Father Figure

by Laura Peyton Roberts

  “Run, Sydney!” he cried, struggling frantically. “Get out!”

  But she just stood there. Frozen.

  Wilson tried to fight, but he couldn't get any leverage. One of the masked agents wrestled cuffs onto his wrists, clamping them down savagely. Another punched Wilson in the stomach, and he crumpled to his knees. The security squad was terrifying, a study in black body armor, full ski masks, and anonymous intimidation. If Sydney hadn't known they were the good guys, she'd have thought they were dragging Wilson off to his execution.

  Wilson looked up at her, his face twisted with pain. “Run, Sydney,” he pleaded again.

  He didn't know she couldn't run, couldn't move, could barely even breathe. She seemed to be watching from outside her body as Wilson was dragged backward into the warehouse area.

  And finally the light clicked on in his eyes.

  “You brought me here. . . .You told them I . . . No, Sydney! It's not what you think! None of this is what you think!”

  She tried to speak, couldn't find any words.

  “I'm not a traitor, I swear!” Wilson insisted desperately, struggling against his captors. “You have to believe me, Sydney. I—”

  One of the agents punched him in the jaw, cutting off his protestations.

  Sydney watched with tears rolling down her face as Wilson was forced into the back of a waiting van and two guards jumped in behind him. A third man slammed the van doors shut, cutting off the sounds of the skirmish inside, while the fourth got into the driver's seat and revved up the engine. A moment later, they were gone, leaving the load-ing dock door gaping open like a giant screaming mouth.

  Sydney collapsed to the lobby floor, her legs folding beneath her. The tears in her eyes blurred the empty place where Wilson had just been, but they were already drying, replaced by a strange sense of calm.

  Her heart had almost betrayed her, her body had failed her completely, but her brain was now certain she'd done the right thing.

  Whatever feelings she might have had for Wilson, seeing his arrest had set her straight. To hear him lie that way, right to her face, all the while begging with those pleading eyes . . . it was enough to make her sick.

  I did the right thing, she thought. Whatever SD-6 does to Wilson now, it won't be on my conscience. He was a traitor, and I turned him in.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  I protected my country.

  15

  SYDNEY STUMBLED INTO HER dorm room and fell facedown on her bed, collapsing into sobs. She couldn't hold back the tears anymore—she didn't even want to. They overtook her in waves, racking her whole body.

  “Sydney!” Francie cried, jumping up from her desk. “What happened?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but there was nothing she could say. More sobs rose up instead, nearly choking her.

  The bed dipped as Francie sat beside her, tentatively touching her shoulder. “Syd? Where have you been? Work?”

  She had been downtown, betraying her handler and the one man she knew cared about her . . . but she couldn't tell that to Francie. She could barely admit it to herself. Wilson had turned against SD-6, but he'd never been her enemy. The momentary peace she'd found in the abandoned building had completely deserted her now, replaced by the heartbreaking knowledge that she'd never see Wilson again.

  Francie gasped at a sudden thought. “They didn't . . . did they fire you?”

  Still facedown, Sydney shook her head.

  “Then what?” Francie demanded. “You're starting to scare me, Syd. Did somebody hurt you?”

  Sydney shook her head again. “No,” she finally forced out. “Nothing like that. I'm sorry.”

  Francie's hand found Sydney's back, rubbing in small, comforting circles. “Just tell me what's going on.”

  “Nothing.” Another hiccupping sob. “Stress.”

  “You poor thing. If anyone ever earned a little nervous breakdown, it's you.” Francie's hand stopped rubbing. “It is a little breakdown, right? I mean, I don't need to call Health Services?”

  “No, don't,” Sydney said, still crying but not as hard.

  “If you think about it, we should have seen this coming. Between finals and all the extra hours you've been working for the bank, and now having your father in town, it's no surprise you're having a meltdown.”

  “Yeah.” Sydney grabbed a tissue off the nightstand. “It's been hard.”

  “You know what you need?” Francie said. “A night off.”

  “You're probably right.” She was too upset to study anyway. “Do you want to hang out? Maybe watch Star Wars?”

  “Again?” Francie smiled. “I think we can do better than that. Why don't I call Burke and—”

  “No!” Sydney said, sitting up. “Don't call Burke.”

  “Why not? You said he was complaining about never seeing you, and it will cheer you up, too.”

  “I can't deal with Burke right now.”

  “Is there something wrong between you two?” Francie asked, confused. “Something you haven't told me?”

  There were so many things Sydney hadn't told her . . . and so many lies she had. She felt like she was drowning in her secret life.

  “I'm going to break things off with Burke tomorrow.” The words seemed to come out of nowhere, shocking her as much as Francie.

  Francie stood up and stared with disbelief. “What? When did you decide that?”

  “Just now,” Sydney said slowly, realizing she meant it. “I should have done it a while ago, but I really like Burke and I thought if I gave us more time . . . The problem is Burke doesn't know me.”

  “Because you're never around!” Francie said. “That's what he's been trying to tell—”

  “I'm in love with somebody else.”

  “What?” Francie reached behind her, groping her way to a seat on her own bed. “With who?”

  “His name is Noah.”

  “Noah who?”

  “Noah Hicks.”

  “I can't believe this.” Francie peered at Sydney as if she might be imagining things. “Burke really likes you. And now you're going to dump him for some guy you've barely met?”

  “Actually? I met Noah before Burke.”

  “But you've been seeing Burke for weeks! I've never even heard of this Noah!” Francie's voice was starting to sound more annoyed than amazed.

  “I know. I would have mentioned him before, but—”

  “Let me guess,” Francie interrupted bitterly. “You've been too busy.”

  “I didn't want to say anything because I don't know where things are going with Noah. Or if they're going anywhere.”

  “I thought we were best friends.”

  “We are.” Sydney heaved a tired sigh. “It's just . . . complicated.”

  “And you love this guy?” Francie demanded.

  Sydney hesitated a second, waiting for the doubt to hit, but all she felt was relief. “I do.”

  “You're just full of surprises tonight,” Francie said, every trace of her earlier sympathy gone.

  “You're mad at me now.”

  “Not mad. I'm just hurt that you don't trust me.”

  “That's not true! I trust you completely.”

  “Whatever.” Francie raised an ominous brow. “Burke's the one who's going to kill you.”

  In five minutes this will all be over, Sydney reassured herself, clutching her history textbook tighter. I'm doing the right thing.

  But that didn't keep her stomach from aching as the students in Professor Baldridge's American history lecture surged to their feet, marking the end of the morning class. She had slipped in late and taken a seat in back to avoid dealing with Burke, but she couldn't postpone their encounter any longer—he was headed directly for her.

  “Hey!” he said, stopping just inches away. His shaggy red hair was endearingly messy, and a growth of stubble accentuated his square chin. “I saved you a seat in front. What's the deal sitting way back here?”

  “I just . . . I was l
ate and . . . Can we talk about this outside?”

  “Talk about what?” he asked, not budging.

  The probing way his eyes held hers made her feel kind of dizzy. “I can't breathe in here,” she said. “Please. Let's go outside.” She turned and led the way out of the lecture hall, half hoping he wouldn't follow.

  Ending things with him had seemed like the right thing to do the night before. But if he walked the other way now, she wouldn't have to give the little speech she'd prepared, wouldn't have to see his face when he heard the news, wouldn't have to feel worse than she already did. . . .

  When she turned around on the pavement outside the building, though, Burke was right behind her. She walked over a patch of grass and stopped beneath a jacaranda tree, looking for more privacy.

  “What's this about? You're acting weird.” He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, the gesture betraying his growing unease. “Is something wrong?”

  She tried to smile, but it hurt too much.

  “You know I really like you, right?” she got out finally. “But lately I've felt like I'm letting you down. Like we're not really clicking.”

  “How can you say that?” he asked, wounded. “I'm crazy about you.”

  “But—but—” she stammered. “You're always complaining I'm not around enough. And I can't be, Burke—not the way you want me to. The truth is, I don't know what I'm doing this summer. I don't even know what I'm doing later on today.”

  “This is about your job, isn't it?” His eyes had clouded with pain, but his voice was still steady. “I haven't been understanding enough about—”

  “No,” she cut in quickly. “I mean, yes. My job's a big part of it. But you've been plenty understanding. That's not it.”

  “Then what?” He reached forward and squeezed her hands. “Tell me what the problem is and I'll fix it.”

  He looked so sincere, so completely genuine, that Sydney began to cry. Big silent tears welled up and spilled over her lashes.

  He deserved so much better than this.

  “I just . . . don't think we're right for each other. You're such a great guy. I hope we'll still be friends. But you'll be better off with a different girl—a girl who can be there one hundred percent.”

  “Oh, no,” he said, a defiant spark catching in his hazel eyes. “You're not going to break up with me for my own good. I can take care of myself, all right?”

  “I know you can.” She was so ashamed she could barely look at him. When she did, fresh tears blurred her vision, dripping off her chin. “I just can't do this anymore.”

  “But I still don't understand. I mean, if I didn't do anything wrong . . .” He let go of her hands abruptly, taking a big step backward.

  “Is there someone else?” he asked flatly.

  She hadn't wanted to tell him that. Even if Noah didn't exist, she and Burke would never be able to have an honest relationship. She'd lied to him so much already. . . .

  He deserved the truth.

  “Yes,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to the grass. “I'm sorry.”

  “How long?” he asked in a strangled voice.

  “A few . . . weeks.”

  “You liar!” he exclaimed, the unleashed anger in his tone making Sydney wince. “All those excuses about how you had to work and the whole time you were running around with someone else!”

  “No, I was working.”

  “I'm so stupid! Sitting around waiting for you, believing everything you said.”

  “Burke, it wasn't—”

  “What else have you lied about, Sydney? That trip to Hawaii you supposedly went on with Francie? The late-night filing? Do you even have a job?”

  Every word was like a slap in the face.

  “Of course I have a job!”

  “How am I supposed to know? If you'll lie about one thing . . .”

  “I was working,” she insisted. “And I never said there wasn't someone else.” It was a pathetic argument; she knew that the second it came out of her mouth.

  “Oh, good. That makes it okay, then,” he said sarcastically.

  “Of course it doesn't. That was a dumb thing to—”

  “You know what? I think you were right after all. We're not clicking. You're not even the girl I thought you were. Turns out all this time I was falling for a completely different person. And the joke's on me, because so were you.”

  “Please, Burke. I care about you so much,” she began, but he cut her off.

  “Don't waste your time,” he said. “I won't believe you anyway.”

  She recoiled as if he had hit her. For a moment, his expression twisted with pain and she glimpsed the Burke she had known before—sweet, sensitive, open. Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

  Sydney watched him go, feeling worse than she'd ever imagined.

  She had hurt him. She had lost his friendship forever.

  And there wasn't one thing he'd accused her of that wasn't completely true.

  I don't care anymore, Sydney thought miserably, letting herself into her empty dorm room. I don't even care if I fail every single final.

  She threw herself down on her bed, unable to face the rest of her classes. In less than twenty-four hours she had completely destroyed her relationships with both Wilson and Burke, and she was starting to think it was all her fault. If only she'd handled things differently, maybe she could have salvaged Wilson somehow. There was no question she'd treated Burke horribly, and the knowledge filled her with self-loathing. She just needed to be alone, to have some space to sort things out. . . .

  And then the telephone rang.

  I'm not picking that up, she thought.

  There was no one she wanted to talk to. Besides, the call was probably for Francie.

  The answering machine clicked on: “Hey! This is Francie and Sydney. You know what to do!”

  A loud beep followed, then a voice.

  “Sydney? This is your father.”

  She groaned, knowing she ought to pick up the line but too depressed to talk.

  “Listen, something's come up at work. I have to leave town kind of suddenly.”

  She rolled over and started to reach for the phone. If he was leaving, she had to talk to him now; otherwise she might miss their last chance to get together.

  “Actually, I'm calling from a pay phone at the airport. Sorry I didn't get to say good-bye in person, but this is important.”

  Sydney froze with her hand in the air. Of course it was important—his stupid job was always more important than she was.

  “Anyway, I hope all goes well with your finals, and I'll try to call in a week or two. You, um . . . You take care.”

  The dial tone sounded. She didn't even have a number to call him back.

  Why would I want to? she wondered, pulling a pillow over her head. She'd thought her fight with Burke had left her out of tears, but now she discovered that she'd been wrong. They wet her cheeks and pillow, making her even more wretched than before.

  Just stop it. You knew he'd do this—or something like it. He always does.

  But it still hurt. And more than she'd expected.

  She'd honestly believed he was trying this time. Despite their arguing, she'd thought they were making some progress. Now she felt like a fool.

  She'd let him in, and he'd let her down. Again. Just one more vacancy in her life—first Wilson, then Burke, now him . . .

  How did he always manage to leave her right when she needed him most?

  No more, she vowed, crying into her pillow. Never again—that's it.

  The next time my father is in L.A., I'm going to Brazil!

  16

  “JUST TELL ME WHO sent this,” Sydney whispered nervously, showing Noah her pager. HQ CR ASAP was displayed on its tiny screen.

  “It could have been anyone,” he replied.

  She had been thrilled to find him at a desk when she walked past the bull pen at SD-6, but beyond the news that CR stood for conference room, Noah hadn't been able
to shed any light on her situation. He just happened to be there that afternoon, working a normal shift.

  “It couldn't be anyone,” she argued, “because the only people who have this number are you and Wilson. You don't think Wilson—?”

  “Definitely not,” he assured her quickly. “There are a few other people.”

  “Like who?”

  She had expected to get a summons from SD-6 eventually, but she'd also expected it to come from Noah. So ever since her beeper had gone off an hour before, rousing her from a tear-induced nap, she'd been making herself crazy wondering what it meant.

  “There are . . . people,” Noah said vaguely. “I can't give you names.”

  “Why not?”

  He glanced out over the floor, his message clear. Headquarters was full of agents that Wednesday; it was impossible to know who might be listening.

  Sydney lowered her voice even further. “Will you be here? After I find out what's going on, I mean.”

  “I'll wait for you,” he whispered back, barely any sound to the words. “I was going to call you tonight anyway. I thought you might want to talk about”—he glanced around again—“things.”

  She gave him a grateful smile, reassured. She'd made so many mistakes, but somehow Noah was still in her life. That, at least, she'd gotten right.

  Walking to the conference room, though, Sydney felt her moment of peace slipping away. She had no idea who had paged her, or why, and it wasn't a good feeling. She took a seat in one of the room's black leather chairs, not put more at ease by the fact that the lights were off and all the monitors were dark.

  Are they going to fire me? she wondered, fidgeting. Now that Wilson was gone, she didn't have a handler. Maybe no one else had time for a trainee. Or perhaps Wilson's fall had tainted them both. If there was a procedure for dealing with this situation, she had no clue what it was.

  Maybe leaving SD-6 wouldn't be such a bad thing.

  The thought surprised her, but only for a moment. She still wanted to help make the world a better place, but since she'd joined the CIA, everything else in her life had suffered. Her relationships, her social life, her schoolwork . . . even her family life, such as it was.

  If they show me the door, I won't beg to stay, she decided. I've made enough money to last for a while—especially with Dad so determined to pay my expenses. I could go to London after all.