The Single Lady Spy Series Boxset

by Tara Brown

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “Doesn't matter. As far as my pay grade goes, you have a piece of the puzzle.”

  “Impossible.” I stared at the glass. I got up and went to the bar to pour another one, drinking it back fast. “I don’t know anything. James never told me anything. I want protection and to be moved out of the country.”

  “No.” He exhaled deeply. “The people in the suits who pull the strings don’t want you to hide. They want you to play ball. We've had your house bugged for a few months. We know James never told you anything. We’ve been watching you.” His footsteps padded across the carpet behind me. Suddenly his body was directly behind mine, towering over me. He bent and whispered softly in my ear, “Let me start by saying, you sing beautifully in the shower.”

  My eyes bugged open.

  He poured another drink for us both and carried them back to the table. “This is the plan: You will let the mark contact you. You will do whatever he says to get close to him. We’ll reinstate your wages at your husband's current salary and put it in a new account we’ve already opened for you. You’ll help us to find out what he wants with you and what your husband told him.” He sat down and sipped.

  “What man? Who is this person doing this to me?” I clutched the bar, taking deep breaths.

  “It’s not up to me to tell you that.”

  “Of course not.” I turned and walked back to the chair. “What if I can't? What if he wants to kill me too? I can’t leave my kids orphaned. You have to get them out of the country.”

  He paused but his answer was obvious. “I think you're a better actress than you give yourself credit for. You've been married to James for a decade. Act like you might have a secret or two."

  “I can’t.” I clenched my jaw and picked up the glass again. “And besides the fact I can’t, why are you my handler? Shouldn’t someone with a little more experience and age be my handler?” I could play mean too. My philandering husband died two months ago—I deserved to be downright bitchy, with or without the government fucking with me.

  He laughed after a moment. It boomed like a shot in the air. He pointed at me. “You're pissed that I called you old. I get it.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “No. It's that you're still a Boy Scout. This is my life we're talking about and you've told me nothing. I have no details. And maybe I want to be handled by a man.” I flinched when I realized what I’d said. The liquid courage was urging me to say things I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” He smirked. “I'm man enough to handle you, I can assure you of that.” His cold eyes hardened. “I’ve got this, trust me. You just try not to fuck up your part.”

  “Have we met before? Have I offended you prior to this meeting? I’m having the rug pulled out from under me and you’re acting like a dick.”

  “No.” He still seemed annoyed. “I know you but you don't know me. I’ve spent the last few months on constant detail, watching you and your family.” Before I could ask anything else, he lifted a cell phone from the couch and tapped it a few times. He held it out.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  “Is she there?” The voice on the other end spoke and I recognized it instantly. My stomach clenched as Coop turned the phone. “She is.”

  An older man, who I recognized, smiled at me. “Evie, I am so sorry about James.” I hated FaceTime, I realized that right then.

  I smiled politely. “Thank you, Commander.” I felt sick, seeing his withered face. God, I was getting old.

  He smiled. “You know we need you, right?”

  I nodded once. What else was I going to say? He was the commander in charge of the CI unit I was part of. He was it.

  “That’s a good girl. Your father would be proud of you. Coop will get you outfitted and ready. Our intel says they’ll be contacting you at the funeral. We need to know we can count on you to help fix the situations your husband left us all with.” He gave a nod and Coop flipped the phone back around. “You know your orders,” he barked at Coop who pressed a button and put the phone down.

  I began to laugh, possibly from the scotch and possibly from the ridiculousness of it all. I shook my head and covered my eyes, understanding the threat in the call. If I didn’t play ball, they’d make sure I fried for his crimes, somehow. The phone call was to ensure I was in the game. I knew it and so did they. I would be guilty of co-conspiring to commit terrorism and God only knew what else.

  Maybe they'd already put some coke in my underwear drawer to frame me. Honestly, I could go for a hit.

  Tears threatened when I put it all together in a big pile and looked at it—the information, the death, the possibility of working again—all of it. The pile was too big to handle, too much to take in.

  I stood from the chair and bolted for the door.

  Coop moved fast and as I opened the door, he slammed it shut. He pressed himself against me, shoving me into the door. He wrapped his arms around me as I cried into my hands and eventually spun to cry into his broad shoulder.

  3

  The possible end of me

  We were silent during the drive home, maybe because he had held me when I cried and it was awkward as ass. I was hoping it was more that he really didn’t talk much unless it was to mock me. Then he had tons to say.

  I glanced at him. “You drank as much as I did. You shouldn’t be driving either.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Well, maybe that’s because I'm almost old enough to be your mother.”

  “No, you aren’t.” He laughed. “You're thirty-six, I'm twenty-eight. My mother is sixty.”

  “You look twenty-two, tops.”

  He nodded. “Yup. It’s good for what I do. I've been doing this a lot longer than you.”

  “Whatever.” I turned toward the window. “You still shouldn’t be driving.”

  His tone changed. “I got this. Don’t worry about me. Worry about your kids.”

  “What?” My head snapped back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” He took the exit for Weston, driving far too fast and sounding angry. “It means you need to do this the best you can. I'll be here for you, but all I can do is hope you have the training you’ll need. The number one skill of any CI officer is belief. You need to believe. ‘Cause if you don’t, the mark won't either. Now take this package inside, go over it, and then burn it.” He pulled the cab onto my street and parked in my driveway with a jerk. "James' car will be in the driveway when you wake up."

  “You drive too fast,” I snarled and snatched the package. I jumped out of the car and slammed the door. I ran for my front door, not stealthily at all.

  The house was dark and silent. I slumped when I closed the door and pressed my back into it. It was too much. It was all too much. I turned the locks and realized I might never find my peace again.

  The scent of a normal life, the spaghetti my mom had made the kids for dinner, lingered. I looked up the stairs to where my children were sleeping and made a mental note to change all the locks. Mom and the kids would be on mandatory lockdown.

  I had no clue how to protect them. I had never been an agent with a family.

  “Shit,” I whispered into the quiet of the foyer. Peering around, I wondered where they were—the bugs and the cameras.

  I was trying to be smart about it so I grabbed the package and stormed into the powder room, hoping they hadn’t bugged the bathrooms.

  But what if they had?

  Oh my God, were these people watching my kids shower and use the bathroom?

  My stomach sank further.

  Frantically, I rifled the bathroom. When I hauled the fan cover off, I found it. A small audio bug. I ripped it out and tossed it in the toilet. I stuck my hand up farther and discovered the second one. There was always a decoy. I flushed both and sat down on the lid. I wanted to cry. I wanted it more than I wanted anything, but the tears I’d shed in the hotel room had taken all of them.
/>   My fingers didn’t tremble when I opened the manila envelope. Nothing inside me was the same as it had been when I left the house. In place of the pain and self-pity was resentment and a dirty dose of fury. There was a survivor inside me but she had changed her game a while back. She had survived being a nearly single parent, loneliness, and cellulite. She had survived things that didn't matter to the girl I was before.

  I took out the folder. “How could you, James?” I muttered to the folder. “How could you do this to me and the kids?”

  The dark-brown folder had one word on the front of it: “Burrow.” I didn’t know what it meant, but I assumed it was something to do with him being a mole. A double agent.

  How could he?

  Maybe it was wrong. I closed my eyes and repeated the word “Burrow,” but it didn’t trigger anything.

  All my time as an agent had been lost in years of parenting, coaching, and volunteering. I twirled the locket at my neck, trying desperately to recall even one thing from what seemed like eons ago. Twirling it in my fingers brought shame and the memory of the day my father had given it to me.

  I kept my eyes closed and reliving every second of graduation from CI training. Dad was commander in charge at the time. He’d begged me not to become a CI agent, but when I ignored him and did extraordinarily well at training, he had to be proud. And he was. I did well. I worked hard. I never used the fact my father was my boss. In reality, I rarely listened to the old man.

  He begged me not to date James when it was discovered we were fraternizing. I never understood his hate for him.

  Perhaps my dad had seen the man he would become. There wasn't a single part of me that didn't wish I’d listened to my dad.

  Opening my eyes, I paused, contemplating a glass of red wine before I flipped the file open, but forced myself to continue.

  At first, it was pictures, surveillance photos of buildings I had never seen. No different than what I had looked at a million times in my short career as a CI agent.

  I flipped past them, trying to commit them to memory.

  Unfortunately, the shows my kids watched every day had somewhat fried my brain. Well, kids’ shows and the many hours I may or may not have spent playing Skyrim. I believed in testing a product before I let my kid play it. Damn those game makers. They were good. That game was addicting, once I got used to the Xbox controls.

  But TV and gaming were only the tip of the iceberg of what was stored in my head. Next in line was my never-ending to-do list, our appointments and obligations for the next three months, and the kids’ schedule of sports. At the very bottom of what occupied my mind was the heartbreak of realizing the father of my children was a complete asshole. There was no room for surveillance photos.

  But I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, determined to find and become the person I once was.

  When I opened my eyes again, I focused hard and began to sort through what I saw.

  Warehouses, factories, trucks parked outside, men walking the yards without guns but seeming deadly nevertheless. The pictures were an overhead view of the industrial section of any city. I couldn’t say what country it was. Nothing stood out.

  The next pictures were of a man I thought maybe I’d seen before. Then there was one of James and the same man. The man appeared to be close to James' age. The black-and-white photo showed him as handsome, dark haired, and serious looking.

  It wasn’t keeping my attention.

  I needed a snack so I put the papers down and went to the kitchen. I picked my underwear out of my butt, where it was lodged from sitting on the lid of the toilet, and then looked around.

  “Shit,” I whispered.

  Coop, or someone, was no doubt watching that. I snarled and opened the freezer. I should’ve grabbed the plate of food that Mom had surely left in the fridge for me. Instead, I chose the caramel pecan ice cream and a spoon. I raised it as if to toast whoever was watching me. Fuck Coop and his out of shape comment. He was probably disgusted at the thought of a girl eating ice cream from a container.

  I carried it back to the bathroom to study the files again.

  Sitting back on the toilet, I spread the photos out on the floor and went over each one. The first one was of James and the man talking outside the warehouse. I recognized the man. It was driving me insane trying to recall where I knew him from so I blanked my mind.

  I grabbed the notes.

  “Officer Hammond believes Officer Evans to be compromised and possibly committing traitorous acts against the flag.”

  I reread the sentence and swallowed the lump of cold ice cream. I clenched my face and neck as a throat burn started from not licking the ice cream and taking too large a bite.

  The next page was dates. Some I recognized as dates he had been out of town for work. Others were hockey tournaments and various such competitions for our kids. Some of them I recalled James being at.

  Lastly, was an iPad. I pressed the “On” button at the top and the screen immediately went to a video. I pressed the arrow for it to play.

  It was James being filmed from a short distance at night. He stood in a dark corner with someone I couldn’t see, but I could tell it was a woman.

  “You think if I had any other choice, I would’ve let this happen?” he asked the lady.

  She put her hands on his jacket, over his chest. I placed the ice cream on the counter and pressed the rewind button. I watched her hands caress down his jacket. It was an intimate touch.

  My stomach turned, but I forced myself to watch the rest. I was actually being given footage of one of his said infidelities. They knew? They knew and they were letting me watch the video?

  “Heartless bastards,” I murmured and focused back on the video.

  The lady spoke plainly, “I just want you to be safe. They know about the Burrow. She knows for sure. There's no way Evie’s—” I knew that voice.

  “Shhhhh,” he said and looked around.

  My guts burned. Why was my name being mentioned? I knew her voice. Where from?

  “James, they know about Evie’s—” she whispered just as the camera lost her voice.

  I gagged.

  Of course, I recognized that voice and the way it whispered my name. It belonged to my best friend in the world. My best friend who I believed to be on mission and unable to be at my side as I learned my husband was dead. I waited on pins and needles for the camera to catch her face. If it was her, I was about to have a heart attack.

  He grabbed her arms. “I told you not to say that. You don’t know who's following us. Just stay out of this and stick to the plan. Meet me in Holland in a week. I have to break this to Evie and the kids. She knows or at least suspects something. She knows this is coming.”

  My mouth dropped open. I didn’t in fact know. I never suspected.

  “I hate that she's going to get hurt.” She rubbed her hands up and down the front of his body, making mine numb. My lower lip crept out. I was actively praying it wasn’t her.

  His voice turned soft, “Melanie, I want to be with you. The kids are old enough. It's our turn. Me and you, baby.”

  My mouth was completely dry, except for the sour taste in my cheeks. I dropped the iPad to the tile floor. My hands covered my mouth. “Fuck.” Silent tears streamed my cheeks.

  Melanie?

  Melanie who sat on the toilet nervously watching me check the pregnancy test?

  Melanie the maid of honor at my wedding?

  Melanie who held my hand when I gave birth?

  Melanie who I’d prayed would get my dozens of desperate emails from the last two months?

  She was my best army friend. We had done basic together and Fort Huachuca. We had entered CI together—she only joined because I’d made her.

  A million images flashed in my mind, each containing a moment I should’ve seen differently than I did.

  He was fucking her too? The PTA moms weren’t enough? He had to take the only thing that was mine. She was mine.

  The video co
ntinued to play, but I couldn’t hear anymore. I jumped up and ran from the bathroom.

  I needed to be away from the papers.

  As I paced the hallway my breath came in rough spurts and panicked half breaths.

  Shuddering, I burped the ice cream that crept up my throat. I sat on the stairs. My tears wanted to come but the ice cream blocked them.

  I gagged and ran upstairs to my bathroom, bursting through the door to get to the toilet. I couldn’t go back into the bathroom downstairs.

  Coughing and gagging, I bent over for a second before the scotch and ice cream began to flow. My guts retched and my heart broke.

  None of it was from his betrayal but from hers. Him, I had started to come to terms with.

  Dropping to my knees, I leaned my head against the toilet seat and prayed I had finished throwing up as I flushed repeatedly.

  When I was sure it was over, I curled up on the cool floor and pressed my face to the tiles. My silent cries turned to blasting sobs. I let loose the horrors and the pain. I let loose the millions of things I hadn’t let myself see. The dam broke and I allowed the avalanche to smother me completely.

  Images ran like a movie behind my eyes until the movie ended and my eyes went black. But even as I passed out in the bathroom, I dreamt of things I didn’t want to see. His hand grazing her thigh, the two of them sneaking off during our wedding, or the way he always insisted I invite her along. He hadn’t even tried to hide it, I just never thought to look for the deception.

  I woke to the sound of a man's voice.

  “James?” I stirred and wiped the drool from my face.

  “No. Come on, Evie.”

  I blinked and saw Coop standing in the doorway. I blinked again and wondered if I was hallucinating.

  He had on a hoodie and sweats but it was him. I jumped when I realized he was there for real and banged my head on the toilet. “Owwww!”

  He winced and stepped to me, lifting me off the floor. “You don’t follow orders very well, Evans.” He carried me from the bathroom and laid me on my bed, shaking his head. “And your breath stinks.”