by Evie Nichole
“Jason,” she said her voice cold, but betraying her emotion by coming out raspy.
“Monica,” he said, still standing. The people near them were glancing at them curiously as he stood there.
“Please,” she said, gesturing her hand toward the empty seat, still willing herself to be businesslike and emotionless—at least, as much as possible.
He sat with his hands in his lap like a schoolboy about to be reprimanded. He held her eye contact, however, as if he it would be cowardly to look down in shame. She felt fluttering in her stomach and clenched her jaw against it once more. Yes, he’s cute, she thought forcefully to herself, but that’s far from important right now. Cut it out.
In any other circumstance, she would have laughed at herself.
She kind of wanted him to say something first. She felt like she was giving in, letting him win as it was. Inviting him here felt like rewarding bad behavior or something. She didn’t know how to jump into it. Looking at him, feeling the shock of seeing him walk through the door, how tired and ashamed he looked, was making everything she’d planned to say disappear from her head. He just stared at her, and she realized he was letting her take the lead. She appreciated that he seemed to feel like he didn’t have a place to speak in this situation. A lot of people she’d known throughout her life would have immediately jumped in and started apologizing or explaining or justifying. A few would have started blaming her for overreacting.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Information, a voice in her head said, you want information. That was what she’d said in the text she’d sent him. She knew there were other motives inside her as well, one of them being that she wanted to see if Zoe’s theories were right. The other being that the thought of seeing him again had made at least part of her quite happy to think about; the part that wasn’t pissed at him or wishing he’d disappear off the face of the earth.
“Are you wearing a wire?” she asked, surprising herself with the question. She hadn’t been thinking about asking him that, but as she contemplated how to start her questioning, she realized she didn’t want to be listened to or put on record or anything.
“No,” he said, patting his hands down his shirt and turning his head to show her his ears. She knew there were probably other places to hide a listening device, but she still had this unexplained trust in him.
She nodded, still unsure of where to begin. Before she could start forming her first sentence, Jason cleared his throat.
“Can I make a suggestion?” His voice was low and unassuming. He was ready to be shot down, even yelled at.
“Sure,” she said, accepting the extra time to figure out what she wanted to say exactly.
“You said you wanted information. I can’t give you all of it, so if you have specific questions there may be a lot of them I can’t answer. But I can tell you everything I know I’m allowed to tell you. Or, at least, what I know I won’t get in a ton of trouble for telling you.” She looked at him, wondering if he was playing her. He didn’t look like he was hiding anything. Quickly, he added, “But I’ll answer your questions as best I can if you prefer to do things that way. Whatever you want.”
He was trying extremely hard to make up for what he’d done, she could see that. It irritated her, in part, because she still wanted to be mad at him. It was the same reason she’d been frustrated when Zoe had been coming up with theories to justify his actions. When she thought about it, however, him telling her everything he could was probably the better idea. He would probably tell her more that way; he would probably answer questions she hadn’t even thought to ask.
“Tell me everything,” she said plainly.
“I can’t—”
“Everything you can, I mean.”
“Alan is second-in-command of the American faction of a drug ring that also involves several other countries. He’s not the most powerful, but he’s pretty powerful. He was tracked because of tax numbers that didn’t add up, and then was surveilled on “business trips” that usually had nothing to do with his front business, which is selling high-end jewelry. We believe the man in charge, the man he works for, was a customer at his boutique, and that’s how their association began. We know his code name and that he’s Caucasian, and that’s about it. We are tailing Alan in order to gather evidence on Alan and to try to identify his boss. If we can identify the boss, we will be able to assist our counterparts overseas in identifying the heads of the organization in their countries. We will be able to take down the entire operation more effectively if we get the highest-ranking members. I was assigned to you two months ago. I’ve been following you, yes, to learn your routine and to make sure I could recognize you.”
“Why did they pick you to do it?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure why she needed to know that.
She was shocked to see him blush. He looked down in an attempt to hide it. When he looked back up, he was smiling in embarrassment. “Because I’m more attractive than Alan so more likely to tempt you away from him.”
She stared at him. She didn’t know if she wanted to scoff or laugh. I mean, it’s true, she thought. She was also annoyed that getting information out of her had to involve seducing her, and that they were planning on doing so whether she was with Alan or not.
“Not very moral, are you guys? Or ethical, really, either.”
He shook his head, a look of stoicism masking his shame. “We push the boundaries to get what we need. We don’t break the law, but sometimes our plans are quite…questionable. Yes.”
She nodded, staring at the table, imagining him riding behind her as she went from work to her apartment and anywhere else. Trying to imagine him psyching himself up to come up and talk to her that night in the bar. She looked at him after a moment, realizing she’d zoned out, and nodded again for him to continue.
“That night, they wanted me to seduce you, yes, but my plan was to just get you talking. Flirt with you a little, play the good guy, see if you’d spill anything about Alan. That morning you were late leaving his place, and I almost thought you weren’t going to go to work and were going to just spend the day with him. I wasn’t sure when the bar thing was going to happen, but we’d noticed that you would go sometimes after work, or that you and Zoe would on weekends. When you left Alan’s place I could tell that you were upset. I—”
“What?” Monica asked.
“I thought that would make it easier for me to talk to you. If he had been a jerk. I’m sorry.”
He looked down again in shame. It didn’t upset her, she just acknowledged that he had been correct. At this point, most of what she was feeling was numbness.
“It’s fine,” she said so that he would continue.
“I almost panicked and left when I saw you crying. The guys pushed me though and I had to do my job. You have to believe me; I only ever planned to be your friend. It didn’t feel right, trying to be with someone who didn’t know who I really was. And especially trying to pick someone up who was so vulnerable.”
She laughed, shocking both of them. He looked at her fearfully. She was shaking her head, still chuckling. “Sorry,” she said somewhat breathlessly. When her laughter subsided, she looked at him, still shaking her head. He furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what she was thinking. “You really are a good guy, aren’t you?”
His brow remained furrowed but a look of immense sadness came into his eyes. “I’m really sorry I lied to you, Monica. I’m so, so sorry.”
She started to feel teary, and this time it was a combination of anger over what he’d done and sadness for the feelings for each other she was sure they had started to share. She stared at him, furrowing her own brow. His emotions were a tangle of anger and hurt and desire for him and forgiveness. He looked at her like he knew he didn’t deserve the latter. She knew that he was probably hoping for it—she knew she would be—but the fact that he didn’t look at all like he expected it was incredible to her.
“I know,” she said, her vo
ice so low she thought at first he hadn’t heard her. He kept his eyes down and didn’t move for a long time.
When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. “I didn’t know what to do. I knew what felt right and what felt wrong. I knew that lying to you felt wrong, but I was duty bound to do it, so I did, but I felt like it would be better if I wasn’t lying to you completely. Trying to get information out of you felt wrong, at first, because you were so devastated that night. It felt evil. And then it felt wrong because I started to like you. The next day I told them I couldn’t be on the case anymore, that it was a conflict of interest. They gave me so much shit for it. Some of it was mocking, but some of it was out of true anger. We’ve been working on this case for a long time. I told them, though, that you didn’t have any important information. That anything we could get out of you would most likely be meaningless or something we already knew about. I planned on not seeing you again. I planned on not calling and forgetting that you existed and letting you forget that I did, too. Maybe I should have.”
He said the last bit with a look that told her he wanted to know what she thought. Would she have preferred never hearing from him again to everything that had happened after he had contacted her?
“Why didn’t you?” She couldn’t decide which one she would have preferred, her feelings were too conflicted. She wanted him to keep talking; she wanted to keep trying to understand.
“Well, there are two reasons—and they’re both pretty selfish. The first is that I really wanted to see you again. I wanted to see you to make sure you were okay, yes, but also because I’d enjoyed spending time with you. I sound so lame, but it’s true. I felt comfortable with you. You were fun, and honest, and smart.”
“I was drunk,” she said, trying to dismiss his compliments.
“And when you aren’t, you’re still all of those things. The only thing that’s majorly different is that you’re far less flirtatious when you’re sober.”
She cringed, remembering how gross and blatant she had been at the diner. “And the second reason?”
“It’s mostly a rationalization. I thought it would be a real dick move to not call you after meeting you on the night you’d had your heart broken. Like kicking a dead horse, you know? Not that you’re a horse!” He looked completely panicked, his eyes wide and his eyebrows rose dramatically.
She giggled. “It’s okay, Jason.”
He looked at her with a complex look, like happy sadness, when she said his name.
“Anyway, the guys agreed to give you up as a source, but when they found out I was going to see you again, they kept hounding me to try to get information out of you. I shouldn’t have told them, but a couple of them are friends, you know?”
She just stared at him, lost in analyzing what he was saying and trying to figure out how it all was making her feel.
“I didn’t tell them anything. What I mean is, I told them what we talked about in regards to Alan, which only ever was that he was a jerk and stuff like that. I wasn’t pushing you for information, I wasn’t interested in that. I was interested in you. The guys told my boss, and he wanted me to keep trying. I told him that you didn’t know anything and that I thought we should go in different directions for our information. I told him that no matter what, I couldn’t be involved because I—”
“Because you what?”
“Because I had feelings for you.”
They both blushed and looked down, which made her giggle quietly. When she looked up, he was smiling in amusement as well.
Then she frowned, causing him to look fearful again. “You really hurt me,” she said quietly. He nodded, but said nothing. “And I feel like I shouldn’t trust you, but I do. And I have feelings for you, too.” She smiled, but her eyes were still sad. She didn’t know what she wanted to say next so she grabbed her now watered-down drink and took a long pull from the straw.
She replayed everything he had said in her mind. She focused on the part about Alan’s boss. Something had struck her when he mentioned that, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
“How many people work for his boutique?” she asked. Jason looked confused for a moment, and she realized he hadn’t been following her internal train of thought. Then understanding appeared in his eyes and he closed them, thinking.
“He owns it, employs four salespeople, a bookkeeper who we know is involved in the organization, two or three janitorial staff, and six security guards to work round the clock.”
She nodded, feeling certain that she hadn’t met any of those people at the party Alan had taken her to.
“Do drug organizations like that have parties, usually?”
He looked at her quizzically but answered matter-of-factly. “Generally low-key ones, though sometimes bigger affairs, with some sort of front. Parties are excellent for networking clients,” he paused, biting his lip, then smirked and continued, “and showing off how well you’re doing.”
She smirked right back at him; they were agreeing that that was definitely something Alan would do. She wished she had paid more attention at the party, remembered people’s names, asked more questions. She’d been bored, though, and practicing her usual rule about zoning out when it came to Alan’s work.
“Did you go to one?” Alan asked, sitting up a little straighter.
She knew immediately that he was going into work mode, but realized that it didn’t bother her because now she was trying to find answers as well. She was becoming invested.
“I think so.”
He nodded, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he said, “I’m not on the case anymore, but technically I can consult, as long as I don’t let my personal involvement interfere.”
“Does interference include me helping?” she asked, feeling an unexpected surge of excitement. She’d been feeling like she was in a police investigation television show all week, but now, instead of feeling like the victim, she was starting to feel like one of the investigators.
“No, actually, as long as we lay out what you should and should not do. I know that sounds controlling, but we have to be careful so that we stay within the bounds of legality.”
She gave him a crooked smile.
“What?” he asked, smiling in return but looking confused.
“I like it when you talk investigator,” she said, her voice gravelly but the flush of red in her cheeks revealing her embarrassment at being so forward, even if in slight jest.
He smirked and shook his head. “How do you think you could help? How would you be willing to help?”
She looked down, noticing the crinkled straw paper in the middle of the table. She stared at it as she thought. She didn’t know the answer to his questions. Was she volunteering to help? Did that mean she was forgiving him? What did that mean about them? How dangerous would helping them be? Could she really trust him?
Once again, Zoe’s voice came to her inside her head. When she was younger, it used to be her mom’s voice, more often than not, coaching her through situations like this where she was confused, or upset, or second-guessing herself. Since Zoe had become her best friend and the person she saw and talked to more than anyone else, even when she had a boyfriend, it was Zoe’s.
“You don’t have to know all the answers right now, babe,” the voice said, exactly the way Monica knew Zoe would have said. She may have to break Zoe’s rule about not calling tonight to fill her in on all this madness.
“I think that I want to help. I don’t remember much about the party I went to, but maybe I could describe some of the people I met. Um…” she racked her brain, trying to remember everything Alan had ever said to her in this one moment. Nothing jumped out at her. This was one of the things she’d been thinking about since Jason’s revelation as well. He seemed to be very good at covering his tracks. Or maybe she was just totally oblivious.
“I don’t really know how else I could help, but I don’t know, if you make suggestions, or your guys have an idea, I can always say no if it makes m
e uncomfortable.”
It wasn’t a question, but Jason responded, “Of course.”
They looked at each other, both stimulated by the burgeoning investigative partnership between them, and both aware of the questions that remained unanswered between them.
She hated leaving things unspoken. When she saw an elephant in the room, she had a really hard time pretending it wasn’t there.
“I don’t know what this means, Jason, okay? I like you. I feel like I can trust you, but you lied to me, and you hurt me, and after knowing how Alan had treated me, you continued to do it. So I don’t want to trust you. And I don’t want to get hurt again. So I don’t know what this means for you and me, okay? I still have to figure that out.”
He nodded. “I understand, Monica,” and she knew that he did.
Chapter 11
Monica was sitting in a gray, carpeted room with a large window she was pretty certain was two-way glass. She was seated at a faux-wood and metal folding table on a metal folding chair. The room was freezing, and she was wishing she’d brought a sweater. She glanced around, sensing that if there was a two-way mirror there had to be other surveillance equipment around. She spotted round, black cameras mounted around the room just below the ceiling. Directly above her was a wreath of what she assumed was microphones. She spotted a wire snaking into a small hole in the ceiling, connected to the six black cylinders with spongey round heads.
Jason had led her in here five minutes ago, promising to return quickly. She was here to meet his team, but she knew this was an interrogation room, and she was growing increasingly edgy. The feeling that she should not trust Jason kept flashing in the back of her mind. What if he had just brought her here to let his team hound her for information on Alan? She took a deep breath, reminding herself of his sincerity, of his insistence that they do everything on her terms, of the fact that he continued to apologize repeatedly.
