I frowned. What did he want? Had something happened overnight with one of my other bad guys? I put my shoulder bag down on my desk, grabbed a pen and a notepad, and stepped into Trevor’s office. Miriam was already there, lounging in one of the chairs in front of his desk. She grinned at me, and I nodded and dropped into the seat beside her.
Trevor went around behind his desk and sat down. He looked at his laptop for a few seconds, then steepled his hands together and peered at me.
“There have been some new staffing additions to the Redburn mission,” he said. “Miriam will now be going into the Halstead Hotel with you and Desmond. Gia thought it would be a good idea to have a charmer in the crowd to serve as an extra set of eyes and ears. To help you keep tabs on Henrika Hyde and especially her bodyguards.”
I nodded. “That’s smart.”
And it was. Miriam could work a crowd like nobody’s business. Thanks to her charisma, she could engage the most hardened, jaded spy in a brief, seemingly meaningless conversation and pry out their deepest, darkest secrets in five minutes flat. Dozens of rich, powerful, influential people were scheduled to attend the gala, and Miriam could potentially pick up loads of personal intelligence, in addition to helping me and Desmond with our mission.
“I’m always happy to serve,” Miriam quipped.
She grinned at Trevor, who merely grunted in return. Miriam’s grin turned into more of a pout, but she shrugged and rolled her eyes at me as if to say, Can’t charm them all.
“You’ve got your assignment, Miriam,” Trevor continued. “So head on down to the fifth floor for the briefing.”
Miriam smiled at him again, winked at me, and left the office, shutting the glass door behind her. I started to get up and follow her, but Trevor waved his hand, indicating I should stay seated. Unease rippled through my stomach. What else could he possibly want to talk about? And why in private, with the door closed? Had he somehow found out that Desmond and I had been near the car bomb? That I had killed three cleaners?
Trevor stared at something on his laptop. He let out a long-suffering sigh, as though he were extremely annoyed by whatever was on his screen, then reached into the crystal candy dish on the front of his desk. He unwrapped a stick of gum and chomped down on it, his square white teeth tearing into the gum like it had upset him as much as whatever document he’d just read.
He politely nudged the candy dish toward me. “Gum? Chocolate? Caramel?”
The scent of his cloying minty breath blasted across the desk. I crinkled my nose and eyed the pink gum wrappers swimming among the peppermints, chocolates, and caramels in the dish. “No, thanks.”
Trevor rocked back in his chair and laced his hands over his stomach, staring at me. “I have a secondary assignment for you, Charlotte. On the Redburn mission.”
Secondary assignments weren’t unusual, as many Section missions often had multiple objectives. Still, I didn’t like the hushed tone in his voice or the conspiratorial gleam in his light brown eyes. “What is it?”
“Since you’re going to be working as Desmond’s liaison, I want you to keep a close eye on him and report all his movements leading up to the mission back to me. Who he talks to, who he calls and texts, anything and everything you hear and witness. I also want you to do the same during the mission itself.”
He didn’t come right out and say it, but I knew what he was really asking me to do. “You want me to spy on Desmond.”
Just saying the words left a bitter taste in my mouth, especially after everything that had happened between Desmond and me in the past twenty-four hours.
Trevor shrugged. “Dez had a rough time on his last mission. A lot of agents were killed, including Graham, another cleaner who was a close friend to the both of us. I’m Dez’s friend too, and I’m worried about him.” He hesitated. “Plus, this is his first mission since then, and we all want to make sure everything goes smoothly and according to plan.”
Truth, my inner voice whispered. Still, I couldn’t help but ask the obvious question. “Who is we?”
“The we doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that this is coming down from on high.”
Truth.
Someone much higher up on the food chain than Trevor, someone he was reporting to, thought Desmond needed to be watched. But who? And why? Had someone guessed Desmond’s plan to interrogate Henrika for information on Anatoly? But if that were the case, then why wouldn’t that person launch their own preemptive strike and simply have Desmond taken off the mission?
More and more questions swirled through my mind, and all of them had potential answers that I didn’t like.
Trevor must have realized I wasn’t convinced because he leaned forward and gave me a hard look. “This is an order. This comes from the top, Charlotte.”
Truth.
And once again, I heard what he wasn’t telling me. “You’re saying that Maestro wants me to spy on Desmond?”
Trevor flinched. Maestro was the code name for the head of the D.C. station. Only a few people actually knew who Maestro was, and their identity was a topic of much debate and discussion among the analysts, charmers, liaisons, and cleaners. The department supervisors like Trevor and Gia were more or less equals, so Maestro was the only one here who would have the clout and authority to order Trevor to order me to spy on Desmond.
“Yes,” Trevor said, still chewing his gum. “This order is coming directly from Maestro.”
LIE.
The force of the falsehood slammed into my mind like a sledgehammer, and I had to grind my teeth to keep from wincing, although Trevor didn’t seem to notice my sudden discomfort. But even more worrisome than the pain his lie caused me was the order itself—and the murky motives associated with it. If this directive wasn’t coming from Maestro, then who was behind it? General Percy? The mole? Someone else?
“Do we understand each other, Charlotte?” Trevor asked, his tone once again smooth and mellow.
Instead of answering him, I dropped my eyes to the crystal candy dish, and my gaze snagged on the pink gum wrappers floating among the peppermints, chocolates, and caramels. For a moment, I wondered if it was some trick of my synesthesia, some weird reflection of my current worry, but no, the wrappers were pink all on their own. Hmm.
“Charlotte?” Trevor asked again. “Do we understand each other?”
A strange thought occurred to me, and I reached forward, grabbed a piece of gum, peeled off the pink wrapper, and popped it into my mouth. Blech. The cloying mint flavor tasted even worse than I expected, but it confirmed my suspicions, so I kept chewing, my mind whirring, trying to puzzle out what Trevor’s lie really meant—and how I could keep from betraying Desmond.
I might have only known Desmond for roughly forty-eight hours, but he had saved my life, and I had saved his. We were bonded in a way I didn’t quite understand, and the thought of violating that bond made me nauseous, especially given the private pain and anguish he’d shared with me this morning.
“I shouldn’t have to remind you how important an assignment like this could be to your career,” Trevor said, an impatient note creeping into his voice. “You pull this off, and your position at Section will greatly improve. Why, you might even get that promotion to senior analyst you’ve been angling for.” He paused. “Unless you’re not comfortable with such work. But if that’s the case, then I’m afraid I’ll have to recommend that you be taken off the Redburn mission and returned to your regular duties.”
In other words, follow his orders, or slink back to my analyst desk and toil away in obscurity for who knew how long. Part of me was tempted to do just that—to forget about ferreting out the mole and return to my safe, normal, humdrum life.
But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that. I’d promised Desmond I would help him avenge Graham’s death. Even more important, I had promised myself that I would find the people who wanted me dead and make them pay for being stupid enough to mess with me.
My mind kept whirring and whirring, but I quickly
reached a conclusion—that it was far better for me to spy on Desmond than for someone else to do it. So I looked Trevor in the eyes and nodded. “No, sir. Taking me off the mission won’t be necessary. I understand what I have to do.”
“Good,” Trevor rumbled, relaxing back in his chair. “You will report your findings directly to me in this office every morning. No written reports, and no paper trail. Understood?”
I nodded again. “Understood.”
“Good. Now, let’s get downstairs to the briefing.” Trevor stood up and grabbed some folders.
I stared at the crystal dish on his desk again, pretending that all that candy and sticks of gum were puzzle pieces in this dangerous game I was playing. If I put this piece here…then that would happen. If I slid another piece over there…then something else would happen.
“Ready, Charlotte?” Trevor asked.
“Absolutely.” I got to my feet.
The charmer supervisor might have lied to me, but I hadn’t done the same to him.
I knew exactly what I had to do now—about spying on Desmond, how to prepare for the Redburn mission, getting the mole to reveal themselves, everything. The only question was whether I could actually pull it off—or if my plan would wind up killing me.
Chapter Sixteen
Charlotte
I discreetly spit the gum into the nearest trash can, grabbed my laptop from my desk, and trailed Trevor into the elevator. We rode down to the fifth floor. He scrolled through screens on his phone, muttering under his breath about budgets, agents, and other things, while I stared at the elevator door, still sliding puzzle pieces around in my mind, fine-tuning the image they formed.
The elevator door pinged open, and we stepped out into the corridor.
Trevor looked at me, his face kind but serious. “Remember what I said, Charlotte. You report to me first thing every morning.”
“Don’t worry, sir. You can count on me.”
“Glad to hear it. See you in there.” Trevor strode down the corridor.
Instead of following him toward the bullpen, I stayed by the elevator, my mind still spinning and spinning, wondering how I was going to juggle all of this—
“That sounded ominous,” a feminine voice drawled.
Startled, I looked to my right. Joan Samson was standing a few feet away from the elevator, lurking beside one of the support columns. She’d apparently been checking her phone and had obviously overhead my cryptic conversation with Trevor. A disgusted look filled her pretty face.
“Let me give you some advice,” Joan said. “Some tips about being a liaison.”
“Sure.” I kept my voice neutral.
“Being a liaison is different from being an analyst. Upstairs, your duty is to the facts, no matter what they say or where they lead you. But down here on the fifth floor, it’s different.”
“How so?”
“Your job as a liaison, your duty, your loyalty, is to your cleaner, to Desmond and Desmond alone,” she snapped. “You watch his back so he can focus on completing his mission. Nothing gets in the way of your duty, and nothing compromises your loyalty to him. That’s what being a liaison truly means. Not spying on your cleaner and then reporting back to someone like Trevor Donnelly to help yourself climb the Section ladder. Am I making myself clear?”
Joan might not have heard Trevor order me to watch Desmond, but she could guess that he’d asked, no doubt thanks to her own time as a liaison. I wondered how she handled such requests from her superiors, and juggled her loyalty to her cleaner against disobeying orders and risking her own neck, but I didn’t dare ask.
“Are we clear?” Joan snapped again.
“Crystal.”
“Good,” she replied. “Desmond is a friend of mine, and he’s been through a lot. For some reason, he thinks he needs your help with this mission. Maybe he does.”
“But?”
Joan stepped closer, somehow staring down her nose at me, despite the fact that she was a couple inches shorter than I was. “But if you betray or hurt Desmond, even in the smallest way, then you will have to answer to me. And that is something you will most definitely not enjoy—or recover from.”
Magic flared in her pale blue eyes, giving them an icy sheen, and a similar chill surged off her body. Her gaze dropped to my right arm, as if she were thinking about reaching out, latching onto me, and using her transmuter power to turn my body into a lump of cold, hard concrete.
Danger-danger-danger. I tensed, ready to lurch away if she came at me.
Joan eyed me for a few more seconds, but she must have realized I’d taken her threat to heart because she spun around and marched away, her high heels stabbing into the gray carpet.
I stood there and watched her go, my mind still whirring.
First Trevor, now Joan. Different people, different agendas, but two very real and distinct threats. It wasn’t even ten o’clock, and I was already hip-deep in trouble. At this rate, I’d be up to my neck in it by lunchtime, especially given my own plans.
I just wondered who at Section would carry out their threats and try to eliminate me first.
* * *
I shoved away my worries and headed into the fifth-floor bullpen. Then I strode over to the glassed-in conference room, stepped inside, and took a seat at the table beside Desmond.
“Everything okay?” he murmured.
I forced myself to give him a bright smile. “Everything is fine.”
He frowned, as if he didn’t quite believe me, and I was glad he couldn’t hear the bald-faced lie in my voice the way I could with my synesthesia.
I turned my attention to the other people. Gia and Trevor were sitting side by side at the head of the table and were flanked by Joan and Diego, respectively. Next came Miriam, with Evelyn across from her. In addition to manning the front desk, Evelyn also took notes at mission briefings from time to time.
I was sandwiched in between Miriam and Desmond, while other cleaners, liaisons, and support staff occupied the rest of the chairs.
Gia stood up, and everyone quieted and looked at her. She picked up the clicker and began the briefing.
“By now, you’ve all been read in on the Redburn mission, so you know that our target is Henrika Hyde,” Gia said. “Desmond, Charlotte, and Miriam will attend the Halstead Foundation gala on Sunday night. Desmond, posing as Desmond Macfarlane, has been invited to the event and is scheduled to have a private meeting with Henrika to talk about purchasing her Redburn weapon. Once he gets Henrika to a more isolated area, Desmond will take out her bodyguards while Charlotte sedates her. Then a Section strike team will come in, remove Henrika from the premises, and rendition her to a black site where she will undergo extensive interrogation about her new Redburn weapon and exactly what it does…”
For the next hour, we reviewed the hotel blueprints, the gala guest list, Henrika’s security team, and more. I stared at the headshots and other pictures that flashed across the film screen, asked the appropriate questions, and chimed in with the right answers, but I wasn’t focusing on the mission. As I’d told Desmond this morning, the mission was already doomed and guaranteed to go sideways at some point. No, I was thinking about all the things I needed to do in order to put my own plan into action to expose the mole—and ensure my own survival.
The briefing wound down, and everyone gathered up their things to move on to their assignments and other work for the day.
“Want to have lunch in the cafeteria?” Desmond asked. “So we can compare notes?”
Most people would have assumed he was talking about the mission, but I knew he was referring to our mole hunt.
I shook my head. “I’m not going to have time for lunch with all this mission prep. Besides, I haven’t really had a chance to dig into things yet. Meet you in the lobby after work?”
Desmond frowned, as though he didn’t like the idea of not seeing me again until late this afternoon. He probably thought he needed to keep an eye on me, in case I did something stupid. Oh, I was mos
t definitely going to do a lot of stupid things, starting by lying to him.
“Sure,” he replied. “I’ve got my own mission prep to do, and I need to head down to the weapons depot right now. See you after work.”
I flashed him a smile. “Great. See you then.”
I left the conference room, walked over, and dumped some files on my new desk. Joan gave me the stink-eye as she walked by and sat down at her own desk directly in front of mine.
Miriam came over and put her own stack of files down on the desk to the left of mine. “I’m so glad we’re going to be working on this together.”
“Me too,” I replied. “It’ll be good having someone watching my back inside the hotel.”
“You want to grab lunch?”
“Nah. I need to go upstairs and get some more files from my desk. I’ll just get something out of one of the vending machines.”
“Suit yourself.” Miriam picked up her purse and strolled out of the bullpen.
One by one, everyone else left as well, heading out to lunch or to get started on their mission prep, leaving me alone in the bullpen. After about thirty minutes of working on my laptop, I stood up and stretched. Then I grabbed my bag and left, as though I were finally taking my own lunch break.
After collecting some files from the third floor, I returned to the fifth floor. My next stop was the row of vending machines in the break room. Thankfully, not everyone at Section shared Desmond’s love of foul, grass-tasting smoothies, and I bought a bag of chocolate, almond, and dried-cherry trail mix, along with a ginger ale. Not nearly as good as one of Pablo’s desserts, but given the way my stomach was grumbling, it was the lunch of champions.
I sat in a chair, gulping down my snack while pretending to check my phone. A few other folks were also in the break room, and I waited until they left before exiting the room myself.
When I was sure no one was around, I slipped over to the dead-spot alcove, the one with no surveillance cameras or recording devices. Then I hit a number in my phone’s speed dial. He picked up on the third ring.
A Sense of Danger Page 19
