by Julie Cross
She nodded eagerly and started to follow Holly. I grabbed her arm and pulled her in the other direction. “Sorry, we have to go.”
“No, we don’t,” Kendrick said.
I groaned and followed behind both of them. My eyes moved up and down Holly’s back, searching for something familiar, the same purse or key chain, anything that made her Holly. Right now she had a different boyfriend and a different schedule, since she was taking an early college course.
“Hey, Brian. Apparently you have fans on both sides of the country,” Holly said, pointing at Kendrick.
Brian stuck a T-shirt back on the rack and gave Kendrick a half smile. “Really? I didn’t know NYU students cared about UCLA football.”
“I’m a med student. We’re a completely different breed,” Kendrick said.
“Well, then spend your time getting to know the replacement starting quarterback, because I doubt I’ll be on the field much next season,” Brian said.
Too bad. Poor Brian Belmont.
“I’ve studied a ton of physical therapy. What kind of post-op rehab program are you on?” Kendrick asked.
Brian answered her question in detail, but I couldn’t hear a word of the conversation. All I could do was stare at his good arm snaking around Holly’s waist. I immediately formed a mental list of ten different and very painful ways I could remove his hand from her body. It took every ounce of energy I had to grind my teeth and maintain the three feet of distance separating me from Mr. Football God.
Why was I okay with David, but not this dude?
Because I knew she only had lukewarm feelings for David. I knew he wasn’t an asshole. I didn’t know anything about this guy. He could be a major sleazeball.
Cover … you’re undercover.
Not only was I undercover, I was preventing Holly from being thrown off a roof by Thomas a couple months from now.
“I can’t believe no one has even suggested that surgery. The research shows unbelievable results. I actually know the doctor who performs it here in New York. I could probably get you a free consult,” Kendrick said.
Wait, don’t help him. Actually, no, we should do everything we can to heal him up ASAP so he’ll go back to L.A.
“Seriously?” Brian said. “That would be … awesome. I knew there had to be some crazy procedure that no one wanted to tell me about.”
Kendrick smiled and shrugged. “Great, give me your number and I’ll have him call you.”
I waited while they exchanged numbers. The jealousy had mostly faded and was replaced with a deeper loneliness than I’d ever felt. I barely noticed Kendrick a minute later, tugging my arm and leading me out of the store and in the opposite direction of the other two.
“How cool was that?” she said.
“Amazing,” I mumbled.
She stopped and turned to face me. “What’s with you?”
“I’m just hungry. You’re delaying my snack time.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Are you worried because that girl met someone with your name? That your cover may be blown?”
“Yep, that’s it,” I lied.
“We’re supposed to meet Freeman at the Plaza in an hour,” Kendrick said. “Wanna head over early? Maybe walk around Central Park?”
“Sure.” This should be a blast. A walk down memory lane, the very last thing I needed right now. But in a week I would be back in France with Dad and I could push this out of my head and just keep working.
JUNE 11, 2009
LOCATION: PLAZA HOTEL IN MANHATTAN
Adam,
I almost called you this afternoon. Mostly to convince myself that you are in fact a real living person and I’m not writing to imaginary people.
Seeing Holly was too much. Way too much. And four hours of the most boring surveillance of my entire life didn’t help to keep my mind busy. The only highlight of this New York City mission so far was Freeman showing us the underground tunnels and CIA stations below the hotel. It’s like an entire village down there. There’s even a lab. Kendrick spent an hour in it with Dr. Melvin.
The biggest moment of drama came at the very end of the workday when all fourteen of us were shuffled into a classroom underground, and in walked Senator Healy. Let’s just say, my shock last night was nothing compared to the rest of the group’s. No one seemed to have any idea of Healy’s involvement let alone him being the substitute chief.
Dad hasn’t answered any of my texts, which isn’t too big of a surprise since he’s on a mission, too, but it still leaves me on edge. So much that I might do something stupid tonight like walk by your house just to see if you’re home. I know Holly didn’t recognize me, but something tells me you might. There’s no logic to back this up, just a gut feeling. Or maybe it’s what I want to believe. I really need to find something to keep my mind occupied tonight so I don’t do anything stupid.
Jackson
* * *
“I can’t believe Senator Healy is part of Tempest! And Marshall’s backup … that’s just crazy.”
“Will you stop saying that?” Stewart said to Kendrick.
Stewart, Mason, Kendrick, and I were all eating Thai food at a restaurant not far from the Plaza.
“There’s a lot of shit we don’t know about our organization,” I said. “We’re on the lowest end of the information chain.”
“Freeman looked just as shocked as the rest of us,” Kendrick said. “Do you think he knew?”
We all fell silent for a few minutes. None of us had an answer, or at least nothing anyone was willing to share. But it was a very good question.
“Real work sucks,” Mason said, changing the subject. “I can’t believe we came all the way to New York to do some stupid inspections any halfway competent FBI agent could do.”
“FBI agents are far from competent,” Stewart said.
“We’re like medical interns,” Kendrick said. “The guys who’ve already put in a few years will always be called first. But they’re not going to let us all rot into fat loser agents, right?”
“Hopefully not,” Mason added. “Agent Meyer is probably knee-deep in some awesome mission, laughing at how pathetic we all are.”
Just the thought of my dad on a dangerous mission sent my heart racing.
“Maybe we should get a new mattress for that disgusting bed,” Kendrick said, distracting me from dwelling on Dad’s whereabouts. “Make life a little more comfortable for the next CIA agent to use that apartment … though I’ve never seen anyone come out of there before. Michael said he thought he might have—”
“Michael?” Stewart asked, looking extremely curious and amused as Kendrick’s eyes grew wide with the realization of what she’d just done.
Kendrick glanced at me and let out a breath. “Michael … my fiancé.”
I dropped my fork and it clattered against the glass plate. She just told them? After all that stress this morning?
“What?” Mason and Stewart both said.
“I’m getting married … you know, a wedding. I’m not sure exactly when … Probably whenever we get through with training and have our permanent assignments,” Kendrick said.
Permanent assignments were not very common in the CIA. Dad’s situation was unique, and he still had to travel all the time. What fantasy world was Lily Kendrick living in? I always pictured her as more of a realist.
“That’s … different,” Stewart said, as if she were completely thrown by this information. “I guess, with mind-numbing missions like this one, we’ll all have time to get married and have a couple babies. Personally, I’d rather shoot myself, but whatever floats your boat.”
“You’re such a bitch,” Kendrick said. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”
I fought off the urge to laugh, because Kendrick looked dead serious, like she was actually trying to help Stewart.
Mason’s eyes darted between the two girls, but Stewart just smiled and waved her hand. “Almost everyone has told me I’m a bitch, but I really don’t give a shit. At l
east my life won’t be full of disappointment.”
Kendrick looked a little confused, but I knew exactly what Stewart meant. Not that I ever wanted to come close to agreeing with Jenni Stewart over Kendrick.
If Dad was here, he’d tell me to keep working, find a new distraction. I stared at Stewart still shaking her head with disbelief and I got up from my seat. “Let’s get a drink at the bar before you start a fight and get us all arrested.”
She groaned, but followed me anyway. We slid into stools right in the center and the bartender looked at us expectantly. I ordered two beers and he immediately asked for IDs. Even Stewart wasn’t twenty-one yet, but we had at least a dozen fake IDs, making us range in age from sixteen to twenty-six. Which, according to the CIA software program, were all believable ages for us with some tweaking needed on the higher and lower ends.
“What are you up to, Junior?” Stewart asked.
“Nothing. Just saving Kendrick from you. She’s nice. You’re not. Seemed like the right thing to do.” I picked up my beer and took a drink, waiting for her to get pissed off at me.
“Being nice isn’t going to get you anywhere in this job,” Stewart said. “Someone needs to tell her that.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “She’s not the one who got herself tied up and nearly died in Heidelberg.”
As predicted, Stewart’s face twisted with anger. “It’s not my fault that Thomas popped up in front of me and then behind me. You think I wanted you to be the one hauling my ass out of there? I’m sure you would have rather saved Kendrick than me.”
I picked at the label of my beer bottle and started laughing, even though she was about two seconds from nailing me in the groin.
“What?”
I kept my eyes on the bottle, still laughing. “Nothing, really. I just remember thinking that I was glad it was you … because Kendrick would have been a hell of a lot heavier to cart up three flights of stairs.”
Stewart barely cracked a smile. “At least there’s one advantage to being short in this job.”
“You want another drink?” I asked, pointing to her near-empty bottle.
“I don’t really derserve the calories after the boring-ass day we’ve had,” she said with a sigh.
I leaned on my elbow, staring at her halfway tolerable expression. “I’ll tell you what. We have one more beer and then you and I can do a six-mile jog in the morning.”
“Assuming the world doesn’t get attacked between now and then,” Stewart said. “And it should be ten, not six.”
“Of course,” I said, waving at the bartender.
Stewart stared at me while we waited for the drinks. There was something challenging in her expression, and yet she hesitated before saying, “You should come see my apartment … like tonight.”
“Okay,” I said, surprising her and myself.
I wasn’t sure what made me say yes. It may have been Senator Healy’s request for me to spend more time with Stewart, or it might have been running into Holly with Brian earlier. Even Dad agreed I had made the right decision with Holly, and today she had looked … happy.
I needed to get her out of my head, and fast. I needed to keep myself from calling or, worse—visiting—Adam.
* * *
“Seriously? You’re willingly going to spend time alone with Jenni Stewart? By choice?” Kendrick asked. She had cornered me after the second beer, shoving me into the women’s restroom, and I had to tell her why I wasn’t taking the subway home with her tonight.
“Come on, Jackson. You’ve got some plan cooked up and I want in on it,” Kendrick begged. “Or you’re actually into Stewart, and if that’s the case, I’m going to talk you out of it.”
I rolled my eyes. “I am not in to Stewart.”
“Why won’t you tell me your motives?”
I couldn’t answer that, so I had to quickly change the subject. “Why did you tell them about Michael? After throwing a bribe at me this morning…”
“Because I knew they wouldn’t believe me. Telling them straight up was the best way to guarantee it,” she said without hesitation.
I didn’t really have a response to that. There was certainly some logic to her answer, but now I wasn’t sure I believed her story. Maybe that was also in her plan. Maybe Michael pretended to be a chef and he really worked for Eyewall? Who the hell knows?
CHAPTER EIGHT
JUNE 11, 2009, 10:00 P.M.
Everything in Stewart’s apartment looked brand-new and void of any kind of personal touch. I wandered around the living room, looking at the generic pictures on the wall.
Stewart leaned against the mantel and watched me. When I finally turned around to face her, the reality of why she asked me here, why I came over, hit me all at once as if I hadn’t let myself absorb it until that very second.
I picked up an inhaler lying on the coffee table. It was the only personal item in the room. “I didn’t know you had asthma. It’s not in your profile.”
She walked over and took the inhaler from my hand and stuffed it in her purse, which still hung on her shoulder. “I don’t have asthma. Just temporary lung damage due to smoke inhalation.”
“I guess I didn’t get to you fast enough in Germany?”
“Actually, that’s kind of why I asked you over.” She let out an exasperated breath and stepped closer to me. “Freeman told me not to follow Thomas and I did it anyway. That’s why I ended up there. I left Parker alone with two EOTs.”
My jaw practically fell open. “Freeman didn’t put that in the report. He said you ended up alone because his coms unit had too much static and he couldn’t hear you—”
She held up her hand. “I know what it says. I’ve read it, like, a million times.”
For once, I was close enough to really see her and not so pissed off that I couldn’t pay attention to small details. It was almost like her spirit had dimmed compared to that girl I’d spent just a little bit of time with in 2007. That girl was witty and eager to tell me everything she knew, but not in the bitter way she was doing it now.
“Do you know how many times I’ve gone against orders?” I pointed out.
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I told you. It’s not like you can turn me in without a lot of shit coming your way. Blackmail is a specialty of mine.”
She was so close now, I could see right down the front of her dress. I lifted my eyes to avoid the distraction. “I wouldn’t turn you in, even without the blackmail attempt.”
Her constant flip-flop in moods was wearing me out. Senator Healy’s message wasn’t the only reason I wanted to attempt to crack Stewart’s shell. Part of me had to know if there was actually a real person in there. I let out an exhausted sigh and backed away from her. “I don’t get you. I know that’s your goal, but it kinda sucks to be around you. Like this, anyway.”
She looked a little shocked, but it only lasted a second. “I’m not that much different from you. Think about it. You can be just as impersonal.”
“Why did you really want me to come over, Stewart?”
Her fingers glided across the mantel, like she was checking for dust. “Parker thinks I’m denying my feelings for you, and now he’s got Mason on board, and it’s not true. I don’t like you … Sometimes I even hate you.”
“I never thought you liked me,” I admitted. “Parker’s just screwing with you.”
“So, we’re clear on that?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Yeah, totally.”
Then, in about two seconds, she closed the gap between us and kissed me. Like, really kissed me. I immediately pushed her away without even thinking about it. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t like me, I don’t like you,” Stewart said casually. “That’s why this will work out perfect for both of us.”
“Try not to take this personally, being the sensitive woman that you are, but I’m having a lot of trouble picturing you and me doing anything remotely romantic together.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, looking complete
ly off her game. “Maybe that’s my fault. All my covers lately have been on the abrasive side. I could work on something a little softer or seductive.”
I shook my head immediately. The last thing I needed was a seductive Stewart screwing with my head. Ninety percent of me was ready to walk out the door. This had been a big mistake. But then I remembered the aching need I’d had earlier to call Adam and the fact that it hadn’t faded one bit. Just stay … distract yourself. “Why don’t you try telling me something that’s actually true? No cover.”
“I hate black-eyed peas.” She walked away from me, into the kitchen, and returned a minute later with a bottle of vodka, orange juice, and two glasses. “Secret number two—I’m a lot more honest while intoxicated. And I’m not quite there yet.”
She set the bottle and glasses down on the coffee table. We both plopped down on opposite ends of the couch. She nodded toward the coffee table—an invitation. I hesitated before picking up the bottle. I hadn’t had hard alcohol in a very long time and I’d been careful not to overindulge on European beer since the training schedules were so demanding. The lack of control while being drunk scared me. It did now, anyway.
Stewart watched me closely as I filled both our glasses and then took a big gulp from mine. She did the same, making a face as she swallowed.
“My parents kicked me out when I was sixteen,” she said, looking down at her hands. “Actually, they forced me to go to college early.”
“Where did you go to college?” I asked.
“Columbia, then NYU.” She drank an even bigger gulp. “I made it two years and then I got arrested and sent to prison.”
I groaned and rubbed the blurriness out of my eyes. Now I needed to get drunk just so I could put up with her bullshit. Assuming I was going to force myself to stay in her company for a while longer. “I don’t think I’ve heard your prisoner cover yet. Is that like the ghetto girl?”
“You’re such an ass. You wouldn’t know the truth if it hit you in the face,” she snapped. “I created a few extra identities at both colleges. Then I messed with the computer system and made sure the other versions of me had their tuition paid in full. Apparently, that’s a federal offense, and since I was eighteen…”
