Love & Lies

by Julie Johnson

  “How was the rest of speed-dating?” I asked, hoping to delay the inevitable for a while longer.

  It was Margot’s turn to sigh. “Miserable.”

  “Why?”

  She grimaced. “Let’s just say, none of them were boyfriend material.”

  I tried desperately to hold in my laughter. “Didn’t you meet Earl?”

  Margot threw a pillow at my face when a flurry of giggles escaped my lips. I only laughed harder as I dodged the soft missile, holding up my hands in surrender.

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” I managed to gasp out between laughs. “Seriously, there were some good looking guys there. I’m sure some of them were into you.”

  Margot shook her head. “All of the hot ones were either only interested in sex, or totally uninterested in me.”

  “I’m sorry, Margot. It’s their loss, not yours.”

  “At least mosquitoes still find me attractive,” she muttered darkly, scratching at several puffy red bumps on her arms.

  I snorted.

  “I’m serious!” she groused. “As soon as the sun went down, the little blood-suckers were out in force. You’re lucky you made your escape before then…” Her eyes narrowed. “Which brings us back to you. Time to spill about your secret rendezvous, Faith.”

  A deep sigh escaped my lips. “It wasn’t a secret rendezvous.”

  “What was it, then?”

  “Fate,” I murmured.

  Now Margot was the one snorting.

  I ignored her. “His name is Wes. And, honestly, I know practically nothing about him.”

  “So, you ran off with a total stranger because…” she stared at me like I’d grown an extra head.

  “There’s just something about him. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s…” I drifted off, trying to find the words but coming up empty. “We have a connection. It’s like… like nothing I’ve ever felt before. He just gets me.”

  “A total stranger gets you?” Margot’s tone was incredulous. “As in, he gets the money from your wallet when you’re not paying attention? Or he gets into your pants after slipping a roofie into your drink?”

  I shook my head absently, thinking back to the bridge. Despite my roommate’s words, I couldn’t dismiss the connection I felt to Wes. Memories from the night filtered through my mind.

  Dark eyes. Soft-spoken promises.

  Panic, fear. Comfort, compassion.

  Wrapped up in a stranger, as the moon rose over the Danube, my bloodstream had thrummed with adrenaline. My body was wracked with so many emotions I’d never be able to sort them all out.

  I’d never felt so alive.

  I cleared my throat lightly and tried to articulate my thoughts once more. “Wes Adams looks at me like he knows me better than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. So, yeah, maybe it’s weird that I don’t know his middle name or where he works or why he’s in Budapest, or what his freaking phone number is.” I swallowed roughly. “None of that changes the fact that when he looks at me, he sees me. The real me.”

  There was a brief pause as Margot contemplated my words.

  “You’re nuts,” she declared decidedly.

  “Quite possibly,” I agreed.

  “So, what did you do with this stranger who gets you?”

  “Faced fears. Counted to five.”

  “English, please.”

  I smiled a secret smile. “We walked the Chain Bridge.”

  “But you’re afraid of heights,” she pointed out.

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you have to be so cryptic?” she complained. “I want details, woman.”

  “I’m not being cryptic.” I was totally being cryptic. “There just isn’t much to tell. We walked the bridge, then he walked me home. End of story.”

  That wasn’t exactly the truth. Sure, we’d walked the bridge and, yes, afterwards he’d walked me home. But something monumental had happened between us in the dark, suspended over the river in an embrace. We’d barely spoken, yet I’d felt Wes’ impression on my soul like a brand since he walked away from my door stoop a half hour ago.

  But how did you put that into words for another person? How did you explain that to your roommate, as though it was nothing more than regular, post-date gossip and girl talk?

  I couldn’t trivialize it.

  Wouldn’t debase or dissect it for someone who’d never understand.

  “Well, are you going to see him again?” Margot’s question interrupted my musings.

  “I don’t know,” I murmured. “I hope so. But I guess it’s up to fate.”

  She sighed, reached for her tea, and took a large sip. “What the hell does that mean? Don’t normal people just trade phone numbers, text awkwardly for a few days, then get together and have hot sex? I’m pretty sure there’s a rule about that inscribed in our generation’s book of dating norms.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. “Nothing normal about this, Margot.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m cranky, I haven’t gotten laid in weeks, I’m covered in mosquito bites, and I’m far too sober for conversations where you speak in 90% riddles.” She reached out and picked up her book. “So, if you don’t mind…” She glanced pointedly from the open pages to my bedroom door.

  “Oh, fine, you crotchety bitch.” I laughed and blew her a kiss as I rose to my feet. “I’m going, I’m going.”

  “Love you,” she called after me.

  “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

  * * *

  “Please sign here, sir.”

  With my bike balanced between my legs and one hand holding the handlebars steady, I waited for the man to sign the electronic invoice on my company-issued iPhone screen. He scribbled something indecipherable with his fingertip, chuckled under his breath at the sight of his messy “signature,” and passed the phone back to me.

  “Köszönöm,” the man muttered, accepting his parcel with impatient hands.

  “You’re welcome!” I called, stowing the phone in a side pocket of my messenger bag. He slammed the door in my face and disappeared inside without another word.

  I blew out a huff of air. Apparently some people weren’t so enamored with the Hermes girls, after all.

  With a swift kick off the ground, I pushed my bike from his stoop into traffic. Navigating the city during rush hour was a nightmare. Hungarian drivers were fond of laying on the horn, cursing like sailors, and causing perpetual gridlock. Plus, they seemed to think that stopping for bicyclists was an optional pursuit — if I didn’t pay attention, I’d be run over multiple times each shift.

  And, honestly, paying attention had been something of a struggle for the past ten days.

  Ever since I’d watched Wes walk away from my doorstep, I could barely focus on anything. Not my classes, or my job, or even the words on the pages of my favorite novel. Even now, riding from one delivery to the next, I couldn’t help myself from replaying our goodbye over and over in my mind…

  We didn’t hold hands when he walked me home. It seemed, through some unspoken agreement, we both needed a little space after so thoroughly invading each other’s privacy back on the bridge. This connection… it was new. Scary. With Wes, I was swimming in uncharted waters. Miles offshore, so far over my head I’d lost sight of any familiar points of land.

  “Thank you,” I whispered finally, when we were a block or so from my apartment.

  Wes flinched at the sound of my voice — he seemed far away, lost in distant thoughts I had no access to. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes carefully averted from mine. In lieu of a real response, he turned his head slightly to glance at me, nodded once in acknowledgement, and kept walking.

  This was an entirely different man than the one who’d held me in the circle of his arms on the bridge.

  I had no idea what to think, to say, to do. So, heart lodged firmly in my throat, I walked the rest of the way home without breaking the silence until we reached my door.

  “Well, this is me,” I mumbled, my
eyes on the cobblestones by my feet. They were surprisingly shiny — worn smooth by the tread of thousands of feet over hundreds of years. When, once again, Wes failed to respond, I scuffed the toe of my sandal against a stone, abruptly angry at the turn my magical night had taken.

  Lifting my eyes, I glared at his expressionless face.

  “I don’t know what happened to you in the last thirty minutes and, frankly, I don’t care. You might not want to admit it to me or even to yourself, but something changed tonight. Shit got personal. We invaded each other’s space. We made ourselves vulnerable for a second. You saw me, and I saw you, Wes.”

  I was breathing hard by the time I broke off — I’d become quite worked up as the words poured from me in a frustrated torrent — but that didn’t stop me from continuing.

  “Maybe we got too personal. Crossed that comfortable little line of distance strangers draw around themselves to keep things superficial and fun. But, if you remember, you’re the one who dragged me across that damn bridge and across that damn line!” I threw my hands up, exasperated. “I don’t play games, Wes. That’s not me. I don’t do half-assed or hot-and-cold, high-handed or hush-hush. So, even though you don’t want to hear it, I’m going to tell you anyway…”

  I narrowed my eyes at him and took a deep breath.

  “Thank you. Thank you. For tonight, for the bridge. For giving me a little piece of your strength when I needed it.” I wanted to reach out for his hand but I held back, determined to get the rest of my speech out. “You did something for me that no one on this earth has ever even attempted to. You put yourself out there for me. You made me face my biggest fear. And, up until a half hour ago, when you started pulling the silent treatment on me, you gave me what was probably the best night of my entire existence.”

  Almost against his will, his face softened. His dark eyes thawed a bit at my words, locking onto mine and holding in a stare I wanted to shake off in a fit of childish indignation but couldn’t quite bring myself to break.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” he finally whispered, his words so low it seemed as if he was talking to himself.

  I lifted my eyebrows in question, but he didn’t have any answers for me.

  Our eyes locked as another moment dragged on in total silence. We stood, taking each other in as we had that first day in Heroes’ Square. Except tonight, we weren’t total strangers. There was an underlying intensity, an intimacy, in our glances now. A deeper understanding that hadn’t been there before.

  He took a deep breath, as though to steady himself, before leaning forward into my space. My breath caught as he laced one hand into the hair at the nape of my neck and, to my absolute astonishment, pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead. My eyes closed automatically as I savored the sensation of his lips on my skin. I breathed in his scent — rich leather and exotic, unnamable spices.

  I wondered what he’d taste like.

  My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. I should’ve been embarrassed by its rapid throbbing, but I wasn’t. Nothing in my life had ever felt so right as the soft press of Wes’ mouth against my forehead.

  And yet, after a few seconds of internal celebratory cartwheels, I began to realize this wasn’t the beginning of a fairytale romance — it was the ending.

  A goodbye kiss.

  He pulled away, but I still felt the imprint of his lips on my forehead like a searing wound. A brand of his own making, scorched permanently into my skin like an invisible tattoo.

  “Goodbye, Faith.” He stared at me for another moment, his eyes roaming my face as though they were memorizing my every feature. Then, he turned on his heel and walked away.

  “So that’s it?” I called after him, unable to let him leave without some kind of explanation. “You’re just going to walk away, Wes?”

  He didn’t turn around — he was almost out of sight.

  “What about fate?” My voice cracked on the last word.

  “Don’t believe in it, Red.” His words drifted back to me through the night, a disembodied specter. “Never have, never will.”

  I pressed my eyes closed so I didn’t have to see him disappear into the dark.

  Chapter 14

  Weston

  NO SHIT SHERLOCK

  * * *

  “Abbott,” I clipped into my phone.

  “Identification?” The coolly detached female voice was as familiar to me as my own.

  “01908.” I rattled off my personal ID tag from memory.

  “Verified,” the voice confirmed. “Hold for connection.”

  I waited about thirty seconds, listening to the faint buzz of white noise over the receiver as I was patched through to Command. You’d think the fucking CIA had enough left over in their trillion-dollar budget that they could’ve at least sprung for some canned hold-music.

  Breathing hard, I tried to ignore the burning in my calves. The call had come in the middle of my run, and stopping so abruptly after jogging nearly ten miles of Buda’s rolling hills was enough to give even the fittest person shin splints. There was no avoiding it — when Command called, you answered. No exceptions.

  Finally, Benson’s voice crackled over the line, his tone curt, sharper than a whip.

  “Abbott. You haven’t checked in for twelve days. I need a status report on Szekely.”

  I took a deep breath and prayed for patience. Dealing with Benson was a bigger pain in the ass than a fucking colonoscopy. Handlers were rarely a joy to work with, but Benson brought an all new level of asshattery to the job.

  “Surveillance is in place on the exterior office doors.” I stepped off the deserted running path and positioned my body against a nearby tree, so I had an unobscured view of anyone approaching. “I’ve got nothing inside yet — there are armed guards posted at every exit point. Not Rent-a-Cop types, either. Paid hitters, each with a long list of bodies on his resume.”

  “We need eyes inside that building.”

  No shit, Sherlock.

  I somehow managed to hold in the retort. “I’ve been tailing three of Szekely’s top men — all of them are Hungarian ex-army intelligence, black ops. They take care of anyone who Szekely considers a threat or who so much as looks at him the wrong way. I’ve bugged their home landlines, but that has limited value. They do almost all their business on company cell phones. I’m working on access.”

  “And Szekely’s main compound?”

  “Impenetrable. Cameras, bodyguards, attack dogs. State of the art security system, with motion detection and heat sensors. You put your fucking pinky toe on his property, his head of security knows about it.”

  “This man is running one of the biggest crime syndicates in Europe and no one’s ever seen his face. We’re the best intelligence organization in the world with the most sophisticated technology known to man, and we have nothing more than a grainy surveillance photo of his profile from two decades ago,” Benson said brusquely, as though I were somehow at fault for the agency’s twenty-year-old shitty intel.

  “Man’s a ghost.” I shrugged.

  Benson sighed. “Have you at least been able to confirm that Szekely is using the couriers to transfer arms and correspondence to his assets in the city?”

  “Nothing definite, yet,” I hedged, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.

  “Abbott.” I could easily envision Benson leaning back in his chair, his doughy arms crossed over his chest in exasperation. “It sounds to me like you’re sitting on your ass, enjoying a Hungarian holiday. You’ve been there three weeks — I expect something more than phone taps and nanny cams. Where are you with infiltration? I assume you’ve isolated a mark, by this point.” He scoffed.

  I scraped the knuckles of my free hand against the rough bark of the tree.

  It was easy to be pompous and peremptory from behind a desk. With his overweight, out-of-shape ass parked firmly in a plush leather chair, the only thing that made Benson break a sweat these days was Free Doughnut Day in the company caf
eteria. He wouldn’t last a day out here. He had essentially no field experience. He probably hadn’t picked up his gun since he left The Farm. And here I was, reporting my every move to him.

  Bureaucracy at its finest.

  “Well?” Benson prompted impatiently.

  “I have a mark,” I bit out, Faith’s face flashing in my mind.

  “Excellent. I expect some intel on that front within the week. And Abbott?”

  “Sir.” The word curdled on my tongue, sour as spoiled milk.

  “If you can’t deliver, I will assign someone else to this mission. Keep me informed.”

  He clicked off.

  I slid the phone carefully back into the bicep-holster I used while running, took a deep breath in through my nose, and punched the tree with so much force, every knuckle on my right hand split wide open.

  Chapter 15

  Faith

  MARIONETTE STRINGS

  * * *

  I walked the dark halls of Hermes in a semi-daze. Ten days post-Wes and my anger had fizzled into depression, which in turn had faded into begrudging resignation. It was time to admit defeat, to acknowledge that he’d been right all along.

  Fate was bullshit.

  I’d never see Wes Adams again.

  I wasn’t sure why that hurt so damn much. I barely knew the guy.

  Can you miss something that was never yours to begin with?

  Can you mourn the absence of someone you never even had?

  My chest ached as though Wes had reached under my ribcage and removed a piece of my heart when he’d walked away. Perhaps I was grieving for our potential — for the future that might have been. Because in three short encounters with Wes, I’d felt things no one else had ever stirred in me. It sounded so cliché I couldn’t say it out loud — I could barely even say it in my head — but it was as though my soul had recognized something kindred in his. As if some facet of my innermost self had cried out because, at long last, it had found its mate.