He sat down at his desk, pushed some of the wires and other stuff out of the way, and pulled one of the laptops forward and plugged my phone into a USB cord sticking out of it.
“She didn’t know I wasn’t at Yale. That’s why she freaked out when I went off the grid—she called there and found out I wasn’t even registered and she couldn’t track me down,” he paused to tap at the keyboard before he continued, “I was at a training facility. Dad got me into a pilot project that runs concurrently with a college program. So technically I was at college, am at college, just not how Mom thought.”
I looked at him sideways. “Why no cover at Yale?”
He shrugged. “Careless loose ends and a mistake on my part letting her get worried. If she’d gotten a hold of me or had called the numbers that were on the fake Yale package I’d sent her, she never would have known. Until I got here, of course.”
“So what Agency?” I asked. Though if Dad got him in, it was likely high clearance stuff: NSA, CIA, Homeland Security, maybe somewhere else that I didn’t even know existed.
He shook his head and gave me an apologetic look. I exhaled, knowing that meant no matter how much I prodded him, I wasn’t getting any more information. “And Mom doesn’t know anything?”
“No. She’d totally freak out. Dad wasn’t even going to go for it, but in the end, they recruited me and it’s not like he could really stop me.”
I had to agree that Mom would have freaked out if she’d known. She knew what she was marrying into with Dad, since he’d been in various roles in the military and CIA since before they’d met, but she wasn’t a big fan of the life and was never shy about saying she didn’t want it for her kids. I hadn’t thought Robert was into it (I sure wasn’t—give me a safe desk job writing human interest pieces, thank you very much) but evidence of the last five minutes was pointing to the contrary.
“So are you on assignment or something?” Which made it even stranger that he was here with me.
He gave me a blank look.
“What?” I said.
“You are my assignment. That’s why I’m here; to keep you safe.” He knocked me on the head with his knuckles. “You didn’t figure that out?”
I swiped his hand away. “Shut up. I’m new to all this; give me a second to catch up.”
He turned back to his computer and typed in a few more things, but it looked like code on a black screen. “What are you doing?”
“Tracking these texts.”
“We should call Mom and Dad. What about the protocol?” I said, suddenly panicking that something had happened to them, too. Maybe something way worse than a threatening text.
“I’m already on it. I’ve sent a message to Dad through the agency’s encrypted system.”
“My brother, the spy.”
He smirked at me then looked back at his screen. “Okay, these texts came from somewhere in the Middle East. Yemen or Saudi Arabia. That’s good, at least.”
“I’m still a bit freaked,” I said.
He nodded. “I’m going to get some security here.”
“Are you freaking out?” I asked, because he looked as cool as a cucumber.
“A little,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect...” he trailed off as a bunch of random characters popped up on his screen. “Hold on.” He leaned forward, his eyes scanning the screen, his lips moving a little. Then he dug around his desk for a pen and a pad of post-its, scribbling something down.
Apparently he was some sort of code-breaker now. I should have known he would never flunk out of Yale.
“Mom and Dad are fine,” he said suddenly on a loud exhale, telling me he had been a lot more worried than he was letting on. “They’re moving to a safe house. They want you in London ASAP.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to meet the security team here and then head back to the training facility.”
“What about Christmas?”
“Not this year, B.”
He returned his focus to his screen. “What passports do you have?”
“My Prescott one and the real one.”
“What name is this phone in?”
“Prescott.”
He cursed. “You don’t have a clean passport?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t like that—they know who you are and have your alias, so you can’t fly commercially. We’re going to have to get you an agency plane to get out of here, but that could mean a few more days. You’re at risk, but it’s not like you’re a senator.” He gave me an apologetic look.
Then I thought of something. “What if I said I knew a way to get to London tomorrow?”
Plans
We determined we could trust Declan, and really, it’s not like we had much choice. Once I was able to lure him away from Kaylee to listen to us, he got cagey and refused to even entertain the idea of helping us unless we came clean about why I was asking to stowaway on his private jet.
The good thing was that as a person with his own secrets, he wasn’t averse to keeping ours. So once we explained everything to him and assured him that Robert would have someone connect with Declan’s contact at MI5—England’s security agency—to clear us, he was on board.
Now, I just needed to pack and get ready to disappear and not let on to my friends that it might be forever. I tried not to think about that yet because I was already on the verge of freaking out about saying goodbye to Rosewood for good—I wanted to come back to Rosewood. I’d settled in at the school, was on the equestrian team, had made friends and as of a week from now, would have had a boyfriend. I desperately didn’t want to have to go back to ground zero and start again.
But that wasn’t up to me and for now, I just needed to be safe. Unfortunately, that meant lying to all my friends.
Once we were done making plans with Declan for the next day, I went up to my dorm room to start getting ready. Robert had kept my phone and wiped it clean, telling me I shouldn’t have one for a while and if I did absolutely need one, I was to get an untraceable throwaway one.
When Emmie returned to the room after the movie, she came in to see me packing my clothes into Robert’s suitcases since there wasn’t time to get my trunk brought up from storage. “What’s going on?”
“My Dad’s had a heart attack,” I said, giving her the first lie of our carefully crafted story. “I’m heading to London first thing in the morning.” I didn’t tell her I was going with Declan; the fewer details she knew the better for everyone.
“Oh, Brooklyn,” she said, throwing her arms around me. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”
“I hope so,” I said, hugging my friend, the tears that fell from my eyes real, though not over my father.
She pushed back and looked into my eyes, frowning. “I’m so sorry.”
I nodded. “You’ll have to do the Santa Hop,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll be back in time.”
“Of course,” she said, starting to help me by taking my clothes from the closet off their hangers and folding them for me. “Whatever you need.”
I stopped packing and looked at her. “You’re a good friend.”
“I love you, you know,” she said.
I nodded. “I love you, too, Emmie.”
“Okay, no teary goodbyes,” she said, folding up my favorite Rosewood hoodie. “He’ll be fine and you and Robert will be back after New Year's.”
“Robert’s not coming with me,” I said casually.
“No?”
I shook my head. “No, he’s staying here to work, but he’ll come to London for Christmas.” Another lie.
“That’s weird, isn’t it?”
Yes. If it was the truth. “He needs to keep busy or he’ll go nuts. I think he’s better off here. If it looks like things are getting...really serious, he’ll come.”
She screwed up her face, but in the end shrugged and continued handing me clothes. “I’m going to miss you,” she said. “I haven’t even gotten your Christmas present yet. I was goi
ng to shop for it tomorrow,” she said with a guilty smirk.
That made me laugh. “You. Probably the richest girl on campus was waiting for Black Friday?”
“I like the thrill of the deal,” she said. “Sue me.”
“You’re the best, Emmeline Somerville,” I said.
“Backatcha, Brooklyn Prescott,” she replied, which made my heart ache, because my name was one more lie, though at least that wasn’t a new one, I told myself.
Once she got to the end of my clothes, she yawned. “I’m wiped. You must be, too.”
“I’m running on adrenaline,” I said, which was the truth. “I’ll sleep on the plane tomorrow.” I hope.
“Mind if I leave you to it and take a shower?”
“No. Go ahead.”
When she was in the bathroom, I opened up my e-mail and logged off the network. Before I deleted my entire inbox, I read through old messages and fought tears as I relived my weeks at Rosewood.
I was leaving and I couldn’t even say goodbye. Not to Jared or Brady or worst of all, Dave, the guy who would be returning to see me next week to find me long gone and completely off the grid. I thought about leaving him a note somehow, but what would I say? Even if I told him the heart attack story, there was a good chance I’d never be back, so how would that be better than just disappearing? I felt like a horrible person, but it couldn’t be helped and I just hoped one day he’d be able to forgive me.
~ ♥ ~
The next morning, I got up early and met Robert in the foyer and together we left the building toward his car. “What about the dean?” I asked.
“I’ll debrief her. She knows some things, since we had to work out my being here and I’ll need to let her know a security detail is en route.”
“We’re going to be okay, right?” I asked as we got up to the vehicle.
He stopped and looked at me over the roof of the car. “Yeah we are.”
“Will I get to come back?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know that, but I would guess probably not.”
I nodded, knowing there was no point in getting upset about something we had no control over, and got into the car. The drive to the airport was quiet as I thought again about all the people I was leaving behind and how there was no way to say a proper goodbye.
When we pulled up to the curb, Declan was waiting for us, his carry-on bag standing beside him. He came around to the trunk and easily lifted my suitcases out before Robert even got out of the car.
“Thanks, man,” Robert said, shaking Declan’s hand. They exchanged meaningful glances before Robert pulled me into a hug.
“Be safe, little sister,” he said into my ear.
“I will. Love you, big brother,” I replied.
I pulled out of the hug and gave him a smile. “I’d text when I get there but...” I shrugged.
“I’ll know,” he said. “Just get there, okay?”
I nodded and then took a deep breath and looked up at Declan. “Ready?”
“I am.” He looked at my brother. “I’ll get her there, I promise.”
And then, without another look back, Declan and I grabbed our bags and headed into the terminal.
Epilogue
I needed a break. I’d been working on my term paper for hours hunched over my computer, until my eyes were practically crossed. I still wasn’t done, but needed some air. I headed down to the lounge to see who was in there, thinking a few minutes chatting with my girls would clear my head. To my disappointment, the lounge was completely empty.
With a sigh, I opened the fridge and almost squealed with excitement when I saw the jug of chocolate milk. I poured myself a tall glass and took a swig, humming at the pleasure of the sweet liquid on my tongue. It was good and cold, so I took a breather before downing the rest and as I did, my eyes landed on a package tucked among the stack of magazines on the side table. Curious, I put the glass down and pulled the package out, realizing quickly what it was: Jared Abramovich’s memoir.
“Hmm,” I said out loud. “Brooklyn must have left this here before she flew back to London.”
With a quick look around to make sure no one saw, I tucked it under my arm, threw back the rest of the chocolate milk and hurried back to my dorm room.
Thank you for reading READING BETWEEN THE LINES.
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The Rosewoods Series
TAKING THE REINS
MASQUERADE
PLAYING THE PART
READING BETWEEN THE LINES
I’LL NEVER FORGET (Short Story)
THIS POINT FORWARD
RISKING IT ALL (Short Story)
MAKING RIPPLES
ACTING OUT
HITTING THE TARGET (August 2015)
Find me online at http://katrinaabbott.com, follow me on Twitter @abbottkatrina and come check out my Pinterest board to see some of the inspirations behind the characters (girls and guys!) and the costumes for MASQUERADE.
xoxo
Katrina Abbott
Out Now!
THIS POINT FORWARD
Book 5
of
The Rosewoods
Read on for a sneak peek!
Paging Dr. Freud
Now what?
I looked around my empty dorm room, feeling lonelier than I had since I’d started the school year, even though Brooklyn had only been gone a few hours. I’d gone back to bed after she left, almost wishing we had classes today. Being busy would be a good thing, but of course, I now had three full days off before school started up again after the Thanksgiving break. Sleeping seemed like the obvious way to kill big chunks of time, but my body and mind weren’t on board with the plan as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I may as well have chugged a case of Red Bulls.
“God, I hate being alone,” I said aloud. Not that anyone else could hear, but I needed something to break the deafening silence.
Ever since I was a child, I hated being alone more than anything else in the world, and it didn’t take a Dr. Freud to figure out why.
It’s not that I was a neglected child in the way that those babies who are left to be raised by wolves are. Nor was I chained to a toilet for years on end like that poor kid they’d found a couple of years ago and had plastered all over the news. My story of neglect was hardly newsworthy and of the type that I knew quietly played out in tons of homes across affluent America.
I like to call it neglect by proxy, whereby a child is raised by nannies, cooks and gardeners—pretty much anyone on the payroll. Said child could easily be cast on a TV show about hoarding if ever the wealthy would allow a camera crew into their luxurious homes where there was evidence of their trying to buy their kids’ affection and silence with the latest toys and games. Or in the case of a teenage girl, designer clothes and cute convertibles. Unfortunately, the child always lacks in the one thing she craves most: the attentions of her own parents.
In my case, I didn’t even have siblings to play with, and take my word for it, playing with a middle-aged nanny who tired of childhood games when she was a child is no substitute.
Looking back, I count my blessings and know I came from a life of privilege. Many kids don’t get to attend elite schools, wear designer clothes or spend their summers in Europe. Although—and not to sound ungrateful here—when you’re sent to that school to get you out of the house, are told it is unacceptable to spend your clothing allowance on charity, and spend the summer in Europe on a guided tour with a bunch of strangers because your mother is redoing her house and didn’t want you going with her and your father on their Australian trip, you may no
t appreciate these things quite as much.
It sounds ludicrous to complain about being a poor little rich girl, so I try not to do it, but I kind of hate my home life. I can’t wait to finish school and make my own way far away from my parents. Until then, thank God for Rosewood; I never would have kept any kind of sanity if I had to live at home and go to a local school.
I know it probably sounds like my parents hated having me, but that’s not precisely true. It’s like relationships on Facebook: it’s complicated. They love me, of course, they just don’t get me and pretty much never want to be around me because we are such polar opposites. As I got older and realized this, I became more and more okay having a great distance between us.
Except at the holidays. Holidays are made for reconnecting with your crazy family to remind you why you didn’t want to be around them the rest of the year. And although you know the family dinner is going to be nuts and you’ll beg for death at least twice between the broth course and the cheese plate, you still look forward to them with a sort of masochistic nostalgia.
But here I was for a third year in a row stuck at my boarding school for Thanksgiving, which kind of sucked. It had seemed like maybe it wouldn’t be horrible and we did have a nice dinner and I got to hang out with some of my friends after we’d served at the local shelter, but then poor Brooklyn got called away because her father’d had a heart attack in London. She was rushing home to be with her family, which I can hardly blame her for, although I hated being left behind on my own.
It was selfish and childish, but even just sleeping alone made me anxious—it was the reason I didn’t want the private room my parents had paid for this year. Not that I would ever tell them—or anyone, for that matter—that I hated sleeping alone.
I’d already been thinking about what I would do over the holidays, though I thought I’d have Brooklyn with me until almost Christmas. But now I worried I wasn’t going to sleep for the next month. I suppose I could get one of the girls—maybe Kaylee—to move into my dorm room since she’d probably be stuck here at Christmas, too, thanks to her crap home life. But I didn’t want to think about that just yet.
Reading Between the Lines Page 19
