by Joy Jenkins
Before she had even finished her sentence, Donovan shook his head. “You’re too blunt for people to get close to knowing you.”
She studied him, the cogs of her mind whirring, curious that when he finally spoke, it was to argue with her. He held her gaze; a cool, intelligence in his eyes. Finally, she broke away. A cluster of girls moved across their path, admiring looks sticking to Donovan.
“Well, maybe I’m too blunt,” Carter said. “But that hasn’t stopped either of you from hanging out with me. Bringing me back to the fact: you realize associating with me will damage your prospects of friends.” She paused. “Okay, it wouldn’t affect you but it will affect Link.”
“What makes you say that?”
Carter gestured to Donovan’s body. “Your good looks, athletic physique, and impassive, moody exterior will draw girls to you. Apparently, they find it irresistible.”
The corner of Donovan’s mouth twitched. “I’m moody?”
“You come off seeming moody. Which is not the same.”
“You don’t believe I’m moody?”
Facing him, she laughed, causing the classmates closest to them to exchange odd looks, which Carter ignored.
“I know you’re not moody,” she said. “You’re too in control of your emotions. It’s part of the persona you are conveying.”
Though he finally faced her, he betrayed nothing of how he felt about her deduction. “I convey a moody persona?”
“No,” she said, pointing at him. “You convey a persona of being uninterested, in control, and better than everyone else. Moody, to the unintelligent observer. The first part is faked, the other two are real.”
“What makes you think that?” he asked, evenly.
“I’ve studied people long enough to know when they are faking it, putting on false personalities. Seriously, I go to high school with politician’s kids.”
Donovan gave no reaction. “Carter, did it ever occur to you that I’m a shy person and I’m not comfortable talking to people I don’t know?” he asked.
“Not even for the tiniest of seconds.”
“Why not?”
“The majority of shy people struggle with reading social cues and have low self-esteem. You have neither.”
“Maybe I’m introverted then.”
Carter pointed at him, relieved she found a crack in the armor. “You didn’t say introverted, you said shy. Which you could be, but something about your persona isn’t real.” She cocked her head. “Which leads me to believe you are hiding something.”
“Do you have this feeling about everyone else, or just me?”
“Oh, everyone is hiding something. What, is usually easy for me to see. With you, it’s not.” Carter took a step towards him, challenging. “What are you hiding, Donovan Keller?”
He stared her down, his blue eyes battling hers. “Why do you force away friendships, Carter Owens?”
They remained that way, eyes locked. The tour guide called for the group to continue on and the room began to empty. Link made his way over to them and paused.
“What did I miss?” he asked.
The tension vanished as Donovan broke away.
“Nothing,” he said. “We should move on.”
◆◆◆
Carter slammed her fist into the punching bag, sending it swaying. Sweat beaded on her forehead and ran down her temples. Music blared through the apartment, keeping time with her heartbeat. Outside the sky was a wash of darkness, lights from the neighboring buildings shining into the night. She spun and brought her leg up, kicking the taut leather. As the bag came back towards her, she hit it again.
The front door opened and closed but Carter barely registered it. A second later, her bedroom door swung open and her father stepped inside. At the sight of Carter in her uniform pounding away at the punching bag, he smiled. He shut off her music, the walls still vibrating with the last beats. Carter didn’t acknowledge him, her features screwed into tight concentration. Pulling out a chair, her father sat down, resting his laced fingers on his stomach.
“How was school?” he asked.
Carter twisted around and slammed her elbow into the bag.
“Interesting,” her father said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
The response was a quick 1- 2 punch to the worn material.
“Feet closer together. Swing from your core, not your shoulder.”
Carter made the adjustments and hit the bag again.
“It’s about a boy,” her father said. “That’s a new one.”
Rounding on him, Carter set her hands on her hips. Strands of hair fell into her face, which she ignored.
“How do you know that?” she asked.
“You forget who taught you to read people. And the fact that I’ve been reading you your whole life.” Carter knitted her eyebrows together. “Your form is sloppy and your punches lack concentration. Your mind is not in this. Do you want to talk about it?”
Carter ripped off her gloves and threw them on the bed. “How do you trust someone you know is lying to you?”
As her father’s forehead wrinkled, he leaned forward over his knees. “Are they lying or withholding information?”
Carter tossed up her hands. “Is there a difference?”
“Yes, someone might withhold information about their past or who they are to protect themselves. That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re lying. You sense the withheld information and take it as lying.”
“But how is it not lying?”
Her father gave her a straight forward gaze. “Sarge, have you told these people about your mother?”
Carter froze, curling her fingers into tight fists. “No.”
Her father raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
Sinking onto the bed, she swept her hair away from her face.
“In order to gain trust, you have to be willing to give it first.”
She nodded solemnly. Softening, her father sat back in her chair.
“Now,” he said. “What did I miss?”
A smile crept onto Carter’s face as her eyes held a flicker of surprise and disbelief. “I think I made friends.”
Chapter 9
S arge.”
Carter rolled over in her bed, facing the doorway. She winced at the light where her father stood outlined in the door frame. Moaning, she twisted away. Her father crossed to her bed and shook her shoulder.
“Sarge.”
Shrugging off his arm, Carter buried her face in her pillow. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to knock before coming in?” her voice muffled. “That way I have enough time to kick the Marine out of my bed, so he can be half-dressed and out the window by the time you catch him.”
“Why do you think I don't knock?”
Carter peered blearily up at him. “So you’re saying kick him out of my bed in the middle of the night? Got it.” She sank back into her blankets. “Now, what do you want, old man? I thought we were celebrating your homecoming by sleeping in.”
Her father glanced at the clock.
“We did,” he said. “It’s 6:30.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not happy you’re home.”
“Understood. Now get up. We’re going for a run.”
Carter gripped the blankets tighter, cocooning herself. “Have fun. Let me know when you get back. We can hang out or something.”
With one strong yank, her father tore the blankets from her hold. A chill swept over Carter and she curled into a ball. Her father took hold of her arm. On reflex, she shot her leg out but hit only air. She brought her free arm around, her hand forming a fist as she swung at her father’s face. He easily deflected the blow and hauled her out of the bed. Struggling, she flailed her arms and legs. He dropped her and she hit the worn carpeted floor.
“Are you up?” he asked.
Jumping up, Carter grabbed her crumpled blankets and scrambled into her bed. Without a word, her father left the room. She snuggled down into the warmth. A second later her father’
s footsteps echoed in the hallway, along with the sound of water sloshing in a pot. Carter twisted around as he entered her room. Adrenaline shot through her and she jumped out of bed. Her father smiled.
“You’re up. How about a run?” he asked.
Glaring, she shoved him out the door.
“I’ll be ready in five. Child protective services will be here in ten.”
Spinning around, Carter kicked the door shut in his grinning face. Two minutes later, she emerged from her room, dressed and hair pulled back. Her father stood in the living room, stretching. After gulping down a glass of green power shake, Carter groaned and joined him. Her sleepy muscles protested.
“How do you feel about running to the Capital today?” her father asked, rolling his shoulders.
“As long as it means you bust an ankle on the steps, sounds great,” she grumbled.
“I’ll take that as a yes. You ready?”
As she straightened, she nodded. “I set the pace this time.”
As they stepped out into the morning air, the crisp cold sent goosebumps racing over their arms. Light peeked on the horizon as mist blanketed the world. They descended the metal staircase and headed towards the road, the quiet of the neighborhood thick around them. Carter grinned up at her father.
“Try to keep up, old man,” she said, taking off running.
Chuckling, her father fell into step beside her.
◆◆◆
As Carter exited her room, she combed her fingers through her damp hair, before tying it into a ponytail. The sound of the shower running filled the small apartment. She headed to the living room but paused. Down the hall, her father’s bedroom door lay open.
Backtracking, she walked to the doorway, freezing. Before her lay a simple double bed, made with military neatness, bare walls, and a desk covered in tidy stacks of paper with a lone picture frame.
After a second's hesitation, Carter crossed to the desk. Without disturbing the rest of the items there, she lifted the photograph. A family of three smiled up at her. Her father’s arms were wrapped around the ten-year-old version of herself. Her mother wore a wide smile and rested against her husband, her hair windblown. Carter gripped the frame.
“I remember that day,” her father said, behind her. “It was perfect.”
Forcing her fingers to relax, Carter set the frame down. “Sure.”
Spotting a nearby stack of photos, she picked up the top one, studying it.
“What is this?” she asked.
The picture held a close up image of part of a face. She held it closer, something familiar about it. Her father peered over her shoulder.
“That’s President Douglas,” he said, moving away.
“Care to explain why you feel the need to have close up images of his face?” she asked, perusing the stack and finding more images of the President’s features.
“With plastic surgery being what it is today, it’s possible for people to alter their face to match the President’s. They could possibly try to make a switch. It’s very unlikely, but we prepare for everything. The photos are of details that could not be copied. Like the freckles in his eyes, which is a family trait, or his birthmark.”
“Interesting.”
“You ready?” her father asked.
“Yeah,” she said, setting down the stack and following him out of his room. “You made me run twelve miles on barely any food. Child services will be hearing about this.”
“Is that so?” her father said, opening the front door.
“They’ll add it to the list of abuses.” She faced him as he locked up. “Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to drop your kid on the floor?”
Her father donned a thoughtful expression. “That wasn’t in the rule book.”
Though the sun had woken up the world, their neighborhood remained in stasis, except for the occasional bark of a dog or rushing of a car.
“You’re not supposed to raise a kid by reading a military training manual,” Carter said.
“Really?” Her father grinned. “I thought it was turning out well.”
“Is this your subtle way of telling me you raised me to be an assassin? Because I’m fine with that.”
“I was going for a girl able to protect herself but assassin works just as well.”
As they walked out of the lane, her father draped an arm around her shoulders. Carter elbowed him in the ribs, making him chuckle. They headed for the deli, the sun giving off what little warmth it could. The bell rang overhead and Maggie glanced up from the crossword on the counter. A welcoming smile cut across her face, brightening her eyes.
“You two hungry?” she asked, laying aside her pencil.
Folding her arms, Carter slipped free of her father’s embrace.
“Starved doesn’t begin to describe my current state,” she said. “This morning was filled with far more abuse than I believe I should be put through. Captain here made me run twelve miles on only a power shake.”
Maggie winked at her before her gaze eased to Carter’s father. “I guess that calls for lots of food then. How was your run?”
Staring up at her father, Carter smiled smugly. “Do you want to tell her how I completely destroyed you, or shall I?”
Appearing unruffled, he crossed his arms.
“It went well,” he said.
“He doesn’t want to admit to the fact that he is starting to weaken in his advanced years,” Carter said.
Her father rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.
“How about this, Sarge,” he said. “When you’re thirty-nine, I will get an eighteen-year-old to run with you.”
Carter scoffed. “Please, you’ve let yourself go, Captain. I don’t plan on making the same mistake.”
Hooking his arm around Carter’s neck, her father rubbed his hand over her hair. In retaliation, she jabbed her elbow into his side and spun out of his grip. Hair fell in front of her face as she lowered to a crouch, fists raised, eyes taunting.
“You think you’re fast enough, old man?” she asked.
Before Carter could act on her words, Maggie took up a position between the two of them.
“Did you want food or not?” she asked.
Carter rose and carelessly brushed away her hair.
“I see what’s going on,” she said, pointing between her father and Maggie. “You didn’t want to see him humiliated.”
Shaking her head in amusement, Maggie returned to her food preparations.
“I’ll have food read in a few minutes,” she called out.
Carter’s father spun her around and directed her to a booth. “Maybe next time, Sarge.”
“Sure,” she mocked. “You just didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Maggie.”
She slid into the booth, her father taking the opposite side.
“Don’t worry,” she said, giving him a wide smile. “I’m sure she’ll still like you. Though maybe think a little less of you.”
“We’re not discussing this.”
“We’re not discussing anything. I’m stating the obvious.”
◆◆◆
"Sarge, did you get that?" her father asked.
Carter stood in a huddled group with seven men, all three times her size and a head taller than her. They crouched inside a wide room, on a lot covered with empty houses. The walls were riddled with cracks and the paint fell away from the walls. The smell of decay lingered in the air from the grimy floorboards. Carter didn’t want to be anywhere else.
"Sorry, Captain, I wasn't paying attention," she said, grinning.
Chuckles rippled through the group of men as her father frowned.
"Joking," she said. "You act like I haven't done this a million and one times."
She released the clip to her pistol and checked the paintballs. After she reloaded it, she cocked the gun, each motion smooth. "I scout out ahead of the group. Locate where the enemy is holding the hostages. Then when you are all in position, we breach the h
ouse."
Curtis laid a hand on Carter’s father’s shoulder."Were you planning to tell us that when you leave the service Carter is taking your place?"
Carter laughed along with the men, happy to be one of them.
"Now that I'm convinced you were paying attention, we can move out," her father said. He surveyed the men. "Blue team: move to the East quadrant. Red Team: North. Green Team: South. I'll take West. Sarge, comm in when you have the location. Let's move out."
The group split off into pairs and dispersed. Carter cut across the living room to the kitchen, attaching a suppressor to her gun as she went. She breathed in the smell of must, feeling completely relaxed. She nimbly cut a path to the back door, avoiding the shards of faded blue tile that dotted the floor. Easing the back door open, she slipped from the house.
A weedy backyard lay before her. With a quick glance, she jogged across the yard. The metal of the link fence was icy as she grabbed the top and vaulted over it. She dropped to a crouch when she hit the dirt, dust coating her boots. Moving to the edge of the alley, she sidled along the houses, keeping her eyes open for movement, her gun half raised. She lifted her wrist and whispered into her comm set.
"Hey, Curtis, how did babysitting go?" she said.
Static crackled in her ear and a second later Curtis's deep voice came through clear. "You know I don't talk about the people I work for," he said, a smile in his voice.
She peered around the corner of a house, noting the crouched figures of her fellow team members. "That's because if you did, Hamel's innocent ears wouldn't be able to take it."
Faint snippets of laughter rang in her ears. Before Hamel had the chance to retaliate, Carter's father spoke.
"Enough chit-chat. Stay focused. Sarge, head for the red two-story, a block North. I saw movement," he said.
"Copy that," Carter said.
She squeezed her gun and quickened her pace. With practiced ease, she navigated her way through the maze of faded houses, run-down backyards, and narrow alleys. Growing closer to the red house, she slowed, approaching it with cautious steps. Tucked into an alley across from her target, she kneeled to the ground and scanned the windows.