Authors: Chanel Cleeton
“Three minutes,” Luke whispers, shutting down the computer program.
There isn’t nearly enough time for me to get it all. My fingers itch to just slip the entire file in my jacket, but I can’t afford to be that obvious.
Halfway through the file, I stop. I shuffle the pages back in order, fitting it back into place in the Director’s desk drawer. I close the safe and drawer.
“We have to get out of here,” Luke urges. “We’ve got a little over a minute, tops.”
I follow him to the open grate; he boosts me up, his hands firmly clasped on my legs, pushing me toward the ceiling. I don’t look at my watch, there’s no time, but I do a running countdown in my head.
We should have been out a minute ago.
I push myself through the open grate, disappearing into the safety of the air vent. This time the claustrophobia is gone; the fear of being caught is far greater than threat of the confined space. I throw the rope down to Luke. He pulls himself up, his face gritted with determination and a mask of pain. He pulls the rest of his body through the opening, just in time for me to slide the metal grate into place. Just as we hear the sound of a door sliding open—
And we’re gone.
Chapter Thirteen
I glare at Luke, lengthening my stride to keep up with him, my heart hammering with fear. “You’re one to talk. You struggled with the computer.”
We walk in the shadows, darting between the Academy buildings. Adrenaline pounds through my body.
“Give me a break. The level of encryption was insane.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Hotel.”
Suddenly Luke’s hand shoots out in front of me, pushing me up against the wall. I freeze at the sound of footsteps growing closer and closer. We flatten our bodies against the brick, fading deeper into the shadows.
I’m not sure it’s enough.
Somehow in our planning we missed this round of guards. Or else they’re here because they know something is up. Their voices fill the night, and while they’re too far away for me to make out what they’re saying, their proximity sends a trickle of fear down my spine.
Don’t get caught.
Luke covers me with his body. His breath hovers in my ear. He’s everywhere, surrounding me with his bulk. And for one, oh-so-fucked-up moment I forget about the guards. Because no matter what he says, whatever attraction existed between us is still there. He’s hot and hard against me and it’s impossible to ignore that he wants me. Warmth spreads through my limbs.
Luke’s hand creeps up my back, stroking softly. I’m not sure how much more I can take. It’s too familiar, too easy to slip back into the comfort of each other’s bodies. Maybe his touch is meant to be soothing, but instead it makes me want to lift his shirt and feel his bare flesh against me. There’s something about the adrenaline raging through my body that makes me think of sex—maybe I like the danger, crave living on the edge. Because I do know one thing—Luke fucks like he fights.
“If they come any closer, just follow my lead,” he whispers, his lips tickling my ear.
He’s so much taller than I am, the top of my head just brushing under his chin. We stay like that for a minute or two. Suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. I listen for the sound of the guards. The normal sounds of the city greet me instead.
“It’s all clear.” I push away from him, welcoming the rush of fresh air and the space between our bodies. For a moment, he doesn’t speak; he just stares at me.
“Luke?”
He shakes his head. “Let’s go.”
Confusion fills me, keeping company with the nerves running through my body until I push them out, focusing on the only thing that matters—the mission. We slip through the back gates with ease, hitting the mews behind the school. Luke darts into a dark corner, pulling out two helmets and throwing one to me. I catch it easily, sliding it on over my head. His bike is propped up against a corner of the mews—black, gleaming, fast—the perfect escape vehicle. This time I don’t hesitate when I climb on behind him, my legs gripping the bike’s powerful frame, my arms wrapped tightly around his body. Luke revs the engine and we’re off.
He maneuvers the bike with skill, turning down side streets, heading toward our final destination. Traffic is surprisingly light this late at night, making it easier to speed down the streets. Unfortunately, it also takes away any cover we could hope to have. I glance over my shoulder several times to see if we’re being followed, but the normal sights and sounds of London traffic greet me instead of an army of Academy goons.
Luke finally slows the bike. We’re in a seedy part of the city, far away from the glitzy, touristy spots. He stops in front of a rundown hotel, locking up the Ducati in an adjacent alley.
I give us fifty-fifty odds that it’ll be there when we return.
I follow him into the lobby, my gaze darting around the room. It’s mostly empty, save for a guy sitting in an overcoat in the corner. My eyes narrow for a moment before dismissing him.
“Come on.” Luke jerks his head toward the stairs. We go up two flights before stopping in front of a door with peeling paint.
“This is it.”
Luke fumbles with the lock for a second before holding the door open for me. I cross the threshold, the stench of stale cheese and damp flooding me instantly. He locks the door behind us.
The room is small; a tiny window lets in a harsh fluorescent light from the fish and chip shop next door. A small bed is pushed up against the wall; an ugly green bedspread covers the bed. A rickety looking desk dominates the opposite wall. A laptop is open on the desk. Luke pulls the flash drive out of his pocket, inserting it into the computer.
“Did you get everything?”
“Most of it,” he answers.
“Do you think they know security has been compromised?”
“I think we would have heard about it by now.”
The Academy has an alert system that goes out to all operatives if there is ever a security breach. We’ve never had an actual alert, but we practice drills monthly.
I pull my other mobile out of my pocket and check my messages. Nothing. It’s a burner phone, a number the Academy knows nothing about. It’s the number I gave Grace.
I hesitate, staring at Luke hunched over the computer. “Do you need Grace for this?”
“I’ve got it for now. I may need her later on, though.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Let’s try this without her. Believe it or not, I’m not eager to drag more people into this.”
So all of his threats about Grace meant nothing. I shouldn’t be completely surprised; he always did seem to have a soft spot for my sister. I just thought it was all an act. It’s tough to tell with Luke.
I join him at the desk, pulling up a chair next to his. “Anything good so far?”
“She keeps files on all of her operatives. Just trying to find ours.”
“I got some pictures of her paper files. Those may help, too.”
“Good call.”
I can’t resist the temptation anymore. I scan the photos on my phone, surprised to see that they’re mainly medical records—vitals and such. The other pictures I managed to grab seem to be performance reports from my years at the Academy.
A couple minutes later, Luke looks up from the computer. “I’m into your file. Part of it, at least.”
“Anything interesting?”
“A lot of it is encrypted. I installed software on my computer to break the encryption, but it may take a bit. A few things aren’t, though.” Luke scans the screen, reading through the notes. His lips curve into a half-smile. “Apparently, you have a problem with authority figures. And you can be reckless. Shocking.”
I roll my eyes. “I knew she never liked me.”
“She doesn’t like anyone.”
I lean forward, staring at the screen, reading the words in my file…
insubordinate… loner…combative…cold.
“They’re planning on sending you to South Korea. To Seoul. They’re going to embed you as an English teacher.”
“What?”
Luke points to the screen. “Your placement is already decided.”
That’s rare. Usually assignments aren’t doled out until the last minute. We don’t really get much of a say, but I had been hoping to get a European assignment to be close to my sister. I can’t help but wonder if they purposefully tried to keep us apart.
“What’s that?”
Luke scrolls down.
Subject suffers from nightmares consistent with post-traumatic stress disorder. Subject has no memory of recent events.
I read on, feeling more like a lab rat than a person.
Subject suffers from claustrophobia. Given her past history, this behavior is consistent with the trauma she has experienced.
“Do you know what they’re talking about?”
I ignore him, my heart pounding as I read the screen.
Fear of fire.
“X? What are they talking about?”
A deep breath whooshes from my body. I learned at a young age not to trust anyone with my secrets. Some, like my claustrophobia, have been exposed whether I liked it or not. Others I have guarded closely. In my world, secrets are weapons. My instinct is to not tell him, but no secret is worse than what we’ve just done. Luke was just my accomplice in the deadliest mission of all. If I have to trust someone, it may as well be him.
“I have these dreams.” I can’t believe I’m telling him this. I can’t look him in the eyes, disgust swirling around in my stomach as I expose yet another weakness.
“Have you always had them?” he asks.
“Ever since I can remember.”
“You never told me.”
“You never asked.”
The Luke I knew when I was younger was fearless, larger than life. I wanted him to think I was fearless, too. I never wanted him to know I was always afraid—am always afraid.
Luke pauses for a beat. When he does speak, his voice is strained. “What do you dream about?”
“My mother, I think.” I struggle to keep my voice calm as the words spill out. I don’t even know why I’m telling him this; we’ve never talked about it before. But he trusted me with his secrets so it’s hard not to feel like I should trust him with mine, impossible not to think we may need each other to stay alive.
“It’s always the same dream. I see my mother’s face. She tells me there’s a fire and I have to take care of Grace.”
She tells me to be brave.
“How old are you in the dream?”
“Young.”
“Do you think it’s a memory?”
I wish it wasn’t, but I know better. “Yeah, I do.”
His gaze is unblinking. “What do you remember about how you came to the Academy?”
I stare at him, Grace’s earlier words coming back to me. “I was young,” I reply, my voice cautious. I want answers; I just wish I didn’t have to give something up to get them. “I don’t remember much.”
“You weren’t that young. You have to remember something.”
My eyes narrow. “Why are you pushing this?”
“Why are you avoiding it?”
“Because I don’t remember.”
“Or you don’t want to.”
“There was a fire,” I snap. “I was sleeping. My mother woke me up. She told me I needed to take Grace and get out of the house. I did. That’s it.”
“Is that what you dream about?”
“Yes.”
“Then what happens?”
Frustration threads through my voice. “I don’t know. I see the fire and then I wake up. My mother’s face is the last thing I see. Always.”
“And you don’t remember anything else?”
“No.”
Why is he pushing this?
“And that’s the night you came to the Academy?”
Now I’m just pissed off. “I don’t know. You tell me. Why does Grace think you were there the night we came to the Academy? Why do you know my name was Alexandra? And if we did know each other before, why can’t I remember you?”
###
I cross my arms in front of my chest, my attention focused on him. “Look, I’m risking a lot to help you. I’m not just putting myself in danger; I’m putting Grace in danger, too. You need to come clean with me.”
His head lifts to meet my gaze and I’m surprised by the defeat I see in his eyes. “I don’t know as much as you seem to think I do.”
“But you know something. About me and my past.”
Silence hangs between us. For so long, I’ve accepted that not remembering shielded me from the pain of my memories. But that was before I began to question everything. Now I’m surrounded by danger and death, and I need to know the truth. I know I was screwed up before. I just need to understand how…and why.
“I was there that night.”
As soon as he says it, something that could be a memory flickers. It’s just for an instant, but I remember a hand in mine and a boy with a crooked smile. It’s the smallest sliver of a memory and I can’t resist grabbing onto it.
I sink down onto the bed next to him, careful to leave some space between us. “Why? How?”
“You really don’t remember me?”
I shake my head.
“I always wondered. You never said anything.”
“Why didn’t you ask?” I can’t believe this. How could he keep something like this from me? Why? “You didn’t think it was strange that I didn’t remember?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Then fill me in.”
Luke rises from the bed, pacing in front of the small window. “Our families knew each other. Before. We lived a few streets over from you.”
My heart pounds. I’ve always known Grace and I are American, the Academy gave us that much information, and I’ve never adopted a British accent—not that it matters, really, considering how much we’re discouraged from adopting accents or speech patterns that can identify us. We slip those on and off as our covers shift. It just never occurred to me that we’d been living in London before we came to the Academy. And they never told me.