The Terrorist (Lens Book 3)

by J B Cantwell

  And my doctor is probably being tortured as we speak.

  It was such a fantastical lie, and for a moment I worried if the extensive work that really had been done was really on display. Or did it look fake?

  Misha took one of my feet out of the tub and into her hands.

  “Melinda, you’re an idiot,” the other friend said. “She’s clearly natural. Just because you’re not doesn’t mean—”

  “I really don’t care,” I scoffed, eyes on my attendant.

  I leaned back into the chair as she rubbed a strange solution onto the tips of my toes.

  “She’s platinum,” the friend whispered. “I’m certain she’s never had a hand on her.”

  Melinda looked over, but wasn’t convinced.

  I ignored her.

  Misha investigated my blisters, but she was very discreet, instead dunking my foot back into the water and grabbing the other one for inspection.

  A few moments later, another attendant entered the room.

  “Hello, Miss Page,” she said.

  I started, then tried desperately to cover it up.

  I know her.

  We had gone to high school together. Of course, few people attended school on a regular basis. Only those of us who really needed a diploma bothered to go to the physical buildings versus just watching the streaming feed on our lenses.

  But she had gone to school.

  Sabrina MacCloud

  Designation: Green

  My heart was racing as she picked up my hand and placed it gently into a bowl of warm, soapy water.

  “Have you chosen a color?” she asked.

  “Sabrina, she wants natural.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said. “Very nice choice. So many who come in here have their nails ruined from years of polish. They eventually have no choice but to color them.”

  I smiled and gave a slight nod. Were the plastic surgery changes to my face enough to keep her from recognizing me?

  Suddenly, I realized I had nowhere to look. I had the two snooty women on my right and a dangerous acquaintance on my left. My only choice was to stare at my feet. Misha was starting to clip my ratty toenails. I said a silent prayer that neither of the women would see the sad condition of my toes.

  With my heart still pounding, I decided instead to sit back in the chair and pretend I was watching something on my lens. I pulled up a game show where the contestants were all very beautiful. They were competing for a contract with a modeling agency. They walked around, their bottoms sticking out of their thin lingerie.

  What was this place that I’d found myself in?

  I briefly considered turning on the news, but I was in such a sticky situation that I decided to simply fake it instead.

  It wasn’t too much longer before the women’s pedicures were finished, and soon their attendants were slipping their feet into thin, floppy sandals. I glanced over, and with a slight feeling of victory noticed that they both had extremely dark polish on their toes.

  Each of the attendants tried to chit chat with me, but I mostly ignored them. I was so worried that I would give myself away if I spoke too much to Sabrina that I stayed silent instead.

  Finally, when Misha was done scrubbing and snipping, she dried off my feet and took a closer look at my blisters.

  “I can help you with this, dear,” she said, her voice low.

  Sabrina snipped and filed my fingers as Misha brought out some sort of flesh-colored tape. She cut small pieces from it and fastened it over my blisters.

  “This will make it much easier to maneuver,” she said. “I can’t stand those shoes, either,” she confided.

  I smiled, this time earnestly. I wondered how common it was for a woman to come in with bruised and battered feet.

  By the end of the appointment, my nerves had settled somewhat. Misha’s magic tape was fastened securely over my blisters, and Sabrina had gone through the whole appointment without recognizing me at all.

  As Misha slipped my feet back into my high heeled sandals, I tipped both of them generously. Misha for her discretion, and Sabrina in an attempt to buy her off if the need really did arise.

  I sent a brief text to Albert, asking him to pick me up.

  Get me out of here.

  As I stood, I realized that the blister tape was padded, and it made standing in the heels almost bearable. As I approached the front desk, the original attendant met me with my purse and garment bag.

  “Can I call you a car?” she asked.

  “No, thank you. My man is just outside.”

  “Ah, I see,” she said. “Would you like to make an appointment for your next visit?”

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  “I understand,” she said, smiling. “I hope you’ll visit us again soon.”

  I nodded and walked out the door, toes and fingers shining.

  I would never go there again.

  Erica was much easier to deal with than the crew at the spa. I very much preferred the private experience. She was very patient with me when I winced each time she touched my eyes with liner. Then, she applied these strange, magnetic eyelashes that made me blink like mad.

  Who in the world needed extra eyelashes? Wasn’t coloring them enough?

  With each new product, she explained what she was doing with it, and then demonstrated how I could use the same products on my own during the week, or during the ball for touch ups. I had shown her the dress, and aside from the lashes, she had kept the color palette subdued.

  The hair, however, was intricately braided and pinned, creating a swirling pattern at the back of my head. She held up a mirror for me to see it.

  “Oh, thank you,” I said, and I meant it.

  “Does it feel nice and tight?” she asked.

  I tossed my head around a little bit.

  “Yes, definitely.”

  “Great. Now, take these two with you for touch ups.”

  She handed me a tube of lip gloss and a compact skin powder.

  “And no crying,” she said.

  This surprised me.

  “You think I’m going to cry?” I asked.

  “Who knows?” she said. “Some women are sensitive, and the pressure at these events is huge.”

  I lifted my chin and tried to think of something to say. Pressure, I was used to. It was the venue that was new.

  “I’ll be okay,” I said. But I didn’t know if I would be at all.

  I’ll have to be.

  She took my hands in hers.

  “You’ll be great. You’ll be the most beautiful woman in the room.” She smiled genuinely.

  I took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Yes.”

  I spent the next hour pacing around in my bare feet, making myself crazy with waiting. At one point I tried to eat some of the leftover take out, but it just made me nauseous. Erica had been right; already the pressure was getting to me.

  Just imagine you’re in a battle. Just a different kind of battle.

  I found myself going through a jewelry box I’d found in one of the closets. The moment I opened it, I felt like a little kid, remembering my visit to the fine jewelry store at Grand Central Station. The box was filled with diamonds, opals, sapphires. I wondered if they were real. If so, they were really pulling out all the stops for this whole charade.

  I wondered, not for the first time, where all the money was coming from. Some lessons, a couple expensive dresses, a month in a penthouse apartment. I bet a lot of wealthy folks could afford this life for a month or two.

  But the jewels indicated something more. Something truly, oddly permanent.

  I chose a light blue sparkling ring, sliding it onto my right ring finger. Left meant married. Didn’t it?

  I soon found a necklace that was a near match to the ring, and I unclasped it and laid it over my neck, snapping it into place. The jewel matched my dress almost exactly, and the chain was just long enough that the pendant hit right between my breasts.

  I stepped out of the
closet and looked at myself in the mirror. From the front. From the side. Back. Sparkling, enticing, breathtaking. I hopped up onto the pedestal and slowly turned around, practicing.

  Smile.

  Smirk

  Eyebrows.

  Balance on my toes.

  Finally, nine o’clock rolled around and I was strapping shoes onto my feet.

  I texted Albert for the car.

  The skirt just barely grazed the floor, but wasn’t so long that I would trip on it.

  I wondered what Alex would think of my new style.

  Alex wouldn’t even recognize you.

  I tried to force him from my mind, but the image of him tied up to that machine kept popping into my head.

  Just go.

  I left the apartment, making sure that the bottom of my dress made it all the way into the elevator. I imagined what might happen if the fabric were to get stuck.

  Breathe.

  The doors opened, and I didn’t hesitate.

  I walked confidently by the front desk, ignoring the stares from the attendants. One of them trotted up behind me and held the door. Before I walked through it, I saw Albert waiting next to the car, a limousine tonight. A small feeling of comfort came over me when I saw him. He was growing familiar, and I intuitively trusted him.

  “Thank you,” I said to the boy who held the door.

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  “Good evening, Miss Page,” Albert said.

  “Good evening.” So formal. So fake.

  Be convincing.

  I got into the car as gracefully as I could, though I suspected that if someone was trying to figure me out, they would be able to tell I was faking it just by watching my clumsy entry into the back seat. I would need to talk with Janeen about how to enter and exit a vehicle without looking like an idiot.

  Albert closed the door behind me and climbed into the driver’s seat. He gently hit the gas and we began the short journey to downtown.

  I had never been in a limo before. Though, I remembered, I hadn’t even been in a car before this whole charade had started. All around me were buttons for music, bottles of alcohol, glasses, windows tinted and secure.

  I briefly considered the bottles. I had never tasted alcohol before, and I thought it might do my nerves some good if I were to take a swig from one of them. A small voice in my head piped up in warning, though. It wouldn’t do to try something entirely foreign right before my first big intro into high society.

  I suddenly realized just how alone I was, and I found myself missing Janeen desperately. I would see her soon enough, I was sure. But the brief training I had received from her seemed grossly inadequate. A smile. A pair of heels. Polished fingernails. No food.

  As Albert pulled the car up to the building, I took one last, big breath.

  “You’re going to be great, you know,” Albert said.

  I tried to practice on him.

  Chin up, smug smile in place.

  “I know,” I said,

  I know.

  Chapter Nine

  I surveyed the field like a soldier.

  Heads turned.

  Women gaped.

  Men smiled.

  I looked for somewhere to start.

  Nearly everyone who wasn’t dancing held glasses of champagne. That would be my first stop. I wouldn’t drink it, of course, just pretend to. A prop. And something to do with my first few moments here.

  The ballroom was huge, and several couples danced in the center of the floor, the music soft. Others visited over tiny bites of food. But it seemed that everyone, everyone, was looking at me. I felt like a kid with jam smeared on her face.

  Nope. That’s not why they’re looking.

  Audrey.

  Chin up, floaty walk, thin layers of soft blue fabric billowing out behind me.

  I was like a ghost.

  A waiter appeared at my side.

  “Champagne?” he asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  He held out a slim glass, bubbles floating up from the bottom. I took it delicately, my ring shining in the lights. As he walked away, I held up the glass to my mouth and pretended to take a sip. It smelled odd, and the bubbles tickled the tip of my nose.

  It didn’t take long for the first man to arrive.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Hello.”

  Tall. Brown hair. Clean shaven. Tuxedo. Quite good looking.

  Determined.

  Damien Ross

  Designation: Green

  “Are you here on your own?”

  “Yes.”

  I took a small sip. It wasn’t as bitter as I had expected.

  “Would you care to dance?”

  I tried not to panic. I had just gotten hold of the glass, and now I was supposed do dance? Already?

  “I would rather not.” I tried to make it friendly, and for a moment I worried that I might hurt his feelings. But he seemed to take it more as a challenge than anything.

  “In that case,” he began, swiping up a glass of champagne from a forgotten tray, “To you.”

  I tried to smile, the hardest thing to do, and held up my glass.

  Be careful. Don’t break it.

  “So,” he said. “Platinum. Are you a spy?”

  “I was,” I said, taking a go at flirting.

  It wasn’t entirely untrue. I just left out the part about how I was a spy right now.

  “Intriguing. And now?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

  Entirely true.

  “And you?” I asked.

  “Finance,” he said, sounding bored. “The usual. But it pays the bills, and I get into some great parties.” He winked.

  Ugh.

  This time I did take a gulp of the champagne. Then, finding a waiter with an empty tray, I set the glass down and gathered up the skirt of my gown.

  “You know, I’ve just seen someone I know. It was nice talking with you.”

  I started to walk away, but his voice trailed behind me.

  “I’ll want that dance before the end of the night.” It was practically a warning.

  I doubt it, buddy.

  I skirted around the dance floor, searching for someone, anyone else to talk to. Preferably female, though a man would do, too. I felt Damien’s eyes following me. Instead of stopping to stand alone, I walked through a grand set of double doors and disappeared around the corner.

  No one was dancing in here, and it was much quieter. Along the far end of the room, a long bar stretched out, several people sitting, cool glasses in their hands.

  I walked toward it. I had to get used to this; fielding men, searching for the one man who was my target. Aidan Valle.

  Chambers had shown me several photos of him from different angles so I wouldn’t have a hard time recognizing him. But so far, no dice.

  I stepped up to the bar. Up and down the long, smooth granite top, strangely colored drinks decorated the hands of their owners.

  One of the bartenders, a woman, was immediately at my service.

  “What can I get you, Miss?” she asked smoothly, attentively.

  I grappled with an answer. My knowledge of alcohol was somewhat limited. The only drinks I knew of were champagne, wine, and cheap vodka from the grocery station.

  I looked around, and beside me I saw a man who had turned to welcome me. He held a small glass with blue colored liquor and a small slice of lemon floating on top.

  “I’ll have one of those,” I said, pointing to his glass.

  He smiled.

  “And another for me,” he said.

  I raised my eyebrows. His glass was still nearly full, but he held it up, taking a long pull from it, and half of it was gone in one gulp.

  Great.

  He stood from his seat and gestured to it.

  “Please.”

  I tried to take a deep breath without being obvious about it, but I ended up holding my breath instead.

  I took the seat he offered and
tried awkwardly to cross my legs as Janeen had taught me to do. It was difficult with nowhere to rest my heel, and I ended up turning to face the bar so I could get away with crossing my ankles instead.

  "Audrey,” he said, reading my designation. “Nathan.”

  He held out his hand.

  Not too hard.

  I reached out and shook it.

  “Nice to meet you, Nathan.”

  I wondered if there was a single person at this party aside from me who was designated anything other than Green. I instinctively felt that I would be much more comfortable if I saw a couple of Oranges walking around. Surely they wouldn’t be allowed, though. Not here on the floor, and not behind the scenes, even. Too dangerous.

  The bartender set two new glasses of blue liquor before us and removed the half-full one. I couldn’t tell if Nathan was doing it already, but I went ahead and tipped her generously, hoping that she would help me if things got out of control with this new suitor.

  He held up his glass and indicated that I should do the same.

  “To this ridiculous party,” he said.

  Our glasses clinked together, and we each sipped. The liquid was so sweet, it surprised me. I could barely taste the alcohol.

  Be careful.

  “So,” Nathan began. “How did you end up here? Seems to me, a room full of Greens would be boring to someone like you.”

  I smiled.

  He had no idea.

  “It’s not boring,” I said. “And I just got here, anyway.”

  “You’ll have everyone after you,” he advised.

  I ignored him, picking up the glass and taking another small sip.

  “Stick with me,” he offered. “I’ll look out for you. As a friend.”

  I raised one eyebrow at this.

  He smiled and sat back a little.

  “You have daggers in your eyes,” he laughed.

  “And why should I consider you a friend, exactly?”

  “Because I don’t want you,” he answered. Then, he held up his left hand, showing me his wedding band. “Well, that’s not exactly fair. Everyone you meet will want you. But I’m not … available.”

  This was unexpected. And sort of nice.

  “And what will your wife think of your new friendship?” I asked.