I’m taking notes in my head as they speak, remembering every word and sentence spoken. I learned to do this at the Greenlight academy. It would have been a handy skill in college, but I didn’t join Greenlight until six months after graduating college.
Across the room, Phoenix gets up and walks toward the door, staring down at his phone.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I murmur to Alex. Still focused on his conversation with Wolf, he doesn’t even look at me.
I keep my shoulders back and walk with purpose. There’s something about this walk that men always seem to notice. Nix is no exception.
“Taking off ’cause you figured out Hassan’s an asshole?” he asks me, looking up from the screen of his phone.
I’m taken aback for a second, because Nix has an intensity that feels heavy, warm, and overwhelming now that I’m alone with him. His brown eyes are rimmed with the deep amber shade of the drink he was sipping back at the table, and his thick, dark hair is unruly in a very sexy way.
“Going to the bathroom,” I say, arching a brow. “And do you know who you’re running your mouth about right now?”
“Alex Hassan,” he says, his tone laced with confidence. “International arms dealer whose family is a lot more powerful than he is. Cokehead. He’s really just a spoiled rich boy when all is said and done.”
“Are you new here?” I ask, incredulous.
“Not as new as you might think. I’ve been around a few years.”
“And what brings you to New York? Other than an apparent death wish?”
His smile is relaxed. “Business. And I’m not afraid of Hassan. Or anyone else for that matter.” In a heartbeat, his expression turns serious. “And what brings you here, Eva?”
“Guess I just like to walk on the wild side.”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not. I’m here with Alex.”
“You don’t even like him.”
After a short note of laughter, I say, “Who do I like, then? You?”
“I’d be damn lucky if you did.”
The intensity of his gaze makes my heart pound nervously. I force myself to at least look calmer than I feel.
“Yes, you would. But like I said, I’m here with Alex.”
“Don’t ever play poker. You’re full of tells.”
I hum my skepticism. “You’re full of swagger.”
“I can see it in your eyes. You can’t even stand the guy. If you liked him, your eyes would be wide and dreamy. But they’re calculating.”
“The only thing I’m calculating is the distance to the bathroom,” I say shortly. “Have a good night, Phoenix.”
I feel like I could jump out of my skin as I walk to the bathroom. I’m a fraud, and Phoenix can see right through me. If he can tell I’m pretending, can others see it, too? My life depends on my ability to convince everyone around me that I am who and what I say I am.
Once I’m safely inside the bathroom, I lean back against the wall and take a few deep breaths.
I’m out of my league. This work means everything to me, but I can’t make the world a better place if I get myself killed. I should have started in the Greenlight office, but no. Impulsive, fearless Kennedy just had to work in the field.
Even after taking a minute to gather myself, I’m too rattled to stay at the club. I text Alex that I’m going home because I’m tired and then slip past him while he’s talking to a group of people. The guards at the elevator don’t say anything to me as I step inside.
I consider walking home, but Nix’s words left me feeling exposed, so I take a cab instead. I don’t want people looking at me right now. Usually, I’m bulletproof, but doubt occasionally sneaks its way in.
Once safely inside my apartment, I peel off my boots and slide the blue wig from my head. Olivia is sleeping, likely exhausted from her trip. As I sink back against the couch, I close my eyes and exhale deeply.
It takes someone like Rae to be a Greenlight field agent. Someone mentally and physically made of steel. Not someone so shaken by one comment that she slinks away in shame, missing out on valuable intel from both Hassan and Phoenix.
I’m buried in self-doubt. But soon, my worry softens and fades as sleep takes over.
* * *
The ringing of my phone wakes me up the next morning. I sit up, bleary-eyed and feeling like my mouth is full of cotton. I’m so groggy that I don’t know if the ring is coming from my work phone or my personal one.
Even after I pick up the phone from the kitchen counter, I haven’t yet registered that my work one is still in my bag from last night.
“Hello?”
“Kennedy, did I wake you up?”
“Oh, hey, Mom. No, I was kind of waking up already.”
“How are you, honey?”
“Oh, you know…” Last night comes rushing back to my mind, and I groan. “I’m okay.”
“You sound tired. Is that boss of yours running you into the ground?”
“No, I just…” What excuse can I give for my mood? I can’t tell her the truth. “Yeah, maybe a little.”
“Your father can help you get a new job, you know. He still has influence.”
My father is a disgraced retired senator who was exposed last year for having a mistress and a secret family. He’s with my mom openly now. I’m one of his two illegitimate children. And though I still love him, I don’t want any favors from him. Twenty-two years as one of his dirty secrets left a bad taste in my mouth.
“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
“You’re coming home for the Policemen’s Run, aren’t you? It’s next weekend.”
“Shit, I forgot.”
“Kennedy.” My mom’s tone is admonishing. “You haven’t missed one since Uncle Jeff died.”
“I know.”
I’m assigned to work the Loft every weekend. There’s no way I can get out of it. But I can’t tell her that. She thinks I’m a personal assistant to an executive.
“This is how we honor him.” Her voice breaks. “I really want you there.”
I feel a lump in my throat. “Mom, I’m sorry. I want to be there, but I can’t.”
“Why not? What’s more important than this?”
“It’s not about importance. It’s just that I have to work.”
“On a weekend?”
“Yes.”
She sighs into the phone. “Can’t you tell him about the run?”
“I wish I could, Mom, but…I can’t be there. I’ll send a donation in Uncle Jeff’s name.”
“I’ll let you go, then.”
The hurt in her voice is tearing at my heart. When she hangs up, I shake my head and walk back to my bedroom, tears blurring my vision.
Uncle Jeff was my mom’s only sibling. He was a police officer and more of a father figure to me than my own dad was. Since Dad had been splitting his time between his two families and was also a busy senator, he hadn’t been around much. Never on major holidays. And even when he was there, he was careful about not being seen out with us.
So it had been Uncle Jeff who took me to my father-daughter dance in junior high. He’d been my brother’s Cub Scout leader, had coached my softball team, and had made every Christmas a joyful occasion by arriving right after sunrise with a bag of presents and then spending all day putting together our new toys and playing with us.
But eight years ago, he pulled over a motorist for speeding, and as soon as he walked up to the open driver’s side window, he was shot and killed. The driver had cocaine in the car’s trunk with a street value of more than $100,000.
I close my bedroom door and take the silver-framed photo of Uncle Jeff and me from my dresser. I’d been a smiling ten-year-old when it was taken, thrilled with the fish I’d just caught on our annual summer camping trip. Uncle Jeff was beaming with pride.
It cuts me deep that I’ll miss the Policemen’s Run in my Maryland hometown that benefits the scholarship fund in my uncle’s name. That day is just fo
r him every year.
If only I could tell my mom why I’m missing it. That I’m not really working for a demanding executive, but for a black ops agency trying to stem the flow of illegal weapons and drugs.
I thought of Uncle Jeff when I was in training at the academy. Every time I got punched, kicked, or knocked down while learning to fight, I thought of him and pushed myself harder. At the firing range, I imagined him looking over my shoulder and reminding me that not only could I do it, I could own it. And I had, finishing at the top of my class.
Though I couldn’t save him, I can save others. Stopping men like Alex Hassan is how I honor my uncle, and I’ll stop at nothing to do it.
My phone rings from the living room, and I swipe the tears from my cheeks, put the photo back, and pull my work cell from my bag.
It was a text alert from Rae. The message reads, I’ll see you soon.
The message means she wants to meet with me ASAP at a café that’s one of our meeting spots. It’s the first time I’ve gotten this message since becoming an agent. My stomach churns nervously as I wonder what’s up.
She must know I cut out of the club last night. How will I explain it to her?
I quickly change into jeans and a black T-shirt and run a brush through my hair, then put on a baseball cap. After I grab my bag, I’m out the door, texting Rae to tell her I got her message.
It takes me around twenty minutes to get to the café by subway, and when I do, Rae is standing outside.
“Hey,” she says in greeting. “Let’s walk.”
“I’m sorry about last night,” I say in a low tone. “I kind of lost my shit. It was like Phoenix could see right through me.”
Rae gives me a look of alarm. “You found him?”
“Yeah, he was there. But he said he didn’t think I really like Alex Hassan, and…I don’t know, he just rattled me. So I left.”
“Instinct is the best tool we have in the field,” Rae says. “If you listened to your inner voice, you did the right thing. Do you want me to pull you from the club assignment?”
“No.” I say it adamantly. “I can handle it. Hassan asked Phoenix to do something that Phoenix won’t do. Hassan wants him to reconsider, but it doesn’t sound like he will.”
“Get me a full report today.” Rae looks side to side and behind us before continuing. “I have an operational assignment for you.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling a surge of excitement. Olivia gets assigned operations often, but so far, I’ve only been assigned to monitor the Loft.
“There’s a software engineer in an intelligence agency who’s suspected of selling intelligence information. I need you to get into his office and run the program on the jump drive I slipped into your bag.”
I look down at my bag and then up at her. “You already did?”
“I already did.”
I pull my bag closer to my body, feeling like the worst spy ever.
Rae continues. “Here’s the catch. This engineer, Thomas, has his computer set up for retinal scan followed by password input to log on. It can’t be cracked. You have to get him to sign on to the computer for you. And he can’t suspect you’ve messed with it.”
I shake my head and sigh heavily. “Okay, so I have to get him to take me into his office, sign on to the computer, and then not notice I’m installing something on it?”
“And he has to walk you out of the building. Security won’t let you in or out alone.”
“This is a suicide mission,” I mutter.
“You want us to give it to Olivia?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’ve got it. I need some time to go through the file and research him, though, so I can find a way in. How long do I have?”
“Five days max.”
I nod. “And what about the Loft?”
“We need you there as much as possible. Try to work both Phoenix and Hassan, but Phoenix is the priority. We need photos, a voice recording, and as much intel as you can get.”
“Okay.”
“Message me with developments.”
I’m about to respond, but Rae is already ten feet away, walking down a side street with her head down like we’ve never even met.
I won’t waste any more time feeling unsure of myself. The first step in kicking ass is believing you can. The second step is doing your homework. I’m getting started on that right now.
4
Phoenix
There’s a knock at the door. “Nix.”
I catch a glimpse of the clock on my desk and see that I’ve wasted most of the day. “Come in,” I say and lean back in my chair, stretching my muscles.
Coco walks in, smiling as she strides up to my desk. She’s toying with the loose strands that have fallen from the messy bun on top of her head. “Sorry I’m late today.”
I found Coco living on the streets four years ago. She tried to pick my pocket, but I caught her red-handed. She looked like a deer in headlights when I grabbed her wrist. I didn’t have the heart to yell at her once her eyes began to fill with tears before I even got the first word out.
Her hair was dirty, her clothes were torn, and everything about her screamed homeless. Instead of turning her in to the cops, I bought her lunch. She told me her life story while she ate, and I knew by the time she finished that I couldn’t just cut her loose.
Her mother was a crack addict who didn’t even bother to put food on the table, and her father split before she could even remember. When Coco was fourteen, her mother lost their home, and instead of sticking with her, Coco took off on her own. She couldn’t live in the crack dens that her mother frequented without becoming an addict herself. But like most teenagers with no place to go, she became homeless and used crime to survive.
At first, I had her live with me so I could make sure she wasn’t an addict too—those things can only be hidden for so long. When I was satisfied enough, I hired her officially as an employee of Ash Holdings. And when she became of age, I set her up in an apartment down the street. She cleaned up well and is smarter than I ever imagined.
“It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting you until later. What’s up?” I don’t even know what time it is, but my mind’s been bouncing between work and Eva. But mostly Eva’s mouth is winning.
Coco’s fingertips run along the edges of my mahogany desk, but her dark eyes don’t meet mine. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
I know the look. She wants something and is trying to play coy, but I know better. She acts the same as she did when she was sixteen.
“Shoot.” My index finger traces the line of my lips as I fight the urge to say no immediately. Coco never asks for much, but when she does, it’s usually something big.
“Well,” she says and takes a seat across from me. Her dark, skintight jeans are in stark contrast to the ultramodern white leather chair I had specially designed for my office. She’s chewing her lip as her eyes move around the window behind me but never meet mine. “I’ve been with you for a long time now, and I feel that I’m ready.”
“You feel that you’re ready?” I already hate where the conversation is going. It didn’t matter that I felt responsible for her or that she was like an adopted little sister—I’d feel no differently if she were blood. I wouldn’t want anyone, especially a girl, to become part of my world.
“Being your assistant is fantastic and all, but I started working for you in the hopes that you’d teach me the ropes.” She starts to giggle, covering her glossy pink lips with her hand. “I rhymed.”
A smile tugs at my lips only for a moment, because I catch a glimpse of the scared little girl I once knew. “I just don’t know if you’re ready yet, Coco.”
I’m the one who isn’t ready. Coco is the closest thing I will ever have to a sister, and the last thing I want is for her to get mixed up in my world.
“Nix, what if something happens to you? Your entire operation would cease to exist. Think of me as a way to continue on with your legacy.”
I raise an ey
ebrow because she’s full of shit. “Is something going to happen to me that I don’t know about?”
She shakes her head, causing a few more pieces of her brown hair to tumble to her shoulders. “No.” She finally brings her eyes to mine, narrowing them. “But things happen, and it’s good to have a backup. I’m sure you have a will in case you die, but what happens to all the people who depend on you? If I don’t take over your business, someone will that you don’t know, and you can’t guarantee they’ll carry on your work.”
“I didn’t know I had a legacy that needed to be carried on.”
I’m being an asshole, but getting Coco more involved means putting her at greater risk. Being my personal assistant is one thing—there’s a deniability that she still maintains if I’m ever arrested or her ass is ever hauled in for questioning—but dragging her in deeper puts us both at risk.
She pulls a piece of lint from her sweater and flicks it at me. “Don’t be a dick, Nix.” The look in her eyes is anything but friendly as she crosses her arms out of frustration. “I can do the job. I’ve earned my place here, and I know more than you think.”
Pulling the chair closer to my desk, I lean across the top and clasp my hands together. “Tell me what you know.”
I give Coco a perfect score for ballsiness. Not many people would talk to me like she does, but she knows me better than anyone. She’s been my right hand for years, catering to my every whim and making sure I keep my shit together. Without her, everything would fall apart.
She tilts her head with a cocky smirk. “You need me to make a list for you?”
“I’m curious to hear what you think you know about my business.”
“Puh-lease,” she says and rolls her eyes. “I know more than just your calendar. I’m here all the time. I watch you when you work, I listen when you talk, and I know the type of people you work with. I’m not stupid. I know you are not a stockbroker. That fantasy went out the window a month after I started working for you.”
I’m not shocked. I’ve never hidden things from her, but I tried to be discreet. The less she knew, the better. “You do realize that if you do this and shit goes bad, you could end up in jail or, even worse, dead. Is that something you’re willing to risk?”
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