“I guess not,” Luke answers, biting down on the inside of his cheek.
“They’re still going to be looking for us,” I say, turning back toward the window. “We need to get off the highway soon and call Cam. Figure out a way to switch cars and keep driving west.”
I press my head against the glass as we pass the fenced-in backyards of a New Jersey neighborhood that I’m sure has some cute name for real estate marketing purposes. All of these people went to bed with muddy flower beds and dead leaves and forgotten dog droppings in the grass. This morning, they wake up with the ugliness of everyday life gone, blanketed by several inches of white. It’s not exactly the snow of fairy tales, but it’s still dazzling as it falls. Snow, especially around Christmas, is nothing short of magical. Even when there’s dog shit hiding a few inches below.
“God, I’m so stupid,” Harper says, her voice thin in the backseat. I turn around to see her studying her hands, wringing them together, pulling at her fingers.
“Why do you say that?” I ask her.
“I thought he was really nice,” Harper says, still staring down at her hands.
“Who? Mateo?” I ask.
“Yeah. I feel stupid for liking him so much,” Harper says, her eyes clouding as she continues to try to put all the pieces of this screwed-up puzzle together. “So he was just … it was all just…”
“It was all fake,” I confirm as Harper watches the snow out the window. I touch her on her knee, startling her out of her stare. “A setup. A way to get at you. Probably to flush us out.”
“So, what happens now?” Harper asks, looking back and forth between us. “Can you guys just drop me off in Ohio or something?”
Luke shoots me a look, his eyebrows raised in my direction.
Shit. My hands immediately rise to my cheeks as my mind races. For the last six hours, all I could think about was getting to Harper and fleeing Manhattan. All I wanted was to keep my best friend alive. The fallout from all this, she’s not ready for. And quite frankly, neither am I.
God, what have I done?
My tongue swells in my mouth. I bite down on it to stop it from thickening, blocking the very hard truth that must tumble out of my mouth.
I turn back around to face Harper, the frown that’s already on her face falling even deeper as she reads the concern sketched across my own.
“What?” she asks, pushing her hands against her thighs and locking her elbows.
“You can’t go home,” I say and shake my head. “It’s way too dangerous. If Fernando’s people knew where your dorm was, they absolutely know where you live in New Albany. They’ll find you and take you. You’re not safe there.”
“But it’s holiday break,” Harper says, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest, her voice and stance growing more and more defensive. “I was supposed to fly home tomorrow. I’ve got a plane ticket. My parents are expecting me.”
“I know,” I answer and take a breath, trying to find some relief from the rancid remorse at the pit of my stomach. But air doesn’t help. “We’ll work with CORE to come up with some kind of cover story. To make sure your parents know you’re okay. But you cannot call them without our permission. And you absolutely cannot tell them what’s going on or then they’ll be at risk too.”
“We should probably tell Cam that they need a guard on their house,” Luke says, and I nod.
“What? A guard? For my family?” Harper says, getting louder with each word.
“They won’t know anyone is even there,” I assure her. “They’ll be out of view. It’s just a precaution.”
“I’ll die if something happens to my parents,” Harper says, her fingers now shaking and digging into her stomach. “Please. You cannot let anything happen to them, Reagan.”
“I promise you,” I say, trying to take her trembling hand into my own. “I will make sure they are safe.”
“Just like you made sure I was safe?” Harper says, her voice growing angry. She yanks her hand away from mine.
“Harper, look, just calm down and…” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“How am I supposed to calm down?” Harper snaps, bringing her hands to her head and pulling at her hair, her eyes now filling with tears. “Unless you have Valium on you, I am going to freak out. I’ve got someone trying to kill me. I’m not allowed to go home. My family is in danger. I’m driving who knows where and can’t be with the people I love for Christmas.”
“Neither can I,” I say quietly, immediately regretting my horrible attempt at empathy as soon as the words leave my mouth.
“Yeah, but you chose this crazy, dangerous life, Reagan,” Harper says, narrowing her eyes at me. “I didn’t. But somehow along the way, it looks like you cursed me with it too.”
You obliterate everything you touch.
The last words of Santino Torres come back to me, the memory causing my body to sway. He was right. All I do is hurt.
My jaw slacks as I search for the right words. But they don’t come. And they probably never will. Because how do you even begin to apologize for destroying so many lives?
I turn back around in my seat and stare at the growing snowstorm, my lips clenched between my teeth. Besides the windshield wipers, the car is silent. My brain repeats the daily affirmation that began the morning after my mother’s murder.
You should have died. You should have died. You should have died.
EIGHT
“Will that be credit card or cash?” asks the petite motel clerk with mousey brown hair and meek voice. I’m standing on beige linoleum floors meant to look like tile. But the glue has worn off in the corners and they’re starting to peel back. The wobbly front desk is wrapped in seventies knotted wood paneling and looks like it could tip over with one good push. Large black water spots dot the tiled ceiling panels and the buzz of the cheap fluorescent lights burrows into my ear canal.
“Cash,” I answer quickly and reach into my wallet to pull out the forty-five dollars that is advertised on the sign out front.
After calling Cam, we were able to change out our damaged SUV for a black Jeep from a Black Angel watcher in Cranford, New Jersey. From there, we were instructed to stay on back roads (fewer security cameras at off-the-grid diners and motels) and keep driving west through Pennsylvania. We’ve been getting instructions directly from Cam and Sam (she was brought in against my initial protest). I was told my father was busy with a mission back at CORE and would “deal with me later.” Yeah. Can’t wait. Every time the phone rings, I want to throw myself out of the car. While it’s moving.
“You’ll be staying in room one forty-one,” she says, handing me a real key. I haven’t seen a real key at a hotel in … well … maybe ever. “Checkout is at noon.”
“Thanks,” I say, gripping the green plastic key chain. “Is there a restaurant or fast food or anything near here?”
“There’s an Arby’s about five miles away,” she says, looking over my shoulder at the whirling snowstorm. “But I wouldn’t go out if I were you. Tow trucks can take hours to get out here. Vending machine’s a few doors down from your room if you’re hungry.”
“Okay,” I say with a nod. A dinner of Cheetos and Twizzlers it is.
“I hope you enjoy your stay,” the clerk calls after me as I walk back out into the dark December night. The wind immediately rips open my coat and my hair is covered in thick white flakes in a matter of seconds. I move quickly toward the waiting Jeep and hop back in the front seat, welcoming the blast of artificial heat.
“Room one forty-one. Closest food place is several miles down the street,” I answer and search for the direction of our room. “Looks like it’s a vending machine kind of night.”
“Aw, man,” Harper says, squirming in the backseat. “I’m starving. We’ve barely eaten anything today.”
The watcher brought us gas station hot dogs (that tasted like they had been cooking on one of those little rolly machines for five days) and bottled water when we switched out
cars so we didn’t have to stop and get caught anywhere on camera.
“I know,” I answer and point Luke in the direction of room 141 on the opposite side of the L-shaped motel. “I’m hungry too. But these back roads are completely covered. And it’s not like we can call AAA if we skid off the road. We can stop at the Arby’s on the way out of town tomorrow.”
“Oh my God. It’s an Arby’s?” Harper says before slapping her hands on the leather seats in frustration. “I’d seriously strangle an ugly cat for a roast beef and cheddar sandwich right now. I’d strangle a really cute one for a large curly fry.”
“You’re crazy,” Luke says with a little laugh as he backs out of his spot near the motel lobby. “But yeah, it’s better we stay put. I’ll get us some vending machine goodies.”
“There better be Doritos in that vending machine,” Harper replies as Luke carefully guides the car through the slick parking lot toward our room. “Or don’t even bother coming back.”
* * *
Click. Click. Click. Click.
Harper is sitting on one of the two double beds in our motel room, turning the knob on the brass reading light next to the bed on and off. On and off. She sits on the bedspread, a hideous beige, brown, and rust flower pattern, still in her puffy jacket, staring blankly at the boxy TV that has probably been bolted down onto the dresser since 1993.
I unbutton my jacket and throw it onto one of the two rust-colored chairs that anchor a small wood table.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
This room, like most of our drive today, is tense and silent. Except for the clicking. That’s new.
“Do you want to watch TV or something?” I ask and cross the room to pick up the remote.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Harper says, shaking her head. “I read that TV remotes are the most disgusting things in a hotel room. Even fancy places. So imagine how many germs are on a remote in a place like this.”
“This place is not that bad,” I reply, skipping the remote and sitting down on the opposite double bed.
“Are you kidding me?” Harper asks, raising her eyebrows, still fiddling with the light switch. “This motel is where prostitutes come to die.”
“I know you’re used to five star, but this is not the coke-and-hooker den you think it is. It’s just a rundown motel.”
“Are you kidding me?” Harper says, scrunching up her face. “I don’t even want to take off my coat.”
The door behind me swings open, crashing violently against the wall, causing both Harper and me to jump. I spin around, my nerves firing, ready to attack.
“Jesus,” I say, my tense shoulders falling as I see Luke standing in the doorway, struggling to carry two armfuls of vending machine goodies.
“Sorry, I’m juggling like half the contents of that vending machine,” Luke replies, a gust of wind picking up the snow on the pavement outside our room, the snowflakes swirling around Luke’s legs. He steps inside the room, slamming the door with his foot, before dumping thousands of calories worth of snacks on the bed next to me.
“Ladies, a feast,” he says, taking off his coat and throwing it with mine on the chair. “And there were Doritos. I got the kind you like, Harper.”
“Cool Ranch?” she asks, her eyes comically wide with hope.
“Cool Ranch,” he responds, tossing her the blue bag.
“God, I love you,” she says, shaking her head and tearing open the cellophane. “And I missed the shit out of you, Luke. Well, missed the shit out of both of you this last year.”
“We missed you too,” I reply, an unexpected rush of emotion tightening my vocal cords. Harper catches the change in my voice and looks up at me, her face softening for the first time all day. She’ll never really understand just how much I missed her. How I used to lie awake in the safe house in Virginia and try to imagine an alternate life back with her and Malika in New Albany. How I’ve gone on spring break and to prom and to graduation parties with her, all in my own mind. And that these manufactured memories kept me breathing when all I wanted was to follow my mother into the black.
“It was hard when you guys didn’t come back to school,” Harper says, her mouth crunching down on chips. “I thought it was weird that it happened at the same time, but the excuses made sense.”
“What cover story did CORE come up with for you, Luke?” I ask, realizing I never had.
“That I got accepted into a JROTC program that would help my chances of getting into West Point,” he says, taking a seat next to me on the bed and opening up a bag of pizza-flavored Combos.
“It was believable,” Harper says, licking remnants of Cool Ranch flavoring off her fingers. “And then of course getting your email, Reagan, I was so devastated for you. I emailed you a million times. Called your cell phone over and over again. Finally, I think I got a message saying your phone had been disconnected and I stopped calling. I was just so … confused. And sad.”
“I’m really sorry,” I say, my nails picking at the pilled fabric of the chair. “I wasn’t allowed to reach out to you. I had to beg them to even let me write you that email to say good-bye.”
“I’m glad I know that now,” Harper says, glancing up at me for a moment and then back down at her bag of chips. “I just didn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore. Why I couldn’t come to your mother’s funeral or visit you. I was pissed to be honest. But I sort of thought maybe your past reminded you of your mother and that’s why you cut me out of your life. Couldn’t have predicted it was because you two were training to be secret government operatives or whatever the hell you are.”
The satellite phone begins ringing and my muscles immediately clench, knowing who will be on the other end.
I don’t want to deal with you. I don’t want to deal with you.
Luke glances at the phone behind us on the table and then back at me, knowing it’s most likely my father.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“I know you don’t want to talk to him,” he says, reading my mind. “But you’ve got to answer it or they’re going to think something is wrong.”
He’s right. I rise from my spot on the bed and pick up the satellite phone.
“Hello,” I say into the mouthpiece.
“Reagan Elizabeth, just what the hell were you thinking?” My father’s gruff voice fills my ear. I look up to see Harper and Luke trying to occupy themselves with their bags of snacks but clearly able to hear my father on the other end.
“Nice to hear your voice too, Dad,” I say and lean my body against the wood table.
“Answer me, Reagan,” he pushes.
“I was doing what you trained me to do,” I say with a sigh.
“What I trained you to do was follow orders and yet you’ve managed to constantly screw that up, which is how you got yourself into this mess in the first place. You don’t understand the shit I had to do to get you into the Shadow Program. The strings I pulled and favors I called in to put you somewhere safe. And you couldn’t even last up in Vermont for one month without going rogue. If it wasn’t for me, you and Luke would have been handed new IDs before being dropped off at some bus station with a few hundred dollars in your pockets.”
“Dad, look … I’m very grateful…” I begin but he keeps talking.
“Do you know just how badly Fernando wants to kill you and Luke?” he asks, his voice swelling with fury. “Do you get it? Do you even understand what you did in Indonesia? By killing Santino Torres, you have taken away the leader of one of the most powerful drug cartels in the world. You have weakened their business and the leaders that are left want your head on a stake.”
“Of course I understood the risk of leaving Vermont,” I reply, cradling the satellite phone between my ear and shoulder as I throw on my peacoat. “But what was I supposed to do, Dad? Let Harper get kidnapped? Let her die? Because God forbid I screw up your position at CORE or make you look bad for pulling strings to get us into the Shadow Program.”
; “Reagan, do not minimize all I’ve done for you,” my father says, his voice growing harsher by the second. I open the door and step outside into the winter storm, away from the prying eyes and ears of my friends. “I still can barely get my head around what you did in Indonesia. Not to mention the fact that you lied to me for a year.”
“I never lied to you, Dad,” I reply, a burst of freezing wind striking my cheek. I hug my arms to my chest, trying to conserve the little warmth I have, and suddenly I wish I was back at our house in New Albany, fighting over a boy or bad grades or sneaking out at night. Something normal fathers and daughters fight about. Not this.
“Yes, you did,” he answers. “I thought you were becoming a Black Angel because you wanted to help people. I believed you were in Qualifiers for the right reasons. We cut other promising trainees who really wanted to be there. All so you could kill Santino. All so you could get your revenge.”
My entire body is trembling and I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or this long-awaited confrontation or both. I shake out my free arm, trying to stop the quivering, but it doesn’t help.
“I killed the man who killed my mother,” I hiss. “Your wife. Remember?”
My legs take several large steps down the open motel corridor until I reach the door for the vending machine and ice. I slip inside the semi-warm space, my eyes quickly scanning the room for cameras.
“Do not patronize me,” my father answers, his voice cracking with wrath. “Your mother was my world. Of course I wanted Santino dead. But there is a right way and a wrong way to do things. And Reagan, you chose the wrong way. You could have stayed with the Black Angels and helped us catch him down the road and still go on to change the world. But you wanted to do it your way. So you lied and manipulated me. You’ve betrayed me. And you’ve betrayed your mother.”
His words knock me back. I force my body up against the cinder-block wall of the tiny, enclosed space just to stay upright.
Selfish girl. Selfish girl. Selfish girl.
“I … I’m…” my voice stammers as tears scratch at my throat, stealing the words on my tongue. I picture my father pacing in front of the desk at his small office in CORE, his neck red from both his rage and the tie he’s worn all day.
You Won't See Me Coming Page 6
