Oh no.
A sinking feeling swept over her, and she casually moved down the short hallway and looked into her bedroom. The pair of jeans she’d left on the end of her bed was gone.
“So I was thinking we should go out for some dinner. Get changed or whatever and let’s head out!” Beth’s voice drifted down the hallway. “I’ll just work on scrubbing that shower a little bit while you get ready to go.”
“Okay,” Emily said weakly. She closed the door to her bedroom and stared nervously at her rickety dresser. Finally, she crossed the room and shimmied one of the drawers open. The missing jeans stared back at her, freshly washed, dried, and crisply folded.
Grimacing, Emily squeezed her eyes shut and reached into the front right pocket of the jeans. Her fingers closed around a wad of paper.
No, no, no! Not the check!
She withdrew the slightly-damp wad of paper and attempted to smooth it out. The ink had run and washed away, and only soggy remnants of the check’s former appearance remained to indicate it had been anything important in the first place.
Emily swallowed hard, thinking again about her nearly-empty refrigerator. She would have to go back to Stinkerdog’s owners, show them the check, and request that they write a new one. The big grocery shopping trip would have to wait.
Chapter 8
EMILY PEEKED INTO THE open bathroom where Beth scrubbed away at the already-clean shower walls. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey! Oh, you didn’t change? Well, that’s okay, your work clothes are fine; and your hair and makeup are just stunning, girl. I was thinking that burger joint that’s west-coast-only.” Beth snapped her fingers, trying to remember the name of the restaurant. “I love their food.”
“I can’t really afford to eat out right now, Beth,” Emily said quietly.
“College-fund and all that, right? Well, no worries... I’m buying, so let’s GO!”
Unable to argue with her determined cousin, Emily waited as Beth washed the cleaner from her hands, and then the two of them left the apartment.
Taking Beth’s sporty 4-door was a relief, since Emily realized she wasn’t sure how to explain the smart car to her cousin. They drove to the instructions of Beth’s smartphone, arriving at the burger place a few minutes later.
“Must be so nice living near everything,” Beth said. “I’m looking forward to trying big-city living sometime.”
“It has its perks but also its downsides,” Emily said, shrugging. “Like any place, I’d imagine.”
They ordered their meal and went to find somewhere to sit. Beth suggested the outdoor tables, but Emily shook her head. “Not the best idea at this time of night. One of the downsides of big cities,” she explained. They found an indoor table in one corner of the restaurant.
“Sooo... who were you on the phone with?” Beth asked, leaning forward across the table and wiggling her eyebrows.
“Uh... a friend?” Emily hated that it sounded more like a question than a statement.
“That’s all? He sounded male.”
How am I supposed to explain to her that he’s a coworker in two ways—at least when I’m accidentally in the middle of a spy mission—and that while there certainly nothing going on between us, he’s codenamed me Sweetheart at the moment?
Something between a giggle and a snort escaped her, causing Beth to laugh.
“You spend too much time alone, Emily. You’re cracking yourself up in your head and not saying a word! Come on: spill.”
Emily realized she could tell some of the truth, just not all of it. “He’s a coworker, Beth. I thought someone had broken into my apartment because I forgot you were coming. He doesn’t live too far from here, so he was the first person I thought to call.”
Also, he’s a super-amazing spy who could for sure kick the rear end of any bad guy.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious!” Emily rolled her eyes.
“Okay, okay. Fine. I believe you. I was just hoping you were gone so late because you were on a date or something.”
Well, I kind of was. But it wasn’t really. And I can’t tell you anything about it.
Their food arrived, and she ended up not having to say anything.
“So tell me about you!” Emily said after they’d prayed and begun eating. Beth launched into a long, rambling account of everything that had happened in her life since the cousins had last seen each other three years prior.
Emily laughed along with her and enjoyed catching up, but underneath it all was a feeling of worry about what she would eat for the next several days—or however long it took for her to get a replacement check.
I was eating fancy hors d’oeuvres and wearing an impossibly fine gown just hours ago, and now I have next to no grocery money.
Oh, the irony of my life!
Santa did promise I’d be paid for helping them out. But what are the odds ICS’ payday is within the next 24 hours?
She savored a bite of the burger her cousin was treating her to.
This is so good!
“Are you in there, Emily?” Beth looked amused.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
“Like I said, you spend too much time alone and in your own head.”
“I interact with tons of people at work, and I go to church every Sunday, as well as Bible study most Wednesday mornings,” Emily protested.
“Hmm...” Beth regarded her with teasing skepticism. After a few moments, she asked, “How’s Uncle Reed getting by?”
It was strange to Emily to hear her father called by his first name. When she was growing up, other adults had always called him by his last name, Abbott, as if he was in the military or something.
“Oh, you know Dad,” she said a little uncomfortably. “He’s very dedicated to his work.”
“He still managing the same dairy?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, most people move around—change jobs every so often. He’s been working at that same place for, like, longer than you’ve been alive.”
“Yep, I’m 19 and he’s been working there for 21 years or so.”
Beth nodded. “See him much?”
“He’s very busy,” Emily said, shrugging and studying the last bite of her burger. She wasn’t about to tell this cousin she barely knew, why she didn’t visit him very often. She hated the feeling of driving all the way out to Buckeye for only a brief hello before he found something around the dairy to busy himself with.
You’d think I’d be used to coming in second sooo far behind his cows, but it still stings.
“How long are you in town for?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Oh, just tonight,” Beth said, gathering the packaging from her meal and walking it to a nearby trashcan. “Can I crash on your couch? I’ll be gone right around sunrise.”
“Of course you can!”
“I don’t eat a proper breakfast, so don’t, like, get up early to make something or anything. I have fruit to snack on.”
Well, I guess that’s good since I don’t really have much of anything I could cook.
Refraining from saying any of that out loud, though, Emily nodded. “I’ll get up and say goodbye. It will give me a jump on the day. For now, though—” she stifled a yawn and glanced at the time, “I’m wiped out. It was a really long day for me.”
Beth raised her eyebrows like she wanted to ask more, but thankfully, she didn’t. They drove back to the apartment, talking about this and that. Beth brought a blanket and pillow in from her car and tossed them on Emily’s sagging couch.
“You sure you don’t want the bed?” Emily asked. “I can take the couch.”
Beth waved her hand. “It’s fine. See you in the morning.”
Emily headed back to her room, got ready for bed, and then laid down.
Staring at the patterns cast on the ceiling by her lamp, she whispered, “So, I’m kind of worried about having food to eat because of the whole check fiasco. But You say not to worry about that sort of
thing since you care for sparrows and such. Help me out?” She took a deep breath. “We’ll figure it out, won’t we.”
Before she turned off the lamp, she opened her phone to set an alarm for the morning. To her surprise, she’d received a text message from Brent’s number.
Don’t worry about earlier. I’m glad you called. :) See ya tomorrow.
A smile crept across her face, and she laboriously used her keypad to type a simple reply:
Thx :)
When she switched off the light, she was still smiling.
Chapter 9
BETH LEFT BRIGHT AND early, as dawn was breaking over the city. Emily saw her off, and then sat down with her phone. Flipping it open, she called the bank’s automated line and fought with the system until it let her enter her account number and hear her balance.
“Fifty-two dollars until Friday,” she whispered after disconnecting the call. “Today’s Tuesday, so that’s nine meals. Plus my phone bill will be withdrawn tomorrow.” She stared at the cheap black device in her hands. Keeping it on would reduce her grocery budget even further.
“We can do this, right?” she glanced upward. “Okay. I’m going to change and then make a shopping list.”
She hurriedly changed out of her pajamas and into a lightweight dress, eyeing the bright sunshine already trying its best to get in through the blinds and make her air conditioner work overtime. Running a brush through her hair, she brainstormed meals that involved similar, inexpensive ingredients.
“This has to work,” she said to her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “It really does have to.”
Jotting down a short list of essentials, she stuffed it into her purse and left the apartment. Starting up the smart car, she noted with relief that the gas tank was still almost completely full. Suddenly feeling very grateful for the fuel-economy of the ridiculous little vehicle, she pulled out of her parking space and braced herself for morning traffic.
She had to circle the grocery store’s cramped parking lot a few times until she found an empty space.
Just more proof Phoenix had no idea it would become the fifth-largest city in the country.
She maneuvered her cart around the aging grocery store, checking items off her list and jotting down the price of each thing she put in her cart.
Rice
Dry beans
Corn tortillas
Rolled oats
Peanut butter
Onions
Lettuce
Broccoli
Apples
Butter
Milk
She eyed the chicken, wishing she could get just a little. Several of the meals involving rice and beans would benefit from it. She moved her cart back against an endcap, away from the flow of other shoppers and began to mentally add up the prices of things she’d already gathered. She got lost halfway through and self-consciously removed her flip phone from her purse. She brought up the calculator and paused.
Why do I feel self-conscious all of a sudden?
She raised her head and glanced around. Nobody in particular seemed to be looking her way.
Shrugging, she punched the prices into her phone’s calculator.
The total stared back at her and she bit her lip.
Probably shouldn’t get the chicken. If, by some miracle, I can get that check replaced sooner than later, I’ll come back for it.
Someone was browsing the endcap near her, so without looking up, she scooted herself and her cart over a bit.
“Don’t look at me,” he said in a stage-whisper.
This was so unexpected that she—of course—looked right at the speaker. It was a tall guy in a hoodie. He tilted his head just a bit so he could look at her out of the corner of his eye.
Brent?
He rolled his eyes and then went back to his supposed shopping of the applesauce cups on the endcap. Emily dropped her eyes back to her phone and zeroed out the calculator, waiting for him to speak again.
Oh, so we’re doing a spy thing.
“There’s only so much time that I can reasonably spend shopping applesauce, so listen carefully,” Brent said, still not looking her way. To anyone passing, they’d just be two strangers stopped near the same endcap, totally ignoring each other.
“Now more than ever, your meet-up with Mrs. Malachi today is important. We tracked all of Gremlin’s movements and conversations since planting the bug, right up until this morning. A short time ago, he got into an elevator at the R&D lab in which he works. He went down several basement levels and then we lost the signal.”
“What? How?” Emily wanted so badly to look up at Brent, but instead she doodled on her shopping list.
“Our techs are still not sure. There was no indication he’d found and destroyed our bug. It seems a logical assumption that there’s a basement level not on the plans we have. It’s likely shielded in some way. Santa is working on arranging a meeting with the company’s CEO to obtain more information.
“The trouble is we can’t listen in if he makes any calls to his buyer. We’re going to need to do this the old-fashioned way with human assets. Perhaps his wife knows something—”
“Oh, there’s no way Melissa is mixed up in this.”
“You can’t assume that, Emily. And besides, sometimes people know useful information without realizing it. Even just knowing his itinerary for the next few days could help.”
Emily was silent a moment. “I’ll be there; don’t worry.”
“I’ll shadow you back to your apartment; I have some stuff for you.” Brent selected a six-pack of cinnamon applesauce cups and flipped them over in his hand before striding off down the nearest aisle.
Emily glanced up covertly and watched him leave.
Bleh. He must be warm wearing a hoodie in this heat. He needs to work on some Arizona-friendly disguises.
After checking out, Emily loaded her meager purchases into the smart car. Everything just fit.
I guess this is the right size grocery trip for this car, she thought with a rueful grin.
She glanced around the parking lot, trying to pick out where Brent was. He’d said he would shadow her back home, but she saw no sign of him.
“He’s a spy, silly goose,” she told herself, getting into the tiny car and cranking the air-conditioning. “Of course you can’t spot him. That’s, like, spy stuff 101.”
She wove her way home, checking her rearview mirror constantly for a clue as to which of the cars behind her was Brent’s. It wasn’t until she’d parked in the apartment complex lot and begun taking grocery bags out of her car that a dusty blue Honda rolled into a space several cars over.
Mr. Hoodie got out and she grinned to herself. He opened his trunk and withdrew a bulky backpack before heading her way.
“Hey! Want a hand with the groceries?” he asked casually.
“That would be lovely,” she said. It was fun pretending to be strangers, but she couldn’t wait until they were safely inside where she could interrogate him.
Between the two of them, they carried everything up the metal stairs in one trip. Emily set her bags down to unlock the door. When she’d opened it, Brent brushed past her and left the bags he carried just inside the door, sauntering through her tiny home, his head on a swivel.
When he reappeared a moment later, he announced, “All clear.”
Emily just raised her eyebrows.
Of course it is! This is my home, not some dark and spooky warehouse where bad guys lurk in the movies. But it’s nice of him to check, all the same.
“Sorry,” Brent said, unzipping his hoodie quickly and removing it, “it’s a habit. Whew! Glad to be out of that thing. Light disguise in Phoenix is not my favorite.”
Chapter 10
BRENT HELPED HER PUT away the groceries. “Hmm... dry rice, dry beans, oats, peanut butter—nice, Emily!” She looked over her shoulder at him doubtfully. “Very sensible choices for the apocalypse. Non-perishable, healthy, can be stretched to feed you for a long time...”
She bit her lip and turned back to arranging the few cold items in her refrigerator.
He doesn’t know he’s teasing about something kind of sensitive right now.
Silence stretched out between them. As she was about to close the refrigerator, Brent’s hand on the top of the door stopped her. He bent down and peered inside, cocking his head.
Straightening, he let her close the door, a thoughtful look on his face. “Emily—?”
She summoned a smile and waved her receipt. “It’s okay, Brent. I normally have a little more leeway in my grocery budget. There was a check-washing incident this week, so yeah, I’m low on cash, but I can make these groceries last.”
He seemed to be sifting through several things he could say.
He’s trying not to offend me, the nice guy.
After a moment, he gave her a crooked grin and said, “I’m sorry for teasing. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. I’m impressed: if it were me on a tight budget, it would be ramen noodles three times a day.”
She laughed.
He peered at her seriously. “You promise to tell me if it gets really bad?”
Emily nodded a bit reluctantly. “Now,” she said, “you brought me some stuff for this mission-slash-outing-thing I’m going on?”
“Right.” Brent moved from the kitchen to where he’d deposited his backpack. “Derick sent some stuff over.”
“Derick from Wardrobe?” Emily wrinkled her forehead.
“Yes, that Derick. He appreciated that the gown you wore didn’t come back torn, stained, or sporting any bullet-holes.” Brent grinned.
“Oh, my. Does that normally happen a lot?”
He shrugged. “Not when I’m in charge of security.”
“You’re so humble.”
“Why, thank you!”
Emily rolled her eyes.
“Anyway, he sent some stuff that would be in keeping with your cover identity.”
Brent tossed her the backpack, and she unzipped the top a few inches. “Nice,” she said, seeing white fabric with a reserved, black geometric pattern on it. “Stay put; I’ll be out in a sec.”
Plan to Fail Page 4
