“I was already out,” she said, barely able to hear her own voice. “One of the bad guys was wounded and tried to get away, but he collapsed a little ways from the van. I was helping him when the sniper took out the van.”
Brent looked so relieved that, for a moment, she thought he might smother her in a bear hug. But he refrained and simply scrubbed a hand through his hair.
“I thought I’d gotten you killed,” he said raggedly.
She shook her head.
Then a grin snuck its way onto her face and she stood on tiptoe to say in his ear, “Maybe I can get a cool codename now? Like Death Defier or something?”
Brent just smirked and shook his head, his eyes straying once more to the demolished van. “I guess we lost the information, though.”
“Um,” Emily said quietly.
“What’s that?” Brent said, turning back to her and cupping his ear. “Can’t hear you.”
“Well,” she said, wondering for the first time if she should have been reading Dr. Novak’s papers, “I sort of read the papers while I was waiting in the van.”
Brent’s eyes widened.
“And I sort of remember all of it—it was just so fascinating, you know? Better than a spy novel. Spooky, too, especially since there’s a secret lair like a block-and-a-half from Sunrise...”
“Oh, Emily...” Brent rubbed his forehead. “I probably ought to give you a speech about reading secret documents, but—well, you may have just saved this whole operation. You’re sure you can remember everything you read?”
“Well, maybe not quite verbatim, but yes, I’m sure.”
“You’ve just earned a trip to the North Pole, Locksmith. You’ll get to meet Santa.”
MORE BACKUP FROM ICS arrived in SUVs to mop up the scene and bring in all the enemy agents. Brent commandeered one of the shiny, black vehicles and herded Dr. Novak and Emily into it.
“This is nice,” Emily remarked. “Awfully stereotypical, though, don’t you think? Nothing like a non-descript gold minivan.”
Brent just shook his head.
“I’m sorry about the van, by the way. But at least it wasn’t a very expensive loss. I mean, if you did drive a BMW or something that would have been even worse.”
“It wasn’t exactly your ordinary soccer mom van,” Brent admitted. “It had a few—um, upgrades that probably put it in the ballpark of your average BMW. It was meant to look ordinary, but it wasn’t really under the hood.”
“Kind of like you?” Emily asked. “I thought you were just an ordinary guy with expensive and impractical footwear choices who was pretty bad at making coffee. But you're—all this!”
Brent was quiet a moment. “I think everyone has that going for them, to some extent or another. You’re pretty ordinary, but—although I never would have guessed—it actually makes you good at some of this stuff. It’s safe to say without your contributions, Dr. Novak would still be in that warehouse awaiting an unknown fate, and we would have no idea what his papers said.”
Emily shrugged and glanced out the window at the dark streets, trying to hide a blush.
Dr. Novak spoke up from the back seat. “You ought to recruit her, Nighthawk.”
Brent swallowed hard and shook his head, much to Emily’s disappointment—which surprised her. “That would be up to my boss, but with the way we almost lost her tonight—” he trailed off.
Shrugging off her strange sense of disappointment, Emily said, “So, this ICS office... will we have to go through a bazillion doors? Or maybe there’s an elevator disguised as a coat closet? A secret knock? Is it in the back of a record store or do you guys have some kind of front company with stuffy offices disguising the entrance?”
“Movie stuff, Emily, movie stuff,” Brent said, hiding a grin. “We actually just work out of my basement.” He brought the SUV to a stop in front of a modest house.
She turned a shocked gaze to him, and he burst out laughing. “You should see your face,” he said.
“Brent... you’re kidding, right?”
He shook his head, enjoying her disbelieving disappointment. “It’s technically true.”
Emily glanced back at Dr. Novak. He didn’t seem to know any more than she did, but he looked amused as well.
“C’mon,” Brent said. “You wanted to see our super-secret spy headquarters, didn’t you?” It sounded like a dare.
Emily gave him a suspicious look, but unbuckled her seatbelt and hopped out. Brent led her and Dr. Novak to the front door.
He inserted an ordinary-looking key and unlocked the door, but paused before trying the handle. A faint green light came from the peep hole, scanning his face.
Emily raised her eyebrows, her faith in the cool-factor of the ICS returning just a little.
It plummeted a moment later when they walked into the house. “So here’s where I live,” Brent said, closing the door behind them and gesturing—in almost impish delight—to the messy, poorly decorated house. “Me and a couple of the guys share this place.”
“I believe the correct term would be ‘bachelor pad’?” Dr. Novak asked.
“Well, sort of, Doctor. It’s not quite disreputable enough to really earn that name, thank goodness.”
“Well, your housekeeping is certainly disreputable,” Emily murmured.
“Be nice,” Brent said, chuckling, “it’s all part of our cover. I mean, would you ever think to look for a covert agency here?”
Dr. Novak shook his head, again looking amused. Emily saw Brent’s point, but she still couldn’t believe it.
“And your boss works in the basement?”
“Something like that. Follow me.”
He led them down the hall and into the bathroom. Pulling back the shower door, he waved them into the surprisingly clean, tiled interior.
“What...” Emily began, but she snapped her mouth shut and followed Dr. Novak’s lead, getting into the shower.
Brent joined them and slid the door shut. He reached for the cold water knob.
“Brent, won’t that—” she protested, not wanting to get wet. Her sentence halted as she gave a little shriek.
The shower moved. Down.
“Seriously?” she said. “Your elevator is a shower?”
He nodded mischievously. “Or you might even say our shower is an elevator.”
Chapter 17
EMILY WAVED GOODBYE to the transcriptionist and followed Brent out the open door of what she assumed was normally used as an interrogation room.
“Did you get it all down?” he asked.
“Yes,” she nodded. “Every bit of it. That woman can type so fast!”
“I’m sure she had to so she could keep up with you,” Brent said, smirking at her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “Just an observation... when you’re excited or nervous you sort of talk a lot. And fast.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I guess I do. But this place! I never, in a million years, would have guessed it was hidden under a college-dude house in suburban Phoenix.” She nearly squealed and clapped her hands. “You guys even have the see-through white boards!”
“They can’t be both see-through and white,” Brent pointed out, stopping in front of an office door.
“Oh, stop it. You know what I mean. You’ve spent all this time convincing me that being a spy is far less cool than I thought it was. You’re always like,” she lowered her voice in an effort to mimic him, “‘movie stuff, Emily, movie stuff.’” She tilted her chin up. “Well, I think so-called ‘movie-stuff’ is pretty well represented around here. I mean, it looks all space-age and slick—”
“Well, I’m glad it hasn’t disappointed,” Brent said, amusedly. “Would you like to meet Santa now, or would you like to continue admiring the decor?”
“Oh!” With a start, Emily realized they’d been standing outside the glass door of an office while she rambled. She glanced inside at the man sitting ram-rod straight at a large, messy desk. He had silver hair,
a matching silver mustache, and he wore a black suit and tie. He was staring at them, waiting.
She sucked in her breath. “Oops. Sorry. I didn’t realize...”
Brent grinned down at her. “C’mon Locksmith, it’s all good.” He opened the glass door and waved her through.
“Nighthawk!” The man behind the desk stood, towering, and shook Brent’s hand. “Nicely done. You look like you need a nap.” He turned to Emily. “Miss Abbott—or should I say—” he glanced down at an open file on his desk. “Is it Locksmith or something else now?”
Emily barely contained a snort. “It’s still Locksmith last I knew —sir.” She rolled her eyes at Brent who pasted an innocent look on his face.
“Ah, well. He has a thing about names. Allow me to introduce myself: I’m Edward Best, aka Santa. I run this odd, but effective outfit.”
Emily shook his hand and worked to contain a laugh. “I can see Brent’s ‘thing’ about names extends to you as well, sir.”
Before the man could answer, Brent interjected. “Oh, he’s the Best boss anyone could have. He can’t help it.”
Edward Best waved his hand tiredly. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, sitting down and motioning them into chairs facing him.
“I’ve called you in here, Miss Abbott, to thank you for your invaluable help on this mission. From what I hear, you provided crucial information at several points, and were useful in multiple ways. Even at cost to yourself. I want you to know this agency and your country are grateful, and we will be replacing the car Agent Nighthawk—erm—destroyed.”
“Oh, thank you, sir. I know in the grand scheme of things, a little beater car isn’t very important, but you have no idea what it means to me.”
“I think I do,” he said tapping the open folder on his desk. “And I want you to know you don’t need to worry about your job, either. Connor Gomez and I go way back to our boot camp days. After our service, he went into coffee and I went into... all this. But I spoke to him about you, and it’s all going to be fine. You’ll be keeping your job.”
Something relaxed inside Emily, an anxiety that had been simmering in the background since their escape from the coffee shop on Saturday. “Thank you, sir. Thank you ever so much.”
“It’s only right, considering one of my men got you mixed up in agency business. Now, about that... I want to make sure you understand you can never breathe a word of this to anyone. Nothing you saw, none of the information you read, none of the code names or ordinary names you know, the location of this office—nothing.”
Emily nodded vigorously.
“You must go about your life from here on as if you know absolutely nothing.”
The finality of his words filled her with an unexpected sadness, but she straightened in her chair, determined to be grateful for the excitement she’d experienced over the last few days.
“You have my word, sir.”
“Good. Thank you again for everything you’ve done. Now,” the man checked his watch, “you need to get as much sleep as you can before your shift starts.”
As if his words had a magical effect, Emily suddenly realized just how tired she was. And that it was Monday. She checked her watch. It was 4:30 in the morning. With a groan, she stood from the chair.
“Take her home, Nighthawk.”
Now that it was all over, a sleepy fog settled over Emily, and she let Brent lead her back to the shower elevator. He turned the hot water knob to bring it up to the bathroom in the house above again.
“‘Cuz hot air rises,” she giggled punchily.
Brent shook his head and led her through the house and into the garage. There, they got into a nondescript grey car and pulled out onto the residential street. The summer sunrise was just beginning to touch the sky.
The drive back to Emily’s apartment building was quiet. When they reached the parking lot, Brent put the car in park and half-turned toward her.
“I’m really glad they put me undercover at Sunrise Coffee. I’m glad that’s where the meetup with Dr. Novak was set. I really enjoyed working with you—both in the shop and in the field.” He extended his hand.
Emily shook it slowly, hating the finality of his words.
“All the best on the college fund, Locksmith” he said with a crooked smile.
“Thanks,” she managed to whisper. “I’m so glad I got to help. This has been—well, it was scary and fun and exciting and—” she broke off with a shrug. “I’m chattering again. I’d better sleep before my shift starts or I’ll be super punchy the whole time.”
“Thanks for the ride. Glad you got your man and the info.” She hopped out, closed the door, and walked to the stairs. Once at her apartment door, Emily turned and watched wistfully as he drove away.
Epilogue
EMILY PUNCHED IN THE code, and the back door of Sunrise Coffee unlocked. She pulled it open hurriedly, wishing the bus had been on time.
“There you are,” Terry said, pursing her lips in displeasure. “Don’t start being late like everyone else at this joint, Emily. Don’t make me regret having you here.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. The bus was late.”
Terry just huffed.
Emily put her salad in the refrigerator and hurried to wash up and don her apron. She felt numb from lack of sleep, and she was strangely reluctant to start work without Brent there. It had been a fun couple of days working with him, but she squared her shoulders. She’d worked there for nearly a year without him, and she should be able to do it again... shouldn’t she?
Of course she should.
Emily hurried past the chest freezer in the hall and emerged into the prep area. She stopped short.
A familiar, tall figure with poorly tied apron strings and shiny loafers stood joshing with a customer.
“Brent?” she gasped.
He swiveled, his crooked grin spreading across his face. The customer shot them an amused look and moved to sip her tea at a window table.
“Good morning to you, too!”
“I thought—” she beckoned him closer and continued in a whisper, “I thought you were done working at Sunrise. I mean, your employment here served its... purpose.”
“You sound disappointed,” Brent said, tragically.
“No! Oh, stop it. That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” She smiled. “I’m glad you’re still working here, Brent.”
He returned her smile. “Santa decided it would serve ICS interests for me to maintain my cover for now. So here I am! Feel like teaching me to be the ultimate barista?”
“Well, that might be asking a lot,” she said, grinning cheekily, “but I’m fairly confident we can get you straightened out about the difference between a mocha and a latte. And maybe even teach you the magic that is the espresso machine.”
“Wow, you already have a syllabus for me. Sounds like you’re on the ball, Teacher.”
Emily narrowed her eyes at him, “That better not be a new—”
She was cut off by the song “Santa Baby” suddenly emanating from Brent’s apron pocket.
“Oh, there’s Santa now,” he said, withdrawing a flip phone with an encryptor plugged into the bottom.
As he answered and moved toward the back of the shop, Emily snickered, “You know how weird that sounds?”
After a moment, Brent popped his head around the corner. He wore a concerned expression. “Hey, Emily, um... listen,” he said in an undertone. “Something’s come up and, well, Santa wanted me to ask you if you’d be interested in coming along as my date. I mean—as part of my cover. It will be totally safe. Nothing like last time—I told him I wouldn't even mention it to you if you'd be in danger.”
“Am I interested?” Emily whisper-shrieked. “When do we leave?”
“Right now!” Brent said, grinning.
Terry’s voice sliced into the conversation. “Leaving right now? What’s this all about? You two just started your shift! Get out there and do your jobs.”
Brent gave Emily a comical grimace
before turning to face their boss. “Really sorry about this, Terry, but if you’d just call up Mr. Gomez and ask him if we’re cleared to leave...”
Terry stared at him dumbfounded for a moment. “That’s so cheeky of you to suggest it, I’m actually calling your bluff and doing exactly that.”
She stomped to the phone hanging on the back wall.
Emily winced.
Brent just winked at her and motioned for her to wait. A moment later, Terry returned. Her face was twisted into a frown, and she looked slightly puzzled.
“I don’t know what your game is—but Mr. Gomez said to let you leave and to cover your shift for you.”
She glared at them, grumbling under her breath, as she headed to the prep area.
“Did that really just happen?” Emily asked, covering her mouth to hold in a laugh.
“Yep, it really did,” Brent said with a mischievous grin. “C’mon!”
Thank you for reading!
IF YOU ENJOYED THIS book, be sure to watch my newsletter and Facebook fan group for updates about the rest of the Accidental Cases of Emily Abbott series. I’m prepping them for rapid release in late spring/early summer 2019.
In the meantime, you might enjoy reading my Kitten Files mystery series: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07H4VRPYY
About the Author
PERRY ELISABETH KIRKPATRICK lives in an undisclosed location outside of Phoenix where she and her husband chase their four little boys and an escape-artist dog. They don’t chase their cats, however, because cats hate that. She is the author of “The Kitten Files” mysteries, “The Accidental Cases of Emily Abbott” spy series, and multiple short stories.
In addition to her writing, Perry enjoys graphic design, playing a number of musical instruments, and watching movies that make her laugh.
Connect with her at www.perrykirkpatrick.com
Red Rover, Red Rover Page 7