoid of energy. I watched him down the rest of his glass of sherry without another word. But I didn’t watch him with the same affection he offered me.
“I’m sorry, Tristan.” What else was I supposed to say? What did girls say in situations like these? What magic words could I offer to him to both preserve our friendship and make it clear to him we would never be together? “I think we should just be friends.”
His face fell. Not literally, but something sunk in his features which only reminded me of falling. The corners of his mouth drooped ever so slightly downward. The brows furrowed in confusion, relaxed, and became limp. His eyes stayed downcast.
I spun around and headed to the door.
“This is about Adrian, isn’t it?”
My heart thundered in my chest. “Why would it be about him? I was just flirting with him to get information.”
“This is about Adrian.” The sentence was no longer a question; it was a fact.
I heard him stand up from the stool at the bar and stroll toward me. I almost heard the wheels turn in his head as he spoke. With each word, he gained more and more confidence in his convictions.
“It’s not about spying for the CIA. You like the murderer.” Tristan stood behind me. He was so close that if I turned around, my lips would touch his again. “It’s not just you wanting him. He wants you too.”
My blood ran cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s why he punched me at the Griffith. That’s why he cared when I kissed you. You two weren’t just flirting.” He paused.
Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.
“You two were together even before the mission.”
“Nonsense.”
“Truth.”
I blinked, staring straight ahead. “Good night, Tristan.”
I slammed the door shut behind me. Within seconds, I’d pulled out my key card and entered my own hotel room. He knows. The two-word phrase repeated again and again inside my head. He knows; he knows.
My gaze flickered to my coffee table in the room. Lucy’s letter still lay where I left it. What did she write again? It’s time you moved on.
It seemed so easy—here was my chance to have a new relationship with someone else. I mean, Tristan couldn’t have made it any clearer. He wanted me, so why didn’t I want him?
It wasn’t because there was anything wrong with him. He was handsome, he was easy to talk to and most important of all, we were on the same side. There wasn’t some powerful CEO corrupting his mind. He wasn’t ignoring me or flirting with my former best friend. Being with Tristan would be so much easier than it ever was with Adrian. There would be no constant struggle to make things work. We wouldn’t be on the verge of an argument all the time.
I touched my lips with my fingertips, tracing where Tristan kissed me. Why had I said “I’m still with…?” I wasn’t anymore. Adrian wanted nothing to do with me.
My stomach twisted when I thought of our last encounter nearly a month ago, when he’d acted so cold toward me. He didn’t care about me anymore.
But I didn’t stop caring for him, I realized with sickening dread.
****
I inspected my appearance in the elevator mirror. My skirt pressed neat folds to my knees; my leather heels shined to perfection; my color combination of black and white remained internationally acceptable; and… Oh, great. My shirt was inside-out and backward.
I snuck a glance at the number ticking on the elevator. Eleven, twelve… I still had some time before reaching the twentieth floor. I started to unbutton my shirt, working my way downward. Displaying a shirt inside-out and backward was no way to greet Harry Croyden and his associates.
Right as I passed the fifteenth floor, the edge of my shirt sleeve caught on the last button. I tried pulling at it, switching my gaze between the number ticking on the elevator and the button. Finally! My arm tugged free as I reached the eighteenth floor. I flung off my shirt and flipped it right-side out. Nineteenth floor. I could make it.
Ding!
The elevator doors parted in the middle right as I held my shirt in my hand, dressed only in my strapless bra from the waist up, face flushed bright red as I locked eye contact with none other than my ex-boyfriend.
Or, rather, Adrian King and several other Covert Operatives associates who had been waiting in the lobby of the twentieth floor and who had also spun around right as the elevator doors opened to a shirtless me.
I wrapped the cloth back around me and started to button it back up. To my horror, the elevator doors began to close. I thrust my body forward to jam the elevator doors open again. The doors pushed back and I stumbled through. With a haphazard attempt to button my shirt back up as quickly as I could, I stammered out a few apologies.
As soon as the shirt was buttoned back up, I heard the distinct cough of one of the men standing in business suits with Adrian. The warmth of a blush spread across my cheeks and down my neck.
The corner of Adrian’s mouth twitched before he spoke, the only hint of emotion he betrayed on his impassive face. “If you are now fully dressed, our meeting with Croyden was scheduled to begin five minutes ago.”
I nodded. In the entire year we’d been together, this was the first time he’d ever seen me with my top off. Certainly not the way I’d wanted his first glimpse to be. Especially with all the other men in business suits around him, refusing to make eye contact with me and somehow blushing even more than I was.
Adrian motioned toward the small row of Covert Operatives employees. “This is Gu Shinwoo, chief supplier of explosives and artillery. Laurence DeMine, chief of tracking operations. Michael Case, a member of the board of directors of transportation. Gentlemen, this is Miss Lu, the student executive Croyden chose to settle this contract.”
I shook hands with each of the men, stopping right before Adrian. His hand wasn’t outstretched toward me. Instead he stared back at me with eyes as cold as ice.
Adrian finally glanced away and walked past the receptionist. The men behind him followed their leader, though they all looked old enough to be his father.
Something ached within me. The old Adrian would have laughed, called me “Janey,” and embraced me. The new Adrian couldn’t be bothered with a clumsy executive who wore her shirt backward.
I noticed the perfect straightness of Adrian’s posture, his back ramrod rigid like an automaton. His steps were measured and controlled. The philosophical, playful Adrian had died and some cold, power-hungry robot had taken his place. And yet my heart still fluttered every time my eyes got a hold of him.
Darn fluttering.
We walked through glass doors and into a long room with an oval boardroom desk in the middle. Leather swivel chairs lined the table. After standard contract procedure was briefed, Adrian introduced his associates and explained how he was overseeing the contract process.
At the end of the table, opposite the door, sat a fat and tanned man covered in bedazzled white sunglasses and a neon white suit. Even his voice spoke of excess, with his Italian-accented English drawled over each English word like the correct pronunciation was a matter of life and death. “Velcome—no, no, welcome—to my, how you say, office? Boring place to sitted. No, no, sit, am right? But business first. Ah!” His head inclined toward me and he took off his sunglasses. Bulging green eyes greeted me. “This must be the executive. No one told me she would be so petty—no, no, pretty! My name is ‘Arry. ‘Arry Croyden. You is, no, are?”
“My name is Jane Lu,” I answered in Italian. “I promise I will ensure you get the best contract possible.”
Harry Croyden’s face lit up. “Ah! She speaks our language. Impressive, isn’t it, Javier?” He nudged the man in the blue suit next to him.
Tristan sat on the right side of Harry. He wore a thin blue suit, his blazer and pants the same perfect shade of sapphire blue. But unlike Adrian’s, Tristan’s face seemed warm and inviting. He bared the perfect whites of his teeth for a smile. “It is most impressive, Miss Lu.”
I laid down my briefcase on the table and clicked it open. Papers were discussed between Croyden and I, and all parties signed preliminary negotiations. The first part was routine, a matter of pointing at dotted lines and gaining the first signatures needed to proceed with the contract. Promises the client would never sue Covert Operatives, promises the client would never reveal Covert Operatives to government authorities, promises to recommend Covert Operatives to other clients. Then came the dirty business.
“We need particulars.” I pulled out my laptop and pressed the screen to whir it to life. A combination of a touchpad and a keyboard, the laptop had been Professor George’s present to me on earning myself a mission. I suspected it had more to do with a personal recommendation from a so-called “Mr. Medici” than anything else, but George didn’t seem any wiser. “Who exactly, and please include the middle name, do you seek to target with this contract?”
“Giuseppe Gandolfo Croyden.” Harry beamed as he instructed me to kill his younger brother. “Boy’s been accusing me of murdering our parents to gain the family business.”
“Current permanent residence?”
“London. Runs a bakery business.” Harry shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard to kill.”
I gritted my teeth. Once, talking about murder in such an impersonal way came easy to me. But since defecting to the CIA I could barely restrain myself from interrogating the man and demanding why he wanted to kill his last remaining family member. Didn’t he understand how important family was? Not everyone has a family, I mused.
Adrian interrupted the momentary silence for me, saving me without even knowing it. “Since this is a special contract with a student—a venture CO has not yet tried—we will price this case individually instead of through our normal packaging rates. When would you like this contract to be closed?”
He grinned while he placed his hands on his rather large belly. “Within two months is fine with me. Early January should do it?”
Adrian nodded. He jotted something down on his notepad and then peered up at me. The coldness in his eyes chilled my heart. “Miss Lu, will you have the preliminary paperwork and calculations ready by next week?”
“If you wish.” I tore my gaze away from his and focused my attention instead to Harry Croyden. “Do you have a preferred method of closing the contract?”
“I want to be creative. Poison, perhaps?”
Gu Shinwoo leaned forward, interlacing his fingers together and setting his clasped hands on the clear glass table. “Covert Operatives exclusively uses explosive and artillery fire. There are too many possible errors with poison. The wrong person takes the poison and the contract isn’t closed; the target may decide to not use or consume the substance containing the poison.”
“Ah, ah!” Harry Croyden pointed a finger at Tristan. “I thought you said they were professionals.”
“Professionals, but not fortune tellers. Poison has too many unanticipated results. I assure you there is no better organization to execute your ordered murder.” Adrian shed a cool, composed politician’s smile. He possessed all the knowledge of a businessman and the charm of a politician. “You must remember how we offer what other organizations do not—assassins under the age of eighteen. As a result, our assassins are never suspected during crime scene investigations. Using a system of training from a young age, our operatives are skilled and physically fit for the job.”
Harry Croyden’s upper lip curled. “Yes, I was not so convinced about that part.”
I pulled a flyer from my briefcase and smoothed the paper in front of my client. “Covert Operatives has a 99.9% success rate as of last March. No money is given to Covert Operatives until the contract has been closed. Remember, we are only paid if you are satisfied with our services.” The lines I’d been taught in executive classes back at the CO headquarters spilled from my mouth as easy as anything.
Croyden stroked his beard. His other hand rested on a golden cane which looked like a scepter, complete with painted gold along the cane and a golden top at the end. “I want to be convinced.”
I blinked. Normally clients agreed to our terms and conditions and moved on. Goodness gracious, textbooks only prepared you for so much.
“How can we convince you?”
“I want to accompany a mission.”
“No!”
“No!”
Adrian and I both locked eyes. We’d spoken in unison.
I bit my lip and averted my gaze. “The implications of what you are asking for would be too severe and pose a risk to the safety of our agents.” I swallowed my panic. Risking the safety of operatives because of someone most definitely not trained as an assassin would help no one.
“I want a demonstration of what CO can do, nothing more.” Harry Croyden shrugged. “If I like what I see, I will agree to a full contract even with a student executive, no questions asked. No need for me to half pay if I know what I’m getting into.”
I watched the eyes of the associates light up like the lights within the Eiffel Tower at ten o’clock at night. Cash registers cha-chinged in their minds.
Adrian wasted no time. “Done. My team will plan a demonstration for you to witness what Covert Operatives assassins can accomplish, even as minors.”
Croyden pointed at Adrian first, then at me. “You two were agents not too long ago, I am correct?” I nodded, and Croyden clapped his hands. “Wonderful! I want this to be all organized between you two. I want to see whether or not minors can accomplish such a task.”
I opened my mouth to protest we weren’t minors anymore, but then I closed it. If he needed proof teenagers could accomplish what he believed was a job for adults, I would do my job.
“When would be the best time for the demonstration to take place, Mr. Croyden?” I poised my fingers above the keyboard to write down the detail.
“Before our scheduled appointment to sort out the contract details.” He leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied look on his face. “If I like what I see, I will even pay then and there.”
I heard the cash registers cha-chinging once again. Dollar bill signs flashed in the pupils of the associates.
“Done.”
“Wonderful!” Croyden stood up and supported himself with the scepter. “I am so sorry to say I must leave for a party in Paris tonight, but I promise we will discuss the details as soon as I return. And of course, I cannot wait for my demonstration.”
A bodyguard I’d barely noticed in the room suddenly opened the door for Croyden to leave. The only people left in the room were the associates, Adrian, Tristan, and I. Well, this is awkward.
The associates all turned to each other and began discussing their own details to sort out with each department they represented. I didn’t know what Adrian was doing, because I was determined to make as little eye contact with him as possible during the next two months. Tristan stood up from his seat, clapped his hands, and walked over to me.
To my surprise, he pulled out my seat and outstretched his hand. “May I talk to you outside?”
I knew Adrian and his associates saw me leave, but none of them said a word. I followed Tristan outside the room. My body protested, wanting to turn around and talk to Adrian. Don’t do it! I scolded myself. Better to ignore Adrian if he was ignoring me. We were business partners now, nothing more. He was probably with Emma now, for goodness sake. I couldn’t look desperate and make the first move.
Tristan whisked me into the elevator. I peeked up at the screen as we moved lower and lower, the numbers of the floor continuing downward. Five, four, three, two…
I expected the elevator to stop at one, but somehow it kept going down until we reached the parking lot. Tristan got out first, his hand still holding mine.
I wrenched it away as soon as the elevator doors closed behind us. “Why did you take me here?” The empty parking lot echoed my words back to me.
A clipping of heels answered.
Marge walked toward us, dressed again in the dowdy suit she wore during my first confrontation with the CIA. She was no longer dressed to the nines with heels to kill. Her look was business professional once again, and so was the expression on her face.
“Thank you, Morelli.” She gave a curt nod to Tristan, but her eyes remained fixed on mine. “I do believe there may be something you two wish to tell me.”
My eyes scanned the parking lot surrounding us. The usual parking markers and white painted lines graced the floor, but not a single car parked inside. “Why is no one here?”
“Sealed off for private renovation, rented by the US government.” Marge waved her hand, dismissing the irrelevant question. “What do I need to know?”
“There’s going to be a demonstration.” Tristan spoke first. He nodded to me, encouraging me to continue.
“Yes, Adrian and I are in charge of proving to Croyden that minors are capable of murder.” The bluntness of my phrase felt so refreshing after sugar-coating my words moments ago with the cool language of a business transaction. “It’s such a contrast. All of the agents are taught we’re capable of anything we set our mind to, and we all believe we can murder with perfection. And we do, and we succeed because others believe in us. I didn’t realize people outside of CO distrust kids. The only reason a kid can’t do something is because nobody believes he can do it.”
Marge nodded. “A valuable insight to the CO agent mentality. You are working with Adrian?”
Unfortunately.
“You need to be on good terms with him once again.” Marge inclined her head toward Tristan. “Morelli told me you two had a falling out.”
“Oh, Tristan and I can still work together, I don’t have a problem with…”
“I was talking about you and Adrian.” Marge arched a penciled-in brow, her eyes darting back and forth between Tristan and me. “Is there something else I need to be concerned about?”
“Not at all.” Tristan answered, lightning quick.
Speak for yourself, I thought. But there was no use in worrying Marge any further or drawing any other suspicion from the CIA. The last thing I needed was the CIA thinking I was flirting with my former informant.
“There’s something else you need to know as well.” Marge’s lips pressed tight and tiny wrinkles developed along the line of her mouth. “We believe executives in CO suspect leaked information was to blame for your failed mission.”
“What?”
“There has been recent activity surrounding the family we helped place into the witness protection program.”
My eyes widened. “They haven’t been…”
“No, they are perfectly all right.”
I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. It was the craziest feeling—responsibility and joy over the safety of people I’d never met.
“Their relatives, however, have reported hackings into their e-mail accounts and searches through their mail. Covert Operatives is searching for more information, even a month later. Someone suspects foul play.”
“But there’s nothing abnormal.” I leaned back against the wall next to the elevator and crossed my arms. “There was a government agent there. The family could have received word from someone close to the client who breached the privacy of the contract. If the family received word, of course they’d leave and call the police. Executives can make mistakes too.”
“Exactly. Which is why their continued investigation shows they remain suspicious.” Marge slowed her words. Her usual clipped tone slowed into an important warning. “I want you to be on high alert. If you are to be caught… Well, I am sure you are well aware of what CO would do with you.” Marge cut a sharp look at Tristan. “Your mission will be over as well, Morelli.”
Tristan’s expression was one of understanding, as he contemplated Marge’s words with all the grave seriousness of when an agent hears his career may be over. We both have one chance. A chance neither of us could afford to lose.
“I understand.”
“Good.” Marge began to walk away. Her heels clicked away somewhere into the darkness, into a dark unknown which would whisk her back to her world of Central Intelligence safety. I was shadowed in the insecurity of deep cover.
Tristan started toward me as soon as the sound of Marge’s heels faded away. One of my feet pressed against the grey concrete as I leaned back against the wall.
There was a laziness to his step, the kind of slow and confident gait of a man sure to get what he wants. “It’s not too late, you know.”
I stared back at him with defiance. There was no way he could tell me what I decided to feel. “Too late for what?”
“Too late for us.”
“What about us?”
“For us to be together.”
I unfolded my arms. “Tristan, it’s not because I don’t like being around you. I do. I think you’re funny, and you’re handsome.”
Tristan’s jaw set into a hard line, and the usual look of playfulness wiped itself from his features. “Then?”
Rat tat tat tat tat!
I grabbed Tristan and ducked to crouch closer to the ground. The all-too-familiar sound volleyed through the once empty parking lot. My heartbeat drummed in my ears as my fingers clenched around Tristan’s sleeve. “Get down! Get down!”
Rat tat tat tat!
The sound of the artillery launching from the machine gun shot closer to where Tristan and I crouched. I reached for the gun strapped to the inside of my thigh beneath the skirt. After pulling it out, I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Now run!”