by Linda Gerber
She stood. “Are you hungry, Aphra? We could go grab something to eat before your flight.”
“Sure,” I said halfheartedly. Now I felt like a petulant little kid who was getting her way only because she’d thrown a tantrum.
“Well, grab your things. Let’s—”
“Wait.” Stuart held up a hand. “Nat, you better come look at this.”
She crossed to his side of the counter and stood next to him, staring at his computer. “What is this?”
“This right here is Joe.” He tapped the screen.
“You put a tracking device on the van?”
He looked insulted. “I put a tracking device on all the vehicles. How else would I know how to find you if something happened?”
“He’s in the city. So what?”
“He said he was going to the Market. What’s he doing on the other side of town?”
“Maybe he had errands. I don’t see how this is any of your—”
“But he said he—”
“Let it go, Stuart. I’m going to take my daughter out now. Are you going to track me?”
Stuart sulked and went back to staring at the computer screen. He didn’t even say good-bye when we left.
Well, no wonder Mom had grown moody; she worked with a couple of prima donnas. “I don’t know how you can stand it,” I said.
She paused, one hand on the stairwell door. “Stand what?”
“Stuart. And Joe. What’s with them?”
She pursed her lips for a second and then ushered me down the stairs. “There’s a lot you don’t understand, Aphra.”
“So you keep saying.”
Mom paused and regarded me for a moment. “You’re right. I think it’s time you were enlightened. But not here. We’ll talk in the car.”
The garage light clicked on as soon as she opened the door. Compared to the bright colors and artistic touches inside the building, the garage felt sad and bleak. Just the perfect setting for a heartfelt mother-daughter talk, I thought dismally.
Mom cut across the garage, past a chain-link compound crowded with kayaks and locked-up bicycles, toward a small blue sedan parked in the corner. She pressed a button on her key fob and the horn chirped, lights flashed. That would be our ride, then.
I looked around the garage for the van, but I didn’t see it. Joe must have taken it. Personally, I would have chosen the car if I were him, but I was more than happy to swap vehicles. As looks go, the car was about as unremarkable as the van, but it was obviously newer and probably more comfortable.
I opened the back door and threw my backpack onto the seat and then climbed into the front.
“Put your seat belt on,” Mom said automatically. I almost laughed. Or would have, if I didn’t feel so much like crying. Sad as it was, that was the first motherly thing she had said to me since I had gotten to Seattle—now that I was leaving.
She stuck the keys into the ignition, but she didn’t start the engine. For a long moment she just sat, looking out over the steering wheel—at what, I don’t know.
“Joe, Stuart, and I work together for a reason,” Mom said, “but none of us chose the assignment.” She traced the pattern of the leather grip on the steering wheel. “Each of us has a history with the Mole. I was in charge of protecting the woman who sent him to jail. Joe ran the task force that gathered evidence against him. Stuart hacked into an online crime ring the Mole had orchestrated while he was in prison.”
When she raised her eyes to me, I was struck by the pain I saw in them. And scared.
“Once he escaped from prison, the Mole swore to take revenge, and he hit where it would hurt most. Joe lost his wife. Stuart’s parents were murdered.” She paused, letting the information sink in. “I am the only one who hasn’t lost someone, Aphra, and I’d like to keep it that way. Do you understand why you need to stay far away from me? In the meantime, I can put up with a little surliness from the boys. They’ve earned the right to be moody.”
She turned the key then, and the engine hummed to life. I couldn’t say anything, but just stared at her as she carefully backed the car out of the spot. She might as well have backed over my chest. I wished that I could take my words back. I wished that I could play the day over and be a little more understanding. I wished that she had told me in the first place.
She shifted the car into drive and gave me a long look before pulling out of the garage. “I’m sorry that I had to keep this from you. I know you think I chose my job over you, but you are and always will be my first priority. Until we know where the Mole is hiding and who his operatives are within the Agency, I figured that the less you knew, the better. I thought it might keep you from becoming a target.”
“Then why did you send the Mulos to our resort?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
A small sigh escaped her lips, tinged with regret. “It was a bad call. I thought we had covered their tracks. I thought no one would find them.”
“You didn’t know,” I murmured, anxious to salve the guilt I saw in her face.
“No, but I should have.” She turned the corner and I realized we were passing the lake again, on our way back toward the city. “In my mind, you were still twelve. My little girl. I should have known better than to send a teenage boy to the island. And now . . .”
“Now what?”
“Now you’re on the radar.” She slid a sad look at me. “They’ll watch you, hoping Seth will contact you. And now that you’ve left the island, they will want to know where you are going and why.”
“Hold on. What are you talking about? Who’s ‘they’?”
“The Agency. And possibly . . . others.”
“But . . .”
“Why do you think I stayed away all those years? I didn’t want to draw attention to where you were.”
“What about the cards? You sent me cards.”
For the first time she smiled. Well, almost. Her lips curved upward, but her eyes were still sad. “I’m glad you got them. I never knew.”
I decided not to tell her how Dad had kept them from me and that I had only found where he had hidden them a couple of months ago. There’s nothing either of us could do about that.
“What were the flowers on the back? Every one of them had a flower.”
Her eyes misted as she looked at me. “You noticed them? Those were myosotis. You know, forget-me-nots? Corny, I know, but at the Swiss resort where your father and I honeymooned, the things grew everywhere. I loved them, but Jack said they were like weeds; you couldn’t kill them. I . . . I wanted to give him a sign that I was still okay.”
“And the postmarks?” I asked. “They were from all over the place.”
“Yes. We’ve had to keep moving. Seattle has been our longest stopover, and we’ve only been here about four months. But we should probably move on now . . .”
She didn’t say much else. She didn’t have to; I could read the tension in her hunched-up shoulders and her death grip on the steering wheel.
I slid down in the seat, feeling like a complete idiot. All this time, the only one I had been thinking about was myself, worrying about how I felt, what I wanted. And now I had caused Mom more worry and compromised her operation. I should have listened to the part of me that said the Seattle trip wasn’t a good idea. I should have stayed at home where I belonged.
We were halfway to the airport when Mom’s cell phone buzzed. She grabbed it from her pocket and flipped it open, glancing at the screen before answering. “Where are you?” Pause. “And you didn’t think that it would be a good idea to tell me before you rushed off?” Pause. “No, I cannot come to your—” Her grip on the phone tightened. “What? No, tell me now.” She listened and her face went white. “I understand,” she said in a deliberately neutral voice. “I need to deliver the package and then I will meet you.”
The package. Me. I was keeping her from doing her job. “Mom—”
She cut me off with a shake of her head. “Half hour. Maybe forty-five minutes.” P
ause. “Of course you can wait! Stay where you are.”
I nudged her arm. “You can go now. I’m in no hurry.”
She seemed to be considering it as she slid a glance at me, but then she shook her head and cupped her hand over the phone to whisper to me, “No. I need to get you out of here.”
“Mom. I can wait in the car. Don’t worry; I won’t get in the way.”
She hesitated only for a second, but that was enough. I understood a lot in that instant. I was a burden, an extra worry—and she didn’t need any more of those.
“Really,” I said. “Do what you need to do.”
The relief on her face was clear. “I’ll be right there,” she said into the phone. She snapped it shut and swerved into the outside lane. We took the next exit and doubled back toward the city.
I pretended to be watching out the window, blinking fast to keep the tears in check. All I had hoped for and waited for these past years was to be with my mom. Unfortunately, my timing sucked. Maybe once she had found the answers she was looking for, there would be time for us. Until then, I needed to keep out of her hair.
I knew what I had to do. When Mom went looking for Joe, I would find my own way back to the airport.
I recognized the area near the Market as we drove toward the crowded parking lot under the freeway. Had I really just left there that morning? I saw the van parked next to one of the pillars. Joe must be close. Mom pulled into one of the last remaining vacant spots and switched off the engine. For a long while she just sat and stared out the windshield. Her frown told me she was unsure again.
“Go,” I insisted. “I’ll be fine.”
She looked at me with unreadable eyes. I couldn’t tell what it was that she was trying to hide. Regret, maybe? “Lock the doors,” she said. “Stay low.”
I assured her that I would. And I planned to. Stay low, that is. I just wouldn’t be doing it inside the car.
She hadn’t been gone more than a minute when a taxi rolled by, headed up the hill. I jumped from the car to flag it down, slamming the door behind me. Too late, I remembered the automatic locks. My backpack was inside the car. All my money, my ID, everything else was inside the car as well. I pounded my hand against the window and rattled the door handle. How could I have been so stupid?
I noticed some people a couple of rows down, casting curious looks in my direction. So much for laying low. I stopped pounding and stepped back. What I should not be doing was attracting attention.
Hugging my arms, I glanced around the parking lot. There were at least a dozen people walking through the lot, either coming or going. Obviously, I couldn’t just stand around waiting for my mom to come back. They might think I was casing the lot to break into cars or something.
Maybe I could wait in the van. I rushed over and jiggled the door handles, just in case Joe had left it open. He hadn’t.
There were plenty of shops nearby and I supposed I could hide out in one of them, but no matter where I went, I would eventually have to explain to my mom why I hadn’t done as I had promised. I slumped against the van and looked down the street in the direction she had gone. I should probably hang out in one of the shops along that route so I could see her return. At least that way she wouldn’t get back to the car and find me gone.
Then I saw her. Well, just her head, really, but she had stopped only a block or so away with the cell phone pressed against one ear and her hand pressed against the other.
As if she could feel me looking at her, she glanced back at the parking lot. I ducked behind the van again, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. Besides me being locked out of the car, I mean. It was the way she was frowning, her brows in a worried bunch over her eyes. The whole time I had been with her, she’d been careful to keep her face impassive, completely expressionless. Either she’d let her guard down just then because she didn’t think anyone was watching . . . or something was up.
When I dared peek around the van, I saw her hurrying down the sidewalk, away from me. On impulse, I decided to follow her. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew she’d be mad, but I couldn’t just sit there. Not after that look I’d seen on her face. I couldn’t imagine what I could possibly do to help, but if she was in trouble, I had to give it a try.
I rushed to the street corner and pummeled the crosswalk button. The red hand kept flashing as she walked farther and farther away. I couldn’t wait. I bolted across the street. A Nissan coming down the hill screeched to a stop, horn blaring. The driver yelled something at me, but I didn’t have the patience to listen. I raced after my mom.
I lost her in the crowd by the end of the second block. She must have turned up a side street or gone into a store or something because one moment I saw the back of her head and the next she was gone. I planted my hands on my hips and tried to catch my breath as I turned in a slow circle, looking for any sign of her.
That’s when I saw Joe. He was sitting at a little table in front of a sidewalk café, checking his watch and looking around as if he was waiting for someone.
So where was my mom?
A waiter in a long green apron stepped over to Joe and set an oversize cup on the table. Joe barely looked up. He checked his watch again and reached absently for the cup, raising it to his lips to take a sip. Abruptly, his expression changed. He made a bitter face and set the cup down so quickly that coffee and froth sloshed onto the white tablecloth. Frowning, he raised his fingers to wipe away the foam that clung to his upper lip and then stared at the residue. He sniffed his fingers, brows dropping tight and low. His frown deepened. With a quick glance back toward the café, he tried to stand, but dropped heavily back onto his chair.
The whole thing probably took only a couple seconds, but it played like a bad dream, everything unfolding in slow motion. He raised a hand to his throat, a mixture of confusion and anger crossing his face as his eyes bulged wide and his mouth hung open. And then he began to make choking noises.
Back home on the island, I had been certified as a lifeguard. My training taught me to react quickly and analyze later. Seeing Joe struggle to breathe kicked me into autopilot. If I had taken the time to think, I might not have run toward him. I might have considered that someone was trying to kill the guy and it would do well for me to lay low. But I wasn’t thinking. I raced to where he had fallen onto the sidewalk and dropped to my knees beside him.
“Joe? Can you hear me?” He was still clawing at his neck and I had to hit his hands away so I could loosen his collar. “Are you getting any air?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.
“The . . . latte . . .” he wheezed.
Well, at least he was breathing. I pressed my fingers to the side of his neck. His pulse was going crazy.
He grabbed my hand. “In . . . the . . .” His words were lost in a spasm of coughing. “The . . . list . . .”
“Try to relax.”
“Cup . . . hold . . . c-c-up . . . ho-holder . . .” Suddenly his eyes rolled back and his head jerked like someone had yanked a string at the top of his skull. His grip squeezed like a vise around my hand. I yelped and pried my fingers free.
At the same moment a hand grabbed my shoulder. “Aphra!” Mom’s voice hissed. “What are you doing here?”
“He’s . . . he’s . . .”
“You can’t get mixed up in this!” She yanked me to my feet. “Get back to the car. Go!”
She gave me a push and I stumbled through the crowd of people who had begun to gather around Joe’s table.
A lady plucked at my arm. “What happened? Do you know that man?”
I rubbed my sore fingers and looked back to where Mom had bent over Joe, her eyes pinched with concern. “No,” I said flatly. “I’ve never seen him before.”
CHAPTER 4
I knew I was supposed to leave, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from Joe’s body thrashing on the sidewalk. My mom grabbed his head to keep him from smacking it on the cement, but there wasn’t much else she could do for him. Only the waiter and one other
man stepped forward to see if they could help. Everyone else hovered at a safe distance, watching. They acted as if they were at a Saturday matinee or something.
Mom looked to the waiter. “He’s seizing. Grab a tablecloth to cushion his head!” Then to the man, “You. Call 911!”
The man whipped a cell phone from his pocket and stabbed at the numbers while the waiter yanked a tablecloth free of the nearest table. He bunched it up and shoved it under Joe’s head so that my mom could let go.
The lady standing next to me wrung her hands. “What’s wrong? Shouldn’t they put something in his mouth? Why aren’t they helping him?”
I ignored her and stared straight ahead.
Just then Joe stopped convulsing. His body arched one last time and then he lay deathly still.
“Sir?” Mom leaned close, pressing two fingers against the side of his neck. “Sir, can you hear me?” I could see the answer pass over her face before she let it go blank again. “He needs some air!” she yelled at the crowd. “Clear out!”
A few people took a step back, but most of them were glued to their spots. There was no way they were leaving the show. Mom started CPR, even though I’m pretty sure she knew it wouldn’t do any good. As she was starting chest compressions, Joe’s head lolled to the side, his eyes open but empty. My stomach lurched and I looked away.
In the distance, a siren wailed. The sound sent a quiver of fear through my belly. I’m not sure why. I hadn’t done anything wrong . . . unless you counted the part where I came to Seattle uninvited, interrupted the work my mom and her colleagues were doing, and wandered into a crime scene.
I backed away from the crowd. I should have listened to Mom when she told me to go. I should never have come in the first place.
“Hey, miss,” a woman in the crowd called. “Miss! Where are you going?”
I didn’t turn back but walked quickly away from the scene. I wanted to run, but if I had learned anything from watching Mom, it was to not draw attention to myself. I walked down the sidewalk, outwardly calm, and tried to adapt my mom’s bland expression even though I was screaming inside.
