Turning my head, I checked that my sandy blonde up-do (the grownup one that had replaced my loose messy bun) was still in place. My sparkling earrings caught the light, almost blinding me. My fingertips went to the cold rocks that dressed my lobes. Should I take them off? Surely no one from home would know that the nearly three-carat diamond earrings I wore were real, right? Don’t worry, I had Harry from CJIS (Criminal Justice Information Services division) check in with his buddy in Congress to be sure they were mined using ethical practices before I shelled out the twenty grand for the beauties. A little gift to myself for making it through the last year.
Just staring at the diamonds made the adrenaline and excitement of working undercover with the FBI come rushing back. Would I ever feel a high like that again? I doubted it. Sure, I was over the moon excited to finally be going back to Little Peak and seeing my family and friends again. But, after the high stakes—always watching your back, brain engaging, sweating your vagina off—job I’d been doing, would I be... bored?
I shook the thought from my head, wiping my damp palms on my dress. Taking a deep breath, I gave myself one more long appraisal.
They wouldn’t even recognize me.
Josie Dixon had lived the last twelve months as Connie Brighton. (Thanks a lot for the boring name, Agent Mavis.) Connie was a woman in her mid-twenties with shoulder-length medium blonde hair (ironic that I go undercover and they change my hair back to my natural color), big brown eyes, pale skin (yeah, even the government couldn’t help me with my ghostly pale complexion), and get this... no tattoos. It was a safety issue. Mavis told me she had to have a mole removed from her cheek when she first signed on. You can’t have any easily distinguishable characteristics.
My fingertips brushed down my milky skin, remembering the painful removal process. Sure, they had paid me a pretty penny to remove them, but I cried like a baby afterward when I was in the comfort of my DC condo. I still had my memories but not having those beautiful, colorful milestones left me feeling floaty. Like I wasn’t quite myself anymore.
Which, in all honesty, I wasn’t.
I had gone from a homegrown little sister who was a tagalong even with her career choices, to a very successful offshoot of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. They never made me an offer to stay in DC—thank God. I was so ready to go home. But they were keeping me on the payroll with a sweet little work from home gig. Now that the bad guys I’d helped them chase down were behind bars, I was free to go back to my old life. I’d check in with the Bureau daily, do a little hacking for them here and there, and cash their fat checks every month.
And I could finally tell my family where I’d been for so long.
My heart broke when I thought about how Louanne and my mom must have taken the news from Agent Mavis. Posing as a Peace Corps ambassador—though if you ask me she was a little old to be playing the part—she had broken the fake news to my family: “Josie Dixon has joined our ranks and has taken on a mission in Nepal, using her technology skills to help us create an infrastructure to bring the internet to remote villages. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and she had to leave with haste. She apologizes she was unable to say goodbye in person, but she asked us to give you this letter. We regret that as the villages are so remote, communication would be limited for the first few weeks. After that, Josie will contact you by phone.”
Mavis handed my mom the second letter I’d written, where I explained my choices, outlining that I just needed a change and felt like the ranch and our tiny town were closing in on me. (With the first letter I’d used a secret code from childhood and I knew Louanne would be able to figure out to spell out what had happened, but the agents were onto me right away. After they explained the grave danger my family would face if they knew where I was, I wrote the second, code-free, fake letter.)
My mother believed my false words. After all, making a huge life decision and moving across the world was so like me. Hadn’t all my other last-minute trips, the ones that had prompted most of my tattoos, been just as impulsive?
None of it mattered now. The truth could come out. My family would be proud of my service to our country. And I would find a way to re-acclimate into my town.
And my old friends.
And hopefully, Colton.
That night. That one night. It had played over and over in my mind, daily.
My fingertips brushed over my lips.
They had allowed a total of three cryptic calls but only to my mother and sister. Teary conversations filled with lies and fake static sounds coming from my end of the line. Honestly, they made me feel so terrible for days afterward that I didn’t push for more.
I hadn’t so much as spoken a word to anyone else from home during that time.
And as for my love life... it was as nonexistent as it had been at home, save that one special night. We had no time for a personal life during our mission, and I was just fine with that. I kept my head down, did my work, bided my time.
It was better than the alternative. Federal prison. Right?
I shuddered at the thought. I had been lucky that my skills were found to be so useful. Otherwise, I could have been locked up for quite some time. My stomach hurt just thinking about being behind bars—all for a little political snooping. I’d learned my lesson. Joining the government ranks had only taught me how to be an even better hacker. Now I got to do it for pay. And help our country out. It was a win-win.
I’d gained skill, money. But my losses were the two things money can’t buy.
Time and love.
I’d lost time with my family and friends. And potentially, my only shot at true love.
Smoothing down my dress, I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves. It was time to go home. To face my family. And to find out if there was still any chance for a future with Colton.
I took one last glance in the mirror, then I proceeded to run to the bathroom and puke up my guts.
It was going to be a long day.
* * *
Agent Mavis practically held my hand for the entire flight, as she reassured me for the hundredth time, “Now like I said, we’ve briefed all of your family and friends—I went out there and did it myself to be sure it was done right. I swear my jet lag is going to be the end of me. Think I can stay in one of those cool cabins overnight?”
“Sure. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to have you,” I answered dryly.
“You’re right. I might be safer off in town. People tend to not to take kindly to us bogarting their family for our use,” she said.
“Something like that,” I replied, giving her a weak smile.
“Well, I’ve smoothed it over best I can. Since we’ve got those perps behind bars, it’s safe for the truth to come out. We find that people transfer back to their old lives more smoothly if the Bureau goes ahead of them and does the talking. We’ve made one hundred percent sure that your family understands the circumstances that we came to you under, and that you were in no way able to contact them or tell them the truth. I swear they were happier than a tornado in a trailer park. They’re all just so proud of you for toughing it out and getting the work done.”
“Did my mom cry? When you told her where I’d really gone off to?” I asked.
“Ah... tears were shed, but not until after...”
“After what?” I asked.
“She cussed me out for lying to her in the first place. I think her exact words were, ‘Peace Corps my ass,’” Mavis said.
I laughed. “She never did take kindly to being lied to. What did Louanne say?” I asked.
“Big sister? She was just so glad to hear you were coming home. Tears of joy,” Mavis answered.
“And the... others?” I asked.
Mavis gave me a knowing look. “The Jenkins crowd?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I have to say, I had my hand on my pistol the whole time I was talking to Brody. He’s a tough one. Wasn’t too happy about us kidnapping you in the middle of the night,” she
said.
That made me smile. I could picture Brody, rolling into protective older brother mode and ripping Mavis a new one. But what had Colton said? The smile fell from my face, nerves bundling in my stomach as I asked, “What about Colton?”
“Is he the big one? The one that looks like Aquaman? I started getting all those hot cowboys confused,” she said.
“Yes. That’s the one,” I said.
“We had words—when I first went back to tell them about your little Nepal trip. Very protective, that one. This time, he was... quiet. Didn’t say a word. Just stood there with his giant arms crossed over that muscled chest and stared out the window. Looked like a magazine model for outdoor gear. Stick a trident in that boy’s hand and he’d be a Greek god. But the rowdiest one was that Memaw. Couldn’t get a word in edgewise with that one...”
I could tell she wanted to make light of the topic to put me at ease, but I couldn’t stop picturing Colton in my mind, staring out that window. What thoughts were going through his head? He must have thought I’d left because of him. Why else would I have gone the day after he finally gave in to his feelings for me?
I was just glad he finally knew the truth.
Eventually, exhausted by her insane amount of flying back and forth across the country, Mavis passed out. With her head on my shoulder, drooling on my shirt, I was still careful not to wake her. I needed quiet time to reflect and wrap my head around what had happened to me over the past year.
Stealthy, without moving a single muscle on the right side of my body, I retrieved my journal from my camel Birkin—another gift to myself. Now you see why I had a fear of purchasing pricy items with designer labels? It’s addictive. Don’t worry though—for every gift I gave myself, I had anonymously donated the same amount spent to the CLAS Kids scholarship funds.
The journal in my lap, my fingertips stroked the worn red leather cover. This book was the thing that had kept me sane on those exhausted nights, my mind reeling over the hurt my sudden absence had cost my family.
My sister had taught me well, and her lists were what stuck with me the most when I was on the opposite side of the world from her. Flipping open the creamy pages, a sense of peace washed over me as I looked over my scribbled words.
I flipped back to the first page.
My First List; The Bright Side
Holy shit. What just happened? Still smelling like sex, I was ripped out of my warm Colton-scented sheets and after throwing a few items in a bag and pulling on my boots, I was on a private jet headed to Washington. Now, I sit, writing this, in the penthouse suite of what looks to be one of the swankiest condo complexes this side of Mississippi. Here, to serve my sentence for snooping and spying in private matters of the political kings and queens of our country. I’ve got to look on the bright side, or I’m going to go crazy. Here’s a list of the good things that could come from this little vacation from reality.
The money. I was promised more than fair compensation for my work. And all living expenses paid, which I guess includes the five-star accommodations I currently find myself in.
My ass is not sitting in a filthy jail cell right now, trying to trade a blowjob for a phone call.
I get to use my powers for good. Help the government. I’ve always said I wanted to give back. Right?
This will give me a chance to grow up. Though I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
Colton... what the hell happened there? I finally get the man I’ve been thirsting after and then this... can’t find a positive here.
I really can’t find any more good points and my tears are about to pour out of my eyes and run the ink right off the page. I think I’ll crawl under those two thousand count thread sheets and call it a night.
Reading the list made all the feelings from that first night come washing back over me. The loneliness, the uncertainty, the sense of almost grieving a death from being pulled away from Colton. God, I was so glad I was going home. Turning the page, I read my second list. It had taken me months to revisit the journal after my initial entry, but I found my way back to it. I wrote in it every single day after that.
My Second List; What the hell happened to Josie Dixon
My name is now Connie Brighton. Connie fucking Brighton. I hate it.
My bleached blonde hair has been professionally dyed to a color the hairdresser called Champagne. I have to say, I kind of like it. I think it’s pretty much the same color it was when I was a kid.
My tattoos are gone. The memory is too painful. I can’t even write about it.
My wardrobe—I look like executive Barbie if her ass was two sizes bigger and she was about two feet shorter. Dior, Versace, Chanel, it’s all here waiting for me in my walk-in, mirror-lined closet.
My house—I’ve gone from a simple shoebox home filled with all my creature comforts and memorabilia to a steel box. I mean, I’m sure it’d look great on a movie set but unless Christian Grey is your boyfriend and living with you in this work of art, it’s pretty damn stark and lonely.
My friends—if you can call them that. More like my co-workers. Gone are the days of comparing period cramps with the girls on the ranch. Now, all my talk revolves around The Case; your classic running for office politician smuggling drugs for the cartel through the government and accepting kickbacks for his campaign finances. (Any more facts than that, I am not allowed to document here.) Sure, it’s thrilling, but all conversation is strictly business. Nothing personal.
The food—I could cry, I miss Memaw’s cooking so bad. I went to a Kentucky Fried Chicken the other day just to get a whiff of downhome. I almost threw up. Not the same. We live off of takeout, eating at our desks, or slurping lo mein together over the conference table as we piece together the exciting bits of evidence we’ve found. DC has decent food, I will say that. But nothing can compare to the Mess Hall.
My love life; this consists of lying in bed at night and replaying every single detail of that one night with Colton, over and over in my head. Good thing I’ve got a great memory and an active imagination.
My bank account; fat. And me with no time or energy to spend it. There is no such thing as a weekend when you’re a special agent of the Bureau.
I still feel like me, kind of. My sass and spunk are still alive and well, just toned down. I feel as if I’ve grown up years over the past few months. Sneaking onto Colton’s computer seems like junior high when in reality it was not that long ago.
I turned the page. The next list made me giggle.
List of Agent Mavis’ bizarre favorite sayings
Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. Completely creepy image. Not sure who thought of this one or how it makes sense in any setting—no one would throw their baby out with the bathwater.
Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face. This is one of her all-time faves to shout at us. I think it means about the same thing as number 1.
Don’t go around your ass to get to your elbow. This one means not to do things the long way. I don’t know why she doesn’t just say that.
Sweating like a whore in church. This one always gives Agent Slack a good chuckle. Mavis does have a tendency to wear too-tight blazers that she probably bought in the eighties, then packed on a few post-menopause pounds and never went out and bought new clothes. Thus, the sweating.
That dog won’t hunt. This was the phrase she would most often use on me, as I had many ‘inane hare-brained schemes,’ as she so delicately put it. I can’t help that my mind works differently than the other agents. It’s not like I was trained at Quantico with the others. Unless you count playing on my computer in middle school training to be an FBI hacker taking down drug lords, then I would say I was pretty unprepared and so I apologize if my dog is not hunting.
Madder than a wet hen. This was the phrase she began to use when we were getting closer to locking up the bad guys. Slack and I would chuckle to ourselves as Mavis would go on about these ‘criminals are going to be madder than a wet hen when we finally put the kibo
sh on their fancy drug ring.’ I had a feeling they were going to be a lot angrier than a chicken that had just happened upon a sprinkler system.
Ten Things I’m going to do when I get home
Eat Memaw’s fried chicken and Hayes’ vanilla ice cream. Maybe even in the same bowl. That sounds amazing. I think I’ve invented a new dish.
Go to Bud’s. Order a picture of draft beer. Stick a straw in it. Drink.
Touch each and every single thing in my house. I was reassured the rent was paid on time each month and that my family was checking in on the place. I miss my stuff!
Put on my red cowgirl boots. The last time they touched my feet was when the Feds were dragging my ass out of Wyoming. Technically I guess I’ll be able to put them on before I get home.
Apologize to my mom and sister for being a total idiot and dabbling in illegal activity that got me stuck in the mess in the first place and hope they forgive me for the year of heartache I caused them.
Throw a wedding. I missed event planning. So simple and no lives are on the line. (Even though the Bridezilla of Bows and Botanicals was just about as scary as the members of the cartel.)
Talk. To everyone I’ve missed. Nearly everything and anything that has anything to do with everything besides ‘The Case.’
Never say the words ‘The Case’ again.
Take a good, long, hard ride on a horse.
Take a good, long, hard ride on a cowboy. (I hope) And win him back.
I closed the journal, smiling at Mavis’ soft snores. If I’d learned one thing when I was paying my time, it was to never underestimate how much joy your friends and family bring to your life. Surrounded by strangers turned co-workers made me ache for the close connection I shared with everyone back home.
And I ached to the core for one person in particular. I had nearly gone crazy some moments, wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was thinking about me. If he’d moved on.
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