“Yes, sir.”
“Harrison, please be a gentleman with our guest. She’s a close friend of my girl and has had a rough couple of months.”
I tilt my head, arching an eyebrow. He believes the story?
He believes it, I repeat inside my head, smiling.
Reaching out for Luna, I touch her hand lightly and smile at her. Another surge of energy hits me, and I’m starting to enjoy the jolt. In fact, I want more.
“Don’t worry, sir,” I respond. “She’s in good hands. If you’ll excuse us, we have reservations at eight, and then we’re going to the party.”
✰ ✰ ✰
“I’m starving, and the food is . . . too small?” Luna stares at her entrée. A piece of salmon the size of a credit card. The side of mashed potatoes isn’t much bigger either.
The waitress sets my filet mignon, which is also a small portion, in front of me. This place is known as a boutique restaurant. They serve sophisticated, unique plates. The menu changes daily and the portions are enough to satisfy the patron’s palette, not their appetite. At least, that’s what Hazel explained during the drive.
“Next time, I’ll choose the place,” Scott, who is a pretty patient man and never complains, offers. “This is a joke. I’m going to starve all night. You’ll starve.”
“Why here?” Luna looks around, leaning closer and lowering her voice. “If neither one of you like it.”
There’s not much to see. The restaurant is inside an abandoned bodega. The high ceiling holds multiple mason jar pendant lights. The tables are metal and wood. It has an industrial-modern atmosphere. However, there’s a crowd outside waiting for a table. They’re booked until the end of the year, and their takeout-delivery service is an hour and thirty minutes behind. We heard a customer complain when he came to pick up his food.
“Visibility,” Hazel responds. “Part of the story.”
“Yeah, what’s the cover?” I try to keep my voice down too.
“That’s all. You get to know her, sweep her off her feet in front of your audience.” She shrugs. “It can’t get simpler than showing them what’s happening in real time.”
“But it’s not real,” Luna remarks.
“They don’t have to know that,” Hazel chides with a sweet smile. “It’s about perception.”
She kisses Scott really close to his lips. Then she turns to look around. Everyone is watching her next move. “See, they’re waiting to find out if we are a couple, or if that’s just a friendly kiss. I’ll keep them guessing until they see either one of us dating.”
“I feel like I’m a box of chocolates and you’re selling me to these people.” Luna sets her forearms on the table, looking at Hazel intrigued. “How does that work in this case?”
“I’m displaying you two at the trendiest places. People notice.” Hazel scans the area.
“You’d think that in a city with millions of people, no one would notice who you are, but some people aren’t invisible,” Hazel says as she tastes her salmon. “Everyone knows the Everhart brothers. They are on some kind of watch. Hunter not so much since he’s taken, but these two are a hot commodity.”
She grins, touching my hand and Scott’s. “My hot commodities,” she cackles. “If I wanted, I could auction them and get a lot of money for them.”
“You’re a hot commodity too, sweetheart,” I remind her.
“I bet there’re a few pictures circulating on social media of the four of us.” Hazel ignores me. “Harmless comments regarding the mystery woman sitting next to Harrison, across from Scott. Is Scott finally with that Beesley girl? They have married, engaged me, knocked me up, and divorced me from them a million times. And I enjoy playing with that.”
“You need a hobby, Hazel.” Scott stares at the plate. “Is there going to be a real dinner afterward?”
Hazel smiles at him and steals a cherry tomato from his plate. “We can go to your place and order pizza after. Unless you want to cook something. I promise to bake cookies in exchange.” She takes a bite of his food and pushes her plate. “In fact, let’s go now. I’m starving.”
“Let me ask for the check.” I stop them.
She turns to look at me with that wicked smile I hate. “You two are staying. We’ll see you at the party in about an hour. Start working the Everhart charm on Miss Luna, Harrison.”
“Hazel is an evil genius,” Luna implies, eating her food.
“Evil. Take the genius away from the title.”
“You two remind me of Lucas and myself. She’s like your sister, isn’t she?” Luna deducts and laughs.
I frown, not understanding her statement. “Who is Lucas?”
“My brother. He’s the middle child. Santiago is the oldest.” I nod a couple of times. “Tiago’s our half-brother.”
Her smile disappears. I take her hand, squeezing it lightly. “Everything all right?”
“Of course, my sugar levels are down.”
“Eat your food, and I promise to buy you a sandwich on our way to the party. Now tell me, is this ex-fiancé real?”
“Nah, I’ve never dated anyone for too long. You?”
“I lived with someone, but it didn’t work out,” I respond with the short, light version. “It happened fifteen, sixteen years ago.”
While we eat, and I eat Hazel’s and Scott’s too, I ask her more questions. She doesn’t have a favorite color but likes pastel tones.
“I’m not kidding, Harry Potter. The entire series is my favorite book. I’m not saying it just because your name is Harrison,” she claims. “How about yours?”
“It’s a tie.”
“Lord of The Rings and . . . hmm, what else could it be?” She taps her chin, smiling at me.
“You’ll never guess,” I invite her to surrender.
But she doesn’t, she continues with a long list of books, then mentions authors like Orwell, Asimov, Twain, King, Poe, and Hawkins and I finally stop her.
“You’re never going to guess.”
“Well then, tell me.”
“Instead, why don’t you tell me what your favorite food is?” I brush a strand of hair from her face and kiss her lightly on the cheek.
Luna isn’t a picky eater. In fact, she loves all kinds of food, liver included. Is liver edible? She lives in Alexandria, but she was born here in Manhattan. And we discovered that her father hates me.
“Special Agent Cristobal Santillan,” I repeat his name and massage my forehead.
I’m sitting next to the hottest woman I’ve ever met, and she happens to be the daughter of Cristobal Santillan. This is a cruel irony. If I make an attempt to even kiss her, her brother and her father are going to eliminate me. When this is over, Tiago is going to pay for this. Why hasn’t he mentioned that he’s related to him before . . . to them? The last name Cordero is way different than Santillan. “Wait, your brother is Luc Santillan?”
“It’s safe to assume that you know them, but you had no idea about our relations to Tiago.” She frowns.
“Tiago only talks about his mom,” I explain to her. “Your father hates me.”
“What do you mean he hates you?”
“We’ve worked with him a couple of times. He thinks I’m a useless piece of shit, his words.”
“That sounds like my father.” She beams. “He’s a teacher now at Quantico.”
“Telling the new recruits they’re pieces of shit?”
She laughs, and the sound is melodic, contagious, and addictive. Maybe this mission isn’t as bad as I thought. I’ll spend several weeks with my brothers, and the company isn’t as bad as it could be. Not my type, but she’s easy on the eyes and decent to talk to.
Nine
Luna
Stretched T-shirt, dried blood, and a badass attitude looked good on him. But that’s nothing compared to Harrison Everhart wearing a suit. His tall, broad, body wrapped in dark gray is a sight I want to photograph, frame, and stare at forever. He’s the type of man who behaves differently depending on the pl
ace and time. For the past five hours, we’ve chatted pleasantly about our families. Nothing too superficial but nothing terribly intimate, either. If I had time to date, he’d be the kind of man I’d choose. Easy to talk to, funny, and a gentleman.
A refreshing change from the guys who I hook up with when I have time to go out with my friends. Which lately has been never. Maybe I have time, but I don’t want to waste it by doing the same thing over and over again. Meeting a guy who has few social skills, only talks about himself, and by the end of the date is the only one who is satisfied, isn’t great. I have little friendly toys that do a better job, and I don’t have to listen to nonsense.
This would be a great subject for a sociology class; the interactions between humans, and how that they’re so out of touch with one another that dating has become a joke. What happened to love letters? The chase is so much different now than it was back when my parents dated. I should quit the Bureau and go back to school—finish my psychology degree, go into anthropology or sociology. I would enjoy doing that more than having to jump through hoops to show that I’m capable of more things than my superiors like to acknowledge. If anything, I can write a book with Mom’s letters and notes.
A manual on how it’s done.
“Everything okay?” Harrison asks when the service car stops and the driver opens my door. “You’ve been quiet since we left the party.”
Define okay? My skin tingles every time you touch me, your deep voice makes me shiver, and dancing in your arms was a bit torturous because everything inside me wanted you to touch more than my bare shoulders and my waist. But yeah, I’m cool.
“Your brother and Hazel never arrived at the party,” I comment, not disclosing that I’d like to find out how my fake future boyfriend kisses. “Gia wasn’t there either.”
“I’m sorry about that. If you want, I can try to find out her whereabouts. My people can hack her phone and track her daily activities.” He smirks and winks. “We can start stalking her.”
“Stalking?” I boom, laughing and covering my mouth when a couple walking close to us turns to glare at me.
“Yeah, that’s the word, and you know what they say, ‘couples that stalk together stay together.’” He grins, his blue-crystal eyes shining with the street light.
That grin is addictive. I shouldn’t mind pretending to be with him while I’m working. A little fun on the side, some sexy times. Sex. I haven’t had that in a long time. So long that I can only remember what my toys can do for me. But I care. He’s a distraction. Each time he smirks touches me, or talks with the low-bedroom voice, I want to jump him. That’s not only unprofessional but also illogical.
“Anything for the sake of the case, right?” My voice comes out a little throaty, needy.
He clears his throat, looking around and poking the elevator. “We should do this again,” he says, leaning closer to me.
“Technically, we have to do it again.”
“Have I mentioned this is the best case I’ve ever worked on in my entire life?” He leans forward, kissing my cheek. His lips lingering close to my ear for one too many seconds, his musk-wood scent makes my stomach flutter.
“Thank you.” I swallow hard, turning around and stepping into the elevator. “We can discuss our next move tomorrow.”
I poke the elevator button. Looking through the doors that start closing, his gaze locks with mine. His eyes darken, the intensity of that gaze makes me feel vulnerable, bare. I imagine my skin searing with the touch of his big hands. As the doors close, my phone rings. An incoming message. Unknown numbers read across the screen.
Unknown: This was the best first date I’ve had in a long time. Thank you.
The corners of my lips stretch toward the sky when I read his words. Relief washes over me. I had no idea that his opinion mattered to me. I have to agree with him. This might be the best undercover operation I’ve had in my entire career.
Luna: It was great, wasn’t it?
Unknown: I propose that we take full advantage of the situation and spend the next few weeks doing what normal couples do.
Luna: Is that what you do during your undercover missions?
Harrison: This is a different kind of mission. You have your orders, I don’t have any. We can mix it up, and find a middle ground where we can enjoy each other while we work. What do you think?
I stare at the phone. This is new territory for me. The undercover operations I’ve taken part of usually include finding female informants. In most cases, I meet the family members of the missing people, run their profiles, and work some insider investigation. This is different from any other case I’ve worked before because I’m away from home and the operation could take more than only a couple of weeks. Would it be possible to entertain the idea of being with Harrison while I work? It could work. As long as feelings aren’t involved.
Luna: It might work, we’ll have to talk about ground rules.
Harrison: We can make a few of those as we go.
Luna: Then it’s a deal.
Harrison: Good night, Moon.
Luna: Good night, Harry.
✰ ✰ ✰
I put my iPod on the speaker, turn on the music, and soft jazz fills the air. I want to set a light atmosphere. Dad has been trying to get in touch with me, and I’ve ignored him. However, he threatened to come visit if I don’t call him tonight.
“Luna bear, I’m glad you decided to call your old man.”
“Hello, Papá,” I greet Dad.
“How are you doing?”
“Great, this city is interesting. I can’t believe you moved back to Alexandria after . . .” I pause, we don’t speak much about her, but I wish he could tell me more about her. He doesn’t talk about his years living with her in New York. That life disappeared once she died. “Do you still miss her?”
There’s a sigh on the other side. The pause is long. I wish he would talk about Mom a lot more than the usual, she loved you. She was the love of my life. Or my favorite when he’s drunk, I wished I could’ve saved her.
“Is that why you accepted the assignment?” His voice is severe.
“They wanted to move me to Quantico, Dad,” I answer with a different reason.
“Quantico isn’t bad, you’d be working next to your father.” The tone is lighter, the worry still tangled with his words.
I slip down my dress, walk to the dresser, and search for a T-shirt to sleep in. Mom’s blue journal is under my 1986 Journey World Tour shirt. That was one of her favorite bands. I like them but not as much as the ones she has on her tapes under Spanish rock.
“Papá, do I look like her at all?”
“Her?”
“Mom,” I whisper. Unlike me, my mother had porcelain skin and blond hair. She was Caucasian. Her family came from old money, and for her birthday she traveled to other countries. I’ve never gone out of the country, or on vacations. “I look nothing like her.”
“You have her eyes, her smile, and her fearless, compassionate, and sweet personality.” Dad’s voice sounds lost. “I miss her every day.”
“I wish I had spent more time with her,” I tell him, searching for some comfort through her words. “Can you tell me about Mom?”
“Luna, why are you in New York?”
And we are done discussing Mom.
“I’m working, Dad,” I remind him. “Children shouldn’t be taken away from their families. But when they are, someone has to find a way to bring them back home—alive.”
“That won’t bring your mother or your sister back, Luna. It puts you in danger.”
“One life exchanged for another is not a fair price to pay,” I repeat some of the words he’s said throughout the years.
During the eighties, he led several missions as a Navy SEAL. He has worked cases of national security while in the bureau that have saved millions of lives and put him in danger.
Dad’s a hero, but he couldn’t save his own family.
“Luna, don’t talk that way,” he pleads.
My heart hurts as the pain in his voice squeezes it tight. “I wish I could send you to your room for the next hundred years. Do you have any idea what’d happen to me if I lost you or your brothers? I wish you had been doctors, teachers, cooks or another professional career that wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.”
Mom was a teacher, she still died young, I don’t say that out loud because the words will hurt us both.
“I’m safe, Papá,” I say the words he wants to hear even when neither one of us believe them.
No one is safe from death. That’s the only thing in this world that doesn’t discriminate.
“New York isn’t a safe place, I’ll make a few calls. Have a good night, mi Chiquita linda.”
I can’t believe he still calls me his little beauty. I’m thirty-one, not three. The men in my family have a hard time remembering my age, but their sweetness makes me feel loved. But what kind of calls is he going to make? Is he going to ask my superiors to pull me out of my post?
“Night, Papá.”
I open the journal to a random page, I have to hear her words.
✰ ✰ ✰
He’s here. I saw Cristobal walking along Central Park with a woman holding a little boy. He has a family. My heart beat fast when I recognized him, but slowed down when I heard the kid call him Papa. His mother was right, I wasn’t meant to be with him. We’re different. My parents warned me, he’s not in love with you.
If only I could stop loving him. I surrendered my heart to him. My body and soul belong to him. Even when I’ve let other men touch me. I’m his.
I console myself looking at Sammie. Having her is the best thing that’s happened to me. I can’t regret breaking up with him. That’d mean not having my little girl. She’s the only one who matters to me.
Ten
Luna
Sleeping after my conversation with Dad is impossible. He’s miles away from me. We don’t discuss my cases. He doesn’t know that I’ve read all of Mom’s journals several times. But for some reason, he’s aware that I’m here for more than one reason. I’m here because Mom deserves justice. Sammie ought to have gone back home after she died, with her family. They never came home. I hate to imagine the life we could’ve had if they had never been taken away from us.
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