by Tara Brown
“Everyone watches Dr. Phil, Evie. He says it like it is,” Mom defended him as she pulled pizzas out of the fridge and placed them on the stone baking sheets. “I do wish Jack had come and told us what to do with that information before he and Luce decided to—rekindle things though.” Her eyes darted to the hallway behind me. “Could be days before they resurface.”
“Gross.” I didn’t want to talk about it but I agreed, regardless of being too exhausted to cope with anything complex. “How long is the pizza going to be?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be back. I need some fresh air.” I got up and wandered out the back door to the expansive deck. Jules and Mitch were playing in the pool, fighting and hitting each other with the huge inflatable noodles. “Gentle,” I warned.
“She hits harder than you think,” Mitch defended himself.
“Okay.” I smiled seeing Jules’ wide grin as she bounced the noodle off her brother’s head.
“See!” he cried out and she hit him again.
That made me laugh as I made my way to the edge of the deck to stare out at the vast countryside, loving the feel of the warm wind on my fragile disposition.
What a week it had been.
What a month.
What a year.
Fuck it . . . shit had been fairly bad more than it was ever good.
Again, self-awareness crept in and I started to see that maybe the problem was me.
It was icky but real.
I made bad choices.
I chose men who were wrong for me every single time.
But I wasn’t sure how to fix it or where to start searching for the reasons behind it.
I also didn't want to be completely alone.
That was a problem.
Single life had sounded so amazing on paper but being alone and not having companionship or someone to look forward to being with wasn't for me. And no sex wasn’t an option either. Could I find a friend with benefits?
Damned Servario.
I’d been fine with no sex for ages before he came along. Him and Coop. All hot and bothersome.
I was midway through contemplating where to begin finding inner peace and leaving the dating world behind, when I saw a dark figure in the field up the hill toward the moors.
I stepped back, tilting my head and squinting.
His gait and the size of his body suggested one possibility, but my brain chanted, Impossible. It also doubted his walking that far for anything.
“Evie!” Jack came running outside, winded and struggling to get his tee shirt on. “I texted you but your phone’s in the kitchen.” He rushed over, cringing when he saw the dark figure. “He’s here. My security picked him up on cameras about a mile ago. He’s walking, which is ominous. He has his cell phone so I tracked it to double check—it’s him.” He sighed, catching his breath and planting his hands on his hips. “Don’t tell him it was me who texted the breakup.”
“I won’t. Get me a gun. Just in case. And take the kids inside.”
“A gun?” His voice cracked. “This is his house.”
“He’s still a drug-dealing terrorist, Jack.” I stood waiting as he hurried back to the pool, shouting at the kids to come inside for some pizza.
They didn't argue. Not anymore. When one of us got the sense of urgency in our tone, my kids hustled. I didn't know what had caused that. They hadn’t seen or been exposed to anything yet. But we did talk an awful lot around them. And they weren’t stupid. Not even close to it.
Whatever had caused the change in them, I had mixed feelings about it. I liked that they had the survival skills to haul ass, but at the same time I hated that they had to.
“Here.” Jack returned and slid a handgun into my palm so I didn't have to take my eyes from the dark shadow descending on our estate. “I’m going back in, but your mom’s coming.”
“Okay,” I spoke softly, coldly. I was cold. My broken heart had been sealed off in the block of ice my chest had become. It prevented feelings. It blocked agony. It stopped my heart from bleeding out all over the deck. It stopped me from fearing the shadow coming at me. And as luck would have it, a little rage and hatred were able to seep out through the barrier in my chest. Just enough.
“What is he doing here?” Mom asked as she lifted her rifle and stared through the scope. “It’s him all right. He’s got a gun under his left arm of his suit. How odd.” She didn't sound scared either. Not because she was cut off from emotions but because she wasn't scared of people. Or killing them. “Walk out to him, darling. When you get close enough, tell him not to move and that if he reaches for that gun, I’ll kill him long before his fingers make contact.”
“Fine.” I held my gun tightly as I strolled out into the field, as if this was a casual Sunday walk. Two lovers, ex-lovers, strolling up to one another in a field, both armed. And of course, my mother with her rifle behind me. Because everyone needed that kind of mothering.
Nothing about my life was ever casual. Not anymore.
And the dark shadow was partly to blame for that. Mostly to blame.
His furrow became clear about forty yards from me. A little fear slipped out of the icy chest and landed in my stomach with a thud, nestling next to the rage and anger.
When he got to twenty yards, I shouted, “Don't come any closer and don't reach for that gun in your pocket. Mom’s behind me and she’s not very happy with you.”
He completely disregarded what I said, storming closer like a freight train with no brakes.
My icy chest melted, my heart started racing, and my stomach turned.
He was pissed and ready to risk my mom shooting him.
I gripped the gun and reminded myself I was also pissed.
And I had way more reason to be than he did.
My instincts and feet begged to take a step back, pleaded with me to turn and flee, but I forced them to stay put.
I planted them and tried not to flinch at the sight of the burning hate in his dark eyes. His furrowed brow shaded them until they appeared obsidian with fury.
He clenched his jaw as he approached, stopping just short of me, forcing my gaze to lift to his.
My fingers trembled with the gun in them, but I forced their shaking to stop.
He lifted his phone and flashed the message Jack had sent. “What is the meaning of this?” His tone was as feisty as his glare, making his accent thicker.
“It’s-it’s fairly self-explanatory.” I didn't have the same confidence in my pitch so my voice cracked a little.
“Were you forced to send this?” His eyes narrowed a touch, perhaps he winced a bit. Was he hurt?
“No. I s-sent it.” God, he did think it was some kind of code.
“No.”
“What?” I got lost in the single word.
“No. I refuse your text message breakup. Tell me here, like an adult,” he challenged.
“Fuck you, Servario.” It slipped out with all the venom I’d been storing up.
“Evie,” he warned.
“No. I saw you,” I hissed like a venomous snake. “I saw you with her. I saw your room in that fancy hotel with all her classy clothing. I saw you.” The ice was gone and the pain was back and the tears were real. But they were angry tears, the worst kind. “I saw you eating and laughing and smiling as if you were a real person. Not some cold, manipulative lying sack of shit. Not some cranky arms dealer. Not some controlling asshole. You were real with her. Eating steak and joking and chuckling at her story, thank you very much.” My heart bled onto the deck with the icy water it had been encased in, flooding us both with my emotional outburst.
“Elise?” His lips toyed with a grin. “You’re jealous of Elise?”
“No. I’m pissed that she gets that version of you and I get this one.” I waved the gun up and down his body, taking a step back so I didn't have to crane my neck to glare at him. “She has half your heart, the good half. And I get what’s left over. I don't actually like leftovers. They’re soggy an
d stale and used.” I took another step back.
“It’s not—”
“What? Not what I think? You sharing a fabulous French penthouse hotel room—much nicer than anywhere you’ve ever taken me by the way—with the woman you were in love with when you were younger, is not what I think? You weren’t fucking?” I was losing it. The hold on my crazy had slipped, or maybe melted and was now in a bloody puddle somewhere with my heart.
“She was helping me with your Saransk problem. The problem you’ve basically demanded I help you with. And the mess you’ve made with him means we must tidy it up as quickly as we can. You’re overreac—”
“Don't!” I pointed the gun at him. “Don't say that. Thus far you have proven exactly the sort of man you are, Servario. A liar. You said you were always in love with me, and yet the records keeper had photos of you and Elise, young and in love. So obviously you weren’t always in love with me, were you? Or were you in love with us both? Has it always been us both? And just so you know, you can’t choose an ex as a cover partner for any mission, not unless you want something to happen.”
“Like you and young Cooper?”
“Coop wasn't my ex then and he has a girlfriend. And that was different. I never lied. You knew he and I were—entangled.”
“And that’s better?” He sounded as if he might laugh but appeared to be seconds away from screaming. “You think it’s easier to know the person you love is conflicted and fucking someone else?”
“Since I do know how that feels, no. I don't think it’s easier,” I managed to choke out.
“I chose Elise because she is loyal to me to the death, and when I am working on something with a risk this big, I don't mess around. That is all. So you don't need to think anything else about this.”
“I think this bullshit is over. That’s what I think. It’s been almost a year since this started, and I don't feel any better about it. In fact, I think I feel worse than I ever have.”
“Say it,” he challenged me again.
“It’s over.” The words weren’t strong. They weren’t fiery. They weren’t even bitter. They were sad and whispered and mixed with tears I forbid myself to cry. Tears choking me up and burning behind my eyes. “Once this job is over, I never want to see you again.”
“Then you won’t. Once the job is over.” His eyes shone, losing the hate but keeping the pain.
I hated us both.
Especially when he turned and walked back into the field.
He let me have exactly what I was asking for.
The end.
6
The bitchy Brit
July 2013
Luce leaned in and whispered, “You nervous?”
“No,” I lied. “We knew we’d have to meet her at some point.” A point I dreaded.
Coop and Simone had been at the Portobello Road house for a week. A week I had spent pretending I was the greatest mom on earth while Luce, Mom, Fitz, and Jack plotted.
They had a plan.
It was risky and I wasn't sure Coop would go for it, but since he’d done his disappearing act and made decisions for us we weren’t comfortable with, no one was considering his opinion much.
And as much as I hated being the mature adult, I got it. I understood his choices.
His sister had betrayed him.
She’d died being tortured by the guy he hated more than anyone.
He and I were a mess of emotions and irresponsible choices.
And I’d broken his heart, more than once.
He needed out.
He needed a break.
And I didn't blame him.
The past weeks had been amazingly good for us as individuals. All of us.
Luce and Jack were back together and better than ever.
Mom and Fitz were refreshed from weeks of pool, hot tub, countryside views, and stress-free lifestyle.
And my kids were doing fabulous.
The last week with them had been spent touring cool castles.
Every day was vacation, especially today with Mom and Fitz taking them to Stratford-upon-Avon to see Shakespeare’s birthplace and drink Mom’s favorite coffee, Monsoon, from the café she loved there, the Brownie Box.
And we were off on the train with disguises, off for a different sort of vacation.
We were heading to London to meet with Coop and his new girlfriend.
The newest member of our team. A member none of us wanted.
My phone buzzed with a message from a certain arms dealer I hadn’t expected to hear from.
I stared at it, fighting the instant lump in my throat.
Tell young C that his girlfriend checks out. She is not a mole. She can come aboard if she needs to, that is if Jack agrees. Also we need to discuss the name I said to you in the field. I know where he is. The sooner this is over, the sooner you never have to hear from me again. S.
My insides burned but I sent a response, ignoring the uncomfortable part of the conversation.
He?
We’d talked about Elise.
The phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Don't be daft, Evie. Surely you’re not so obsessed with Elise that you didn't notice the other name I mentioned.” Servario’s tone could have sliced me open from a mile away.
“No. And I’m not daft.” I didn't have the same anger as him. Mine was washed and watered with agony.
“A certain Russian you’re desperate to end the life of. Has some daughters you don't like. You picked a fight and now we have to end it.”
“Oh him.” Saransk. The devil himself. The one I wanted. He wasn’t a mission per se, but he was my mission.
“Yes, him. Before we do anything, I need to ask you if you are certain this is a fight you want? It’s going to be dangerous.”
“I don't care, I want him.” I was adamant.
“Fine. I’ll see you in an hour. We’ll discuss it then.” He hung up and all the nerves I’d felt over meeting Simone vanished. They were replaced by something worse.
“Was that S?” Luce asked.
“Yeah. I guess he has something on Saransk.”
“Oh good. The sooner he’s done, the better.” Her eyes danced with the delight she always got when it was time to kill bad people.
“We’re here.” Jack grabbed his bag and rose to walk to the door.
We’d traveled by train in disguises, Luce and I were hopefully passing as regular Brits from the countryside, dressing up to go into the city, whereas Jack came across as more of a nerdy schoolboy, exchange student perhaps. The glasses and the baseball cap he wore would ensure no facial recognition would get him. Our sunglasses and sun hats did the same job.
Luce and I both wore wigs as well as a lot of makeup and some extra padding to make us look like we enjoyed a comfy lifestyle.
I wouldn't have recognized us.
Paddington was a hotbed of tourists and large groups of people, which was perfect for us.
We walked separately, splitting and going in three different directions.
I walked to the queue for black cabs.
Luce took the underground.
Jack was going to bus it.
It was a shitty plan for me, I would arrive first.
But hopefully Luce wouldn’t be far behind.
The drive over was quicker than expected, traffic being smooth for a change. London was always such a mess, but summers were extra special.
I paid the driver and climbed out, three blocks short of my destination, and tried not to die from nerves and the heat. England was ablaze with warm weather and high humidity.
I roamed the market, using windows and displays to check for anyone tagging along behind me.
When I was certain I didn't have a tail, I headed for my destination.
The house was a perfect cover.
I didn't knock, I punched in the code on the handle and stepped inside, greeted by Coop holding a gun in my face.
Our eyes met, though mine were hidden by sunglasses.<
br />
His lips lifted into a grin but his stare told the story. He wasn't happy to see me. He was worried.
I was the opposite.
My entire body relaxed with relief.
He was safety, something I hadn’t noticed I missed, but I hated finding it in him.
“You look—lovely,” he lied.
“Thanks. You like the extra weight?” I joked as I closed the door and smiled politely, my eyes searching the space behind him for the face of the girl. “How’s it going?” I asked, still British.
“Good.” He stepped aside, giving me more room in the tight, bright entryway to walk past him. I pulled off my hat and glasses but left the wig and extra weight on. Our eyes met, both of us pausing, locked in the stare. “Hi.” He sighed.
“Hi,” I whispered back.
“Go on in, Simone’s inside working.” His stare was filled with something, maybe desperate pleas to me to be nice.
As if I would have been anything but.
“Okay.” I didn't move, neither of us did. Instead, I accidentally took a deep inhale of him, letting the scent of his deodorant and natural smell haunt me. We hadn’t spoken since the night we spent together in the hotel after his sister’s funeral.
He swallowed hard; he always did when we were having an argument.
But this one was soundless. It was a fight we’d agreed not to have, silently.
He nearly leaned forward, I saw the twitch of a reaction as he stopped himself. Scared of my reaction to him and the way his tee shirt hugged his body or the memory of how his body hugged mine, I turned quickly and rushed from the hall.
I hurried from one fire to another.
In the kitchen was the girl.
She was the breath of fresh air I dreaded.
Dressed in casual beige slacks and a soft white tee shirt.
She had on dark-rimmed glasses and her hair was tucked in a struggle bun. She was curled into the chair at the table, appearing the size of a small child.
Her eyes didn't lift from the computer to greet me, but the way her eyebrows twitched suggested she knew I was there; she wasn’t sure how to greet me.
She knew about us.
He’d told her.
