Luke paused from inhaling his bacon burger long enough to
respond. "True. Some of those schools are scary. Don't know how anyone
learns anything. But who knows? Maybe he just doesn't like how secluded we are
or that he has to keep secrets about where he works and what he does. I doubt
any teacher here has much of a life off campus, ya know?"
I finished my last bite of sandwich and wiped the extra
marinara sauce off my lips with a napkin. "I'm going to go talk to
Higgins. I can't lose this chance."
Lucy picked a stray piece of turkey from her plate and
plopped it into her mouth. "Do you want us to come? Moral support? Back
up? Whatever?"
"Nah, you two need showers after all your sparring.
I'll be okay. When I'm done I'll find you in your suite."
Luke left money for our dinner and the tip, and they walked
back to the dorms while I headed to Higgins's office. Normally he took the
weekends off, but I had a suspicion he'd be there today. The main offices took
up the northwest corner of campus, shaped like a square, and surrounded by an
electrified fence and a brick wall with tall trees cloaking the outside.
We'd gone off school grounds on field trips for survival
training, and while I didn't know what state we were in—or even what country—I
did know that we were surrounded by woods. Lots of woods. My guess? Our locale
felt distinctly North American, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly why. The
weather made me think Pacific Northwest, or Midwest, with the seasonal changes
and landscape.
I walked past the gate that served as the only entrance or
exit on campus and waved at the guard, Old Charlie, a staple at Rent-A-Kid who
always treated us well. He smiled and waved back. He looked harmless, but he'd
done some demonstrations for us in martial arts. Even Luke and Lucy, who put my
sad excuse for combat skills to shame, bowed to his ninja ways. It had always
made me feel safe, knowing Old Charlie was standing guard, protecting us from
anyone who might discover our secret location and cause us harm.
The shadows of twilight cloaked the offices, and none of the
lights inside appeared to be on. I turned the knob, relieved to find it
unlocked, and let myself in.
Higgins's voice carried from his office—no responses, so he
must have been on the phone.
I opened my mind and pressed into his thoughts.
'Damage control... Must contain this situation before it
gets to the top... Damn Krevner, should never have hired him... Always has been
a renegade... What to tell Sam?'
When he hung up, I knocked on his door.
"Who is it?"
"It's Sam. Can I talk to you?"
'Crap! Not ready to deal with her.'
"Can this
wait?"
"Um, not really. Can I come in?"
'Damn Krevner.'
"Sure, come on in."
Higgins's office, normally so meticulous, from the always
clean and empty trashcan to the perfectly placed pens and pencils, was
surprisingly messy. Crumpled papers covered his desk, his suit jacket slouched
in a pile on the floor like a deflated man, and his tie hung down his chest at
an odd angle, as if he'd been pulling at it. He ran his hands through his
greying hair, and I could see his toned muscles flex under his shirt. For
someone in his fifties, he was pretty cut.
"Sam, I'm actually glad you came. I have an assignment
for you."
This was unexpected. "Headmaster Higgins, I really
can't go on assignment right now. I have the art contest to prep for, an
interview with Sarah Lawrence coming up, and homework. I'm swamped."
'What do I do about this damn art contest? How do I get
out of this?'
"You know I can read your mind, right? I also overheard
you and Mr. K screaming at each other. Actually, I'm surprised the whole school
didn't hear. You can't pull me from the contest. I have to be in it! I've
worked so hard on this painting, and if I win, Sarah Lawrence is guaranteed. So
is my career."
He nervously shuffled his hands back and forth, then put
them on his lap when he saw me looking. "I'm sorry, Sam, but it's too much
exposure for the school. We have to keep a low profile to keep you all safe.
How do we explain who you are or where you're from if you win?"
Tightness formed in my chest. "You create believable
false identities for us every time we leave this campus. Why can't you use my
new identity, the one I'll be using at Sarah Lawrence? I'm assuming their
admissions department has some fake history for me there, right? So I become
her
,
whoever she is, and I take on that role like any other assignment. It doesn't
seem like it would be that hard."
"I'll give it some thought and see what we can do,
okay? But only if you agree to take this assignment. It just came in. It's an
important client and it has your name, and para-power, written all over
it."
He scooted a file across the desk and I flipped through it
while he gave me a verbal briefing. "Henry Dollinger needs dirt on his
business partner, Ronald Beaumont, so he can force a buy-out and take control
of the company. He knows Beaumont is hiding something, but can't figure out
what."
"You want me to crack open his mind and dig out his
secrets."
Higgins's chair squeaked as he sat back. "Yes. You
leave on Tuesday. We're putting together your identity now."
"What? My interview with Sarah Lawrence is on Friday.
I'll never have enough time to get there, do this job and get back."
"It shouldn't take you that long to get what you need.
And while you're gone, I'll do everything I can to keep you in the art contest.
Deal?"
I'd never turned down an assignment before, and I was within
my rights to do so now, but the potential consequences scared me. At the very
least, I'd lose all chance of being in the contest.
Even as my head nodded yes, my gut screamed no. Everything
about this felt off.
"Oh, and I'll be sending a guard with you."
"Why?" I scratched at the hidden tracking device
in my upper arm. "You always know where I am. It's not like I can get lost
or kidnapped."
"It's not that. Another organization has formed, a
group bent on destroying anyone with para-powers. They've killed several teens
and children in random attacks. I just want to make sure you're safe."
My heart skipped a beat. I knew that kids with para-powers
were at risk without Rent-A-Kid, but not that someone was aggressively
attacking, and killing, them. Still, a guard?
"How will I explain it?"
"It's part of your cover. You're the daughter of
Dollinger's college roommate. Your father is powerful and has enemies, and your
life has been threatened. You're staying with Dollinger, under guard, while
your family deals with the threats."
I nodded. "Makes sense. Okay, I'll go on Tuesday, but I
need to be back by Thursday. It's important."
"We'll be ready to retrieve you when you complete the
mission. Now, if there's nothing else...."
I knew a dismissal when I heard one.
While leaving the office, I slipped back into his mind, but
he blocked me by silently reciting Shakespeare sonnets over and over.
What was Higgins afraid of thinking? What did he not want me
to know?
My gut tightened.
Warm rays of sun beat down on Drake's back as he leaned over
his board. He waited—one breath, then another, inhaling and exhaling to the
pulse of the ocean, each swell matching the beat of his heart. All thought, all
anger, and all distraction fled in the tranquility of the Pacific, the only
place that could bring him peace. He found his God here, his religion. Not even
Father Patrick's pews could compete.
The wave approached, and Drake, one with it, stood on his
board and sliced through the tide. He balanced on the edge of the world, no
longer affected by the push and pull of the needy masses. Sprays of saltwater
splashed his face—a baptism for a man who belonged nowhere.
A tingle of dread broke through his zone. It started in his
spine and worked its way up his back. He felt sinister eyes on him.
Drake never used his powers while surfing; he didn't need to.
But now, he broke his own rule and snaked his mind over the water and to the
beach, seeking the person who didn't belong. Nothing felt out of the ordinary,
but the break in concentration stole the joy from his meditation.
Anger boiled in his blood, unwilling to be cooled by the
water. He turned his board toward the sand and rode back to shore, scanning as
he did for anyone paying too much attention to him.
Kylie the Beach Bunny scampered up to him and threw her
slender arms around his neck as he shrugged out of his wetsuit. "You
looked so hot out there, Drakey. Did you come back for some fun in the
sun?" Her lips sought his, but he pulled away.
"Not now, Kylie. I have to get going. Did you see
anyone around the beach watching me, or anyone who looked suspicious?"
Her painted, puckered lips turned down in confusion.
"No, why? Let's go get a drink and maybe go back to my place if you're
done here. I can take your mind off whatever is worrying you. Did you get my
text messages and voicemails? I even came by your place but you weren't home.
I've missed you." She ran a finger down his wet chest, tracing a drop of
water to his navel.
He pulled her hand away. "I said, not now." He
added just a bit of compulsion to his voice, using his mind to nudge hers. A
vacant expression crossed through her blue eyes then disappeared. He hadn't
really controlled her mind; he'd just given it extra encouragement so he could
get rid of her without a scene.
Another trickle of foreboding crawled over his shoulders.
Goose bumps formed on his arms and he shivered despite the heat.
Kylie frowned, but said nothing else as she walked away, her
long, tanned and very exposed body attracting the admiring glances of every man
on the beach.
Drake didn't care.
Another, more powerful pricking alerted him to danger. He
whipped his head around in time to see a figure in black slip into a car parked
in the lot, and drive away.
***
Before anyone else could stop him, Drake grabbed his towel
and board and walked the few blocks through the streets of Venice Beach back to
his apartment.
His best friend Brad was still asleep, probably up late
again—writing, trying to become a famous journalist, but getting stuck with
Crime Watch and Feature Obits.
Drake showered, dressed and started a breakfast of bacon and
eggs.
Percolating coffee and the smell of frying food finally
convinced Brad to join the land of the living. "Dude, you get up way too
freaking early."
"You sleep in way too freaking late. On this, we will
just have to agree to disagree. Eat some bacon." Drake pushed a plateful
of food in front of Brad.
"Thanks, man. How were the waves this morning? You
ready for the West Coast Championships?" Brad shoveled breakfast into his
mouth.
Drake considered how much he should reveal about his
unnerving morning. "I think I'm being watched."
This put a halt to the eating. "Oh, man, I told you
this was a bad idea. You need to keep a low profile, dude. Stick to teaching
surfing lessons to wannabes, but don't enter an international surfing
competition with major media coverage. What if someone finds you?"
The small two-bedroom apartment they shared felt even
smaller. Drake fought the urge to escape back into his ocean, but even that
holy place had been violated.
He put his dishes in the sink and paced the living room, staring
at the stains in the brown carpet. Their bachelor pad wouldn't impress many
women, but it kept Drake close to the beach and Brad close to the newspaper he
worked for. A happy compromise.
"This is important to me, you know that. I can't spend
my life as a beach bum teaching surfing. I want so much more than that. I could
get sponsors and surf for a living."
He sighed and sank into the living room chair. A pile of
bills taunted him from the coffee table. He shuffled through them, then held
them up as evidence. "Phone bills, rent, power, car insurance... by the
time I finish paying these every month, I have nothing left. I can't live like
this, man."
Brad frowned. "I know what it's like. I'm in the same
boat. You'll find a way."
Drake slammed his fist into the table. "No, you're not.
You're in a boat going somewhere. You have dreams, ambition, and a way of
making it happen. You have family who give a crap about you. What do I have? A
shady past, a string of foster parents who only wanted me for the money, and
one skill that I can actually use in public. I'm in a sinking boat. I have to
find a way to make my life matter. Don't you get that?"
His fist throbbed for a moment, but then his body healed
even that, leaving him numb once again.
Brad had been with him through a lot, but he'd never
understand where Drake had come from and what he needed. Not totally.
"Drake, you're right. I can't ever know what it's been
like for you, but I do know you have to stay low on the radar if you don't want
people digging into your past, into what happened when you were young. There
are bad people out there who would just love to capture someone with your
powers. I don't want to find your name on my next Crime Watch list."
"No one held me responsible for what happened. No one could
know. Besides, am I supposed to stay in the shadows on the off chance someone
connects my surfing to a sealed file from fourteen years ago?"
Brad washed both of their dishes and spread out on their
beige couch, his long limbs draping over the edge. "Maybe you're right. I
don't know, dude. I guess it's possible it was just a fluke, that it was just a
sponsor checking you out."
"Maybe." But probably not. The presence Drake had
felt didn't strike him as friendly or curious. Someone was after him, but who?
And why? Could someone have found out about his powers?