Authors: Julie Cross
Kendrick gestured toward the patio, asking if I wanted to sit outside. I sat in one
of the two chairs and Kendrick set some kind of pink dip and crackers on the table
along with a bottle of wine and some glasses. “It’s salmon dip. Michael made it.”
I took advantage of the moment alone to follow Stewart’s advice. “You know that girl
you tried to hook me up with last night…”
“Yes…”
The pink notebook rested beside my elbow and I carefully slid it across the table
toward Kendrick. “This is hers. Well, not exactly hers … a different version of her,
actually.”
Kendrick’s hand froze on top of the journal and she lifted her eyes to meet mine.
“Okay, you’ve got my attention.”
I reached for a couple crackers and ate them slowly while Kendrick poured two glasses
of wine. “I’m really hesitant to tell you the details—”
“Whatever shit you’ve got going on, that’s your business. I’m not going to investigate,
analyze, spy on you. Nothing. Tell me whatever you want to tell me … or don’t.”
I kept my eyes on the street out in front of us. “Fine. And I’ll do the same for you.
I won’t start digging for your secrets.”
She shot a glance at me, lifting one eyebrow. “Oh, really? Then what was poker night
about a couple days ago? You weren’t trying to get information out of Michael?”
She was right. I had tried to worm information out of Michael the other night after
agreeing to play poker with some of his friends.
My stomach twisted with guilt. “Well—”
“That’s exactly how you become one of them,” she interrupted.
“One of who?”
“Stewart, Freeman, Parker, Marshall.” She waved her hand as if to say,
The list goes on.
“They’ve all adopted the CIA’s favorite rule: It’s not personal, it’s business, and
they live it twenty-four/seven.”
I set my wineglass on the table and sighed. “I’m sorry about Michael. Seriously.”
She turned her whole body around to face me and stared hard, looking more intimidating
than ever. “You can screw with my head all you want, I’m trained to deal with that …
to expect it … but don’t ever mess with Michael. Don’t pretend to be his friend or
any of that shit. Understood?”
Kendrick was right, I really did have trouble trusting her, even more than I thought.
But seriously, what other choice did I have except to “trust no one,” as 007 Adam
had once told me? This noble speech of Kendrick’s could all be an act. But if it wasn’t,
then she might understand why I needed to keep Holly a secret. Michael might be enough
for her to get how important this information was to me.
I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “Do you swear on your
life … and on his life … that Michael isn’t just some cover Chief Marshall gave you?”
The anger dropped from her face and she looked completely appalled. “No … no, he’s
not. How could you even think that?”
“How could I
not
think that?” I said. “You’re keeping secrets from him, why not me, too?”
She let out a breath and nodded. “Okay … you’re right. There’s a lot of red flags
with us.”
Even though we were supposed to be turning off our inner agents right now to establish
trust or whatever this talk was, suddenly I had a strong urge to hear her story …
her secret. Like we could just blackmail each other for information.
And I thought she wanted to tell me.
“My life is a lot more exposed than any other agent’s … and I’m not totally ignorant
on the subject of dead family members, you know,” I said, throwing a sharp look in
her direction.
Pink crept up to her cheeks. “Right … I know … I mean, yes … that’s true, but…”
“But what?” I asked, lifting one eyebrow, challenging her to tell me it was different.
It might be, but she’d never use that as an excuse.
Kendrick finished her glass of wine and poured another, like maybe she was getting
up the nerve to tell me. She knew exactly what I wanted to know. Her family … what
happened to them…? “Remember what you said the other day? About Michael not knowing
me.”
“Yeah, I remember,” I said.
“You’re right … but you’re also wrong. I
am
the girl that he knows. The one who loves to look at baby furniture just for fun
and cries at stupid romantic comedies. I’m other things, too, the person
you
know, but that’s because I can do stuff most people can’t. Not by choice. But none
of it’s fake … Does that make sense?”
“I think so.” Both of us were completely silent, and I knew it was coming … She was
about to tell me.
Then I could tell her about Holly … at least the Displacement theory Stewart already
knew about.
“My parents and my brother were murdered almost three years ago … by EOTs.”
I held my breath, waiting for her to say more, watching her chug wine like water.
“I came home from a friend’s house and … walked in the living room.” Her voice started
to shake and a single tear trickled down her cheek. “The TV was on and my parents
were stretched out on the couch asleep … I always told them when I got home so they
wouldn’t worry. I shook my mom first and she didn’t respond … That’s when I realized
she wasn’t breathing. Neither was my dad. But they looked … totally fine.”
“Damn,” I muttered, but Kendrick didn’t hear me. Her eyes were fixated on something
over my shoulder.
“I called an ambulance right away and then I just stood there, not knowing what to
do. I mean, I knew CPR and all that, but I couldn’t move … until I remembered Carson.”
She paused to take a breath and wiped her eyes on her sleeve again. “He was tucked
into his bed, the TV off, his school bag hanging on the door. And for a second I thought
he was okay.”
She stopped talking and just sat there, staring down at the table. Already I wanted
her to shut up, to not tell me the rest. But I focused on the goal of gaining information
because I knew if I stayed in agent mode it wouldn’t hurt as much. “Do you know what
happened?”
She nodded. “The autopsy said carbon monoxide … but Chief Marshall changed it. He
said it was an untraceable poison.”
“Marshall?” I asked, trying to figure out when he entered the story.
“He showed up while I was in Carson’s room. He dragged me out of there and into a
car. I woke up in a place that looked like someone’s house. Marshall was there … said
I could never go back home or … or the EOTs would kill me, too.”
“Don’t you have other family?” I asked. “An aunt or a grandparent?”
“They think I’m dead,” she whispered. “Everything about me was changed. My birthday
changed from November fifth to the seventh. My hair used to be a much lighter brown.
My Social Security number, school records … all of it changed, but I wouldn’t change
my name. Your dad said it didn’t matter. He was there, too … the night they died.”
I swallowed hard. The connection between her family and mine made agent mode more
difficult.
It’s not personal, it’s business
. “He was?”
“Yeah. He brought me my mother’s necklace. It was her mom’s … one of those family
heirlooms. He took my dad’s pocketknife, too, and a picture that Carson made for me.
It was hanging in my room … right above my dresser.” She drew in a deep shaky breath
and let it out slowly. “God, it’s just so fucked-up. My brother wasn’t even halfway
through third grade. Why would anyone want to kill him?”
“I don’t know,” I said, but my brain reeled with theories.
“It’s because of me,” she said with a flat tone. “They know something about me … the
EOTs … in the future. Maybe I kill off a whole swarm of them or something.” She smiled
just a little. A pathetic attempt to lighten the mood.
“Do you ever wish you could go back to your house or … see some of your other family?”
I asked.
“I’m not really close with anyone else. Half live in Canada and the other half northern
California … I’d love to have my mother’s wedding ring … Maybe if she was here I wouldn’t
be as interested in something used, but now I kinda love that idea.”
No wonder Michael had said she had a lot of shit to deal with. Maybe even worse than
me. Kendrick, Stewart, Mason—all of them had crazy tragic events that led to them
being here. Maybe that was a prerequisite for Tempest agents. Most of us didn’t have
anything left to lose. Except Kendrick had Michael …
“All right,” Kendrick said, more businesslike. “I told you … Now it’s your turn.”
“Yeah … okay.” And just like that, I spilled everything about Holly … me and Holly.
For the first time in months, I felt a little bit lighter, like maybe I had someone
to share this great big burden with. Someone to tell me I did the right thing.
* * *
“Damn … how long was I out?” Stewart came stumbling into the living room six hours
after crashing in Kendrick’s bed. We had moved from the patio to the living room and
Michael was here, hanging out with us, which meant we’d had to change our conversation
to normal topics.
“A while,” Kendrick said, eyeing Stewart’s crazy hair. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just totally starving.”
It was decided that Michael would cook and I would run to the store to retrieve missing
ingredients.
When I returned to the apartment building, lugging several sacks of groceries, about
halfway up the stairs I heard a sound coming from my borrowed apartment. Very quiet
movements an amateur wouldn’t take notice of. Instead of heading to Kendrick’s place
and possibly getting my partner and Stewart to use as backup, I put the groceries
on the landing and crept toward my front door. My heart thudded as I leaned against
the wall beside the door, listening.
My gun was now at the ready and my free hand texted a 911 to Stewart and Kendrick,
since they were just down the hall … even though I might be taking the risk of creating
a scene in front of Michael for nothing.
I took a deep breath and unlocked the dead bolt, then turned the doorknob quickly.
The first thing that came into view was the glow of a tiny flashlight, then the quick
intake of breath from its owner. The light clicked off immediately.
“Drop the flashlight and put your hands up!” I shouted, pointing my pistol into the
dark.
Nothing. No one. No sound.
I flipped the main light on and scanned the room. There were very few hiding places
in this tiny apartment.
I nearly dropped my gun when I spotted a petite figure hiding under the table.
“Holly?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JUNE 17, 2009, 8:45
P.M.
She didn’t answer me, but she did crawl out of her hiding spot now that I’d seen her.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. Her eyes followed my hands as I lowered the gun
and set it on the kitchen counter. “Sorry if I scared you. I heard something from
outside…”
She rolled the tiny flashlight between her fingers, eyes darting around the room.
I could tell she was holding her breath. Her silence worried me and I started to walk
closer, and when only three feet separated us, she reached one hand behind her back
and quickly drew a pistol, pointing it right at me.
My hands shot up in the air. “Hey! What the hell are you doing with a gun?”
A lock of hair fell over her eyes but she left it there, focusing on my face. “I really
didn’t think it was you … I was so sure you weren’t the one … just a quick look around,
and then…”
“Then what, Hol? What’s going on? And when did you start carrying a weapon besides
pepper spray?”
Sweat formed on her forehead and when I glanced at the barrel of her gun, I could
see her hands trembling. Her voice shook as she spoke. “Your fingerprints … they’re
all over Adam’s car. You were in there … I know you were. But why Adam? What did he
ever do to you?”
My heart beat at race-car pace and my stomach turned over and over, fighting the urge
to vomit. I could barely spit out the words, “What happened to Adam?”
“Like you don’t know. How do you do it … pretend like that … all the time?”
The fear in me took over and I needed answers, fast. In one quick motion, I snatched
the gun from her hand and turned her around, wrapping my arms around her from behind,
restricting her movement. “Tell me what happened to Adam. And
when
… when did it happen?”
She jabbed me with an elbow and attempted to throw me over her shoulder, but the size
difference was too much for her to fight. “Tell me the date!”
“Stop acting like you don’t know!” Her nails dug into my arm, every muscle in her
body straining to break free. “I was so ready to defend you … so ready … You’ve even
got his stuff … his CD.”
The rage building up in me was too much to control. She had information I needed and
I had to get it. The gun pressed into her back, causing her to gasp. “Holly!”
“May nineteenth.”
“What time?” I demanded.
“Afternoon … three … no, four.” Her body relaxed and a couple tears dropped onto my
arm. “I should have brought another agent with me and … God, this sucks.”
Agent? Oh, no. No fucking way
. “What kind of agent? Do the police know you’re here?”
She laughed darkly, but I could feel her shaking. “Yeah, right, the police? Seriously?
Why don’t you tell me who you work for, and I’ll do the same?”
I felt the wind whoosh right out of my lungs. What the fuck was going on?
Adam’s dead and Holly’s some kind of secret agent?
“So the whole story about the bet … at Senator Healy’s ball … that was just you spying
on me?”
“Like you weren’t there to spy on me,” she snapped, then she tilted her head up, looking
right at me for the first time since I’d snatched her gun. “You’re going to kill me,
too, aren’t you?”
Her eyes, her voice, those words … In an instant the agent in me dissolved. The narrow-minded
rage had dissipated, bringing more clarity than I wanted right now. I released her
immediately and backed away, feeling my knees go weak. Dad had a source … He was checking
up on Holly and Adam for me … He would have told me if something had happened … unless …
Hadn’t Emily said things kept changing…? “How did this happen?”