“Rest assured my boss will be looking into that,” Brent said.
“You have just the slightest hint of an accent, don’t you,” Emily said, looking at the monochromatic man curiously.
“Yes, I probably do,” the man sighed, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. “Despite years I spent training in many different languages, I can’t quite leave the tongue of my birthplace behind.” He extended his hand. “I’m afraid I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’m Dr. Aleksy Novak.”
Emily shook his hand and gave him a pleasant smile. “Emily Abbott.”
Everyone was silent for a moment, the only sound in the stuffy elevator being the hum of the motor bringing them up three floors.
“I guess we should be glad I am mixed up in this since I can be backup getaway driver,” Emily said. “And it is fun getting to help out on a real spy mission.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brent said, narrowing his eyes at her in confusion. “Did I come in on the middle of a conversation or something?”
“Kind of. The beginning of it was in my head, I suppose,” Emily said.
“And who said anything about a spy or a mission?”
“Only every last thing you’ve done and said since—well, really since about the time our shift started today. You drew that cottage for every male customer we had! You were looking for your ‘contact’ all day!”
“Okay, fine,” he admitted grudgingly. “That was the signal.”
“Wait—can’t you neither confirm nor deny?” Emily asked.
Brent rolled his eyes and smirked. “Movie stuff, Emily, movie stuff.”
“If you say so, but I think I need a codename.” She folded her arms and looked at him seriously.
“You look like you just issued a dare, Emily,” he said, cracking the first real smile of the day.
The elevator dinged and he grew serious again, motioning them to stand to the side. As the doors whooshed open, he scanned for danger, his hand tucked inside the back of his waistband.
“Clear,” he announced curtly. “Let’s move. Emily, you take point because you know where you've parked. Go, go, go!”
Emily jogged down the row of cars just to the left of the elevator, Brent’s and Dr. Novak’s footsteps echoing behind her in the hot parking garage. “Here we are,” she said.
“Dark tinting—that’s good,” Dr. Novak commented, panting. “Can I take off the sweatshirt now?”
Brent glanced around as Emily unlocked the car doors. “Sure,” he said.
Emily folded down the front seat to allow Dr. Novak access to the back seat. “Sorry it’s only a 2-door,” she apologized.
“It’s better than trying to make an escape via public transit, Miss Abbott,” the older man grunted. Brent jogged around to the passenger’s side as Emily slid into the driver’s seat.
“Just drive the route you’d normally take on your way home from work—in the normal way you’d drive,” Brent instructed. “We don’t want to draw any attention.”
Emily nodded and turned the key. The car coughed and settled into a hoarse grinding. “Oh come on, come on, Blue!” she pleaded, trying again.
She glanced apologetically at Brent. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Worst escape ever, Peterson. Worst,” he muttered to himself. Opening his eyes, he said to her, “All right, you turn the key, I’ll tap the starter. Pop the hood, Frostbite!”
Emily rolled her eyes as he jumped out.
Frostbite? So much for a cool codename. I’m never going live down that slip-of-the-tongue.
She popped the hood as he’d asked, and then turned the key while he tapped the reluctant starter with his multi tool just like he had the day before.
Was it really only yesterday that she’d been unaware her coworker was an undercover spy?
The car coughed to life and he slammed the hood shut. She watched as he paused and cocked his head as if listening. His eyes narrowed and then widened. He began frantically swiping his hand to the side as he scrambled around the hood of the car to the driver’s side.
Emily realized he wanted her to move over to the passenger’s seat. She was glad she was small, because she’d barely scrambled across the center console before he had jumped into the driver’s seat and put the car into reverse.
She tumbled against the the passenger’s side window. “What on earth, Brent?”
“They’re coming,” he said, grim with focus. “I could hear someone coming up the ramps way too fast. Buckle up.”
Emily twisted around and exchanged a wide-eyed glance with their passenger in the back seat. She barely had time to buckle her seatbelt before Brent was whipping through the parking garage’s exit route at high speed.
“Slow down! Brent, we’re going too fast!”
He didn’t answer, just leaned forward in his seat, following the exit signs.
“Brent!”
“Miss Abbott, I daresay he’s trained for this,” Dr. Novak’s quiet voice came from the back seat, barely audible over the squeal of tires echoing through the garage.
They flew out of the garage and into traffic.
Brent relaxed just slightly now that they were out of the confines of the parking garage. A dark car followed a moment later.
“Frostbite, I need you to get out your phone.”
“That’s a dumb codename, by the way.” Emily worked her flip phone out of her back pocket.
Brent glanced at it. “Ah, perfect, a dumb phone—no offense.”
“None taken, Mr. Peterski.”
He shot her an odd look at the botching of his last name, and she hid a grin.
That was payback for the codename.
“Get the encryptor out of my messenger bag and plug it in.” He wove between cars as she did what he directed. “Now call this number.” He gave her a 7-digit number.
“That’s not even a real phone number, Brent,” she said, bewildered.
“It will go through all the same. Put it on speakerphone.”
Sure enough, it rang and a woman’s voice picked up. “Hello, how may I direct your call?”
“This is Nighthawk again. Put me through to Santa.”
“How about that Cubs game?” The woman asked placidly.
“I prefer the Diamondbacks,” Brent answered, just barely zooming through an intersection before the light turned red.
“Very well,” the woman said.
“Oh, and scrub that challenge question, please.”
“Will do, Nighthawk. Transferring your call now.”
After a moment, a man with a deep voice answered. “What’s going on Nighthawk?”
“Hello, sir. We’re in an older blue 2-door, heading north on 7th Street. We have a tail. I wonder if you could task someone with keeping track of its route for me?”
“Sure, but if they’re following you, why do you need me to track them?”
“I’m letting them follow us right now. I’ll be ditching them soon, but I’ll need to let them find and chase me again after.”
“Ah, you’re setting them up for a wild goose chase. Good. Are you sure you can leave our friend in a secure location? We have to assume our safe house nearby is possibly compromised since they knew the location of the backup team.”
Brent hesitated just a moment and shot a glance at Emily.
She mouthed, “What?”
“Yes, sir. I have it under control, sir. Could you call me back at this number in exactly 8 minutes with the other car’s location?”
“Will do, Nighthawk.”
“Thanks. You’re the Best!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Brent smirked and then nodded at Emily to disconnect the call.
“Everyone hang on,” he said. “We’re ditching this tail.”
Emily had been bursting with questions, but a minute later they scattered in a million directions as she hung on for dear life. “Good gracious, Brent! This can’t be safe!” she screamed and squeezed her eyes shut.
“I’ve got it,
I’ve got it,” he muttered.
The spy had merged onto the interstate and was weaving through the traffic at terrific speeds, squeezing into tiny spaces between cars and getting honked at frequently. He checked the rear-view mirror constantly, as well as the clock.
At the last minute he crossed several lanes of traffic, cut across the apex, and flew down the 5th Avenue exit ramp.
“There. Ditched ‘em,” he said under his breath. “Be ready to get out quickly when I tell you to,” he said to Emily and Dr. Novak.
The light turned green, and he headed south with no regard for the speed limit. “Emily,” he said, “listen, I’m really sorry about this. I need you to take Dr. Novak to your apartment and stay there.”
“My—what? You want me to—? Wait, this is the way to my apartment! How do you know where I live?” She eyed him, feeling suddenly very vulnerable.
“It’s not like that, Emily. The folks at North Pole did extensive research on my coworkers before I came to work at Sunrise Coffee as part of my cover.”
“Okay, but still—why my place?”
Brent was silent a moment, biting his lower lip. “Because, Emily, your place is so—normal. They’ll never look for him there. Safe houses, yes. Hotels, yes. A tiny apartment in downtown Phoenix, no.”
“That does make sense.”
“I’ll be back for him as soon as I can convince these guys the chase is over. One way or another,” he finished darkly.
The ugly apartment building Emily lived in loomed ahead. “All right,” she said. “I’ll agree to this on one condition.”
“What’s that?” Brent asked.
“Different codename.”
He shot her a look. “Whatever you say, Princess Em. When I stop at this curb, I want you two to get out as fast as you can.”
“Whatever you say, Brandon.”
Chapter 9
EMILY TURNED ON THE lights in her apartment but kept the blinds drawn. Somehow it felt like having them open would be inviting all kinds of prying eyes. Never mind she was on the second floor of the apartment building. If there were people after Dr. Novak, she certainly didn’t want to do anything to advertise his presence. She had set him up on her sagging living room couch with a glass of cold water and the ceiling fan running while she changed out of her work clothes.
Leaving the tiny bedroom, she joined him in the living room.
“Sorry it’s so Spartan in here,” she said. “I’m saving for college, and it’s normally just me here. I’d rather have a little extra in the savings account than all the furnishings—”
Dr. Novak waved his hand. “Please do not apologize to me Miss Abbott. I am grateful to be cooling down and not running from anyone for the moment. Old men were not meant to run in Phoenix heat.”
“I’m not sure young people were either,” she said, shaking her head. “You can call me Emily, by the way.”
The old man nodded his head solemnly. “You are a coworker of Nighthawk’s?”
“Yes,” she answered, but quickly added. “But only at the coffee shop. Up until today I didn't know he was—you know—something other than a barista. A very, very bad barista.” She looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “This actually explains a lot about his coffee-making skills.”
“I take it they’re subpar?” Dr. Novak asked, looking amused.
Emily nodded. “I’m beginning to realize his skills lie elsewhere: important things like ditching a tail and driving like a maniac through Phoenix traffic without getting into an accident.” She bit her lip and frowned.
“Are you worried about him?”
“Worried about what he’s doing to my car right now. I do hope he’s careful.”
The older man was studying her with a perplexed look on his face.
“That sounds heartless,” she admitted after a moment. “Should I be worried about him? Is he in danger?”
The older man nodded slowly. “I should think so. Yes, this kind of thing is what he’s trained for, but there’s always risk.” He almost spoke like he had first-hand knowledge.
A thought occurred to Emily. What if Dr. Novak really did know the dangers from experience? What if he had been a spy too?
“Are you in danger too?” she asked after a moment’s hesitation. “They’re chasing you, aren’t they.”
He glanced up at the ceiling before responding. “Yes. They—well, I’m not sure how much I can say. Perhaps Nighthawk could tell you more. Suffice it to say, I have information they want.”
Emily checked her watch. Brent hadn’t mentioned when he would be back, but she realized he also hadn’t said exactly where he was going or why. The more she thought it through, the more she realized whatever he was doing was probably super dangerous.
God, I just met this guy, but he’s already been such a good friend and You know I don’t have very many of those. Just—just keep an eye on him? And my car too, if You don’t mind. Brent first, though.
An hour passed and there was still no sign of him. She brought out a deck of cards and played a game of War with Dr. Novak. He’d never played Go Fish, so she taught it to him. Another hour passed. They chatted as she pulled out spaghetti noddles and a jar of sauce, putting a pot of water on to boil.
“You’re like Brent,” Emily said, finally. “You’re very good at small talk that reveals very little about yourself and a lot about the other person.” She narrowed her eyes at him and said, “Hmm...”
Pretty sure he is—or was—a spy too.
He raised his bushy white eyebrows and pierced her with a look; saying nothing, but clearly admitting she was on to something.
“I thought that might be the case,” she whispered.
“I can neither confirm nor deny—” Dr. Novak began.
Emily laughed. “Oh my. What a strange day this has shaped up to be. I went into work—” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Work! What if the shop stays closed? What if I’m fired? I sort of helped stage a fake fire with smoke grenades and scared the living daylights out of all our patrons!”
She rubbed her forehead and paced the kitchen. “I absolutely can’t afford to lose my job! Sunrise is basically the only higher-end coffee shop in the valley, I’ll never find another position that pays quite the same...”
“Emily, my dear young lady,” Dr. Novak said in his quiet voice. “You seem to be a motivated person with a good work ethic and a high degree of determination. Even if you should happen to lose your position at Sunrise Coffee, you’ll assuredly find another way.”
Emily stopped pacing and smiled at the older man. “Thank you for that,” she said. “And I’m sorry for complaining about my silly little worries in the middle of what might be a life-and-death situation for you.”
The old man waved away her concerns and instead helped her dish up the spaghetti. “I only have the two plates, so I’ll re-wash one of these for Brent—oh, I do hope he shows up soon,” Emily said. It was approaching 6 o’clock and the spy was still nowhere to be seen. They ate in near-silence as the light coming through the drawn curtains turned bright and golden and then slowly lessened as the dinner hour crept by and then passed.
Dr. Novak set his fork down and pushed back from the tiny, worn table in Emily’s breakfast nook. “Emily, how many keys do you have?”
“How many keys—?” She was momentarily confused by his question. “Well, I have four. One for the apartment, one for the common laundry room downstairs, one for my dad’s house, and one for my car. That one’s with Brent right now, though. Why?”
Dr. Novak leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his folded hands. “If it would blend in well on your keyring, I’d like to give you a key as a safeguard. I want you to promise to give it to Brent if anything happens to me. And if something happens to the both of us, take it to the police or the FBI and explain everything.”
Emily wished he wouldn’t talk like that. She was trying her very hardest to believe that Brent would be all right. That he was still coming back. That
nothing would “happen” to either him or the old man sharing dinner with her.
“I’d be happy to help, but—are you sure it’s safe?”
“Yes, I trust you. And there’s no official connection between the two of us. Nobody would think to search through your keyring, even if they knew to be looking for a key.”
“Well, I really don't understand what exactly is going on, but I’d be happy to hold onto it for you.”
The man reached into his pocket and passed her a plain bronze-colored key. She added it to her keyring between the laundry room key and the key to the house she’d grown up in. Jangling them together as if to hide the new arrival, she pocketed the bunch.
“All safe,” she said, taking a deep breath and forcing herself not to check the time again.
Chapter 10
DR. NOVAK SNORED SOFTLY on the couch. Emily, pacing, rubbed her hands together and then wrapped her arms around herself, glancing down at her watch. It was nearly 10 o’clock.
Where was Brent?
Please bring him back.
She stopped mid-stride, listening hard in the semi-darkened apartment. Walking softly, she approached the front door and peered out the peep hole. Someone was outside, though she couldn’t tell who. She’d left her porch light off, so turning it on now would signal whoever was outside that she had seen them.
What if it was Brent?
What if it wasn’t?
All she could see was the shadowy silhouette of someone wearing a baseball cap. Brent had been wearing one last time she’d seen him, but so did a lot of the male—and some of the female—population.
The figure raised his hand to knock and then paused. He instead moved in close to the door. Emily instinctively backed up.
“Emily!” came a quiet hiss through the seal around the door. “It’s me: Brent!”
Emily reached for the deadbolt and paused. Anyone could come and whisper that they were Brent. She needed a challenge question. What could she ask him that only he would know?
All at once, she knew. “Before I let you in,” she whispered back, “what did you spill the first day we worked together?”
Red Rover, Red Rover Page 4
