by Rachel Rust
“You’re not supposed to be out here,” Eddie said from behind me.
His voice startled me, but I didn’t turn around. “What day of the week is it?”
“Get inside.”
“Jesus, Eddie, I asked you a simple question.”
“And I gave you a simple command … one you promised to abide by. Do not go out on the balcony.”
I turned to face him, but didn’t move from the balcony ledge.
He rolled his eyes. “It’s Friday. Now get inside.”
“Why can’t I be out here?”
“It’s not safe.”
“Why isn’t it safe?” I leaned over the edge. “Afraid I might fall?”
“You can’t be seen. You’re not supposed to be here, remember? Natalie Mancini is down in Denver. If one of Romanov’s men sees you…”
“Who’s going to see me way up here?” The buildings of downtown Rapid City were not exactly skyscrapers. With eight floors, The Cartwright was the tallest building on the block. No other buildings were looking down at me.
Eddie glanced at my yellow dress. “Anyone who looks up from the street can see you. You look like a school bus.”
My eyes widened, and I crossed my arms. “Excuse me? Are you saying I’m the size of a school bus?” Of course, I knew he wasn’t implying that, I was just feeling spunky in the fresh breeze. I liked it out on the balcony and my life inside the hotel had grown so boring that I was in the mood for a bit of fun, even if it came at the expense of annoying Eddie.
He ignored my fake pout. “Your yellow dress is visible from miles away. Now get inside.”
“So my dress is the problem?” I grabbed the bottom hem and before any prudent part of my mind could stop me, I tore it up over my head and threw it on the concrete floor of the balcony between Eddie and me. Standing in only a nude bra and underwear set, I watched as his eyes canvassed my nearly-naked body.
He looked away. “Put your dress back on.”
“But you said it was dangerous.”
He glared at me. “That’s not at all what I said and you damn well know it, now get your ass inside.”
“Wow, you’re crabby.” I scoffed. “It’s almost like you’re the one stuck in this damn hotel suite. Almost like you’re the one not allowed to leave or talk to anyone or have any kind of freedom.”
“I’m sorry you don’t like the conditions of how we have to keep you safe, but it is what it is, and you being out here on the balcony is jeopardizing everything we’re trying to do for you.”
I knew he had a point. It wasn’t safe for me to be outside. There was a reason they didn’t let me go for walks around the block or make phone calls. If anyone knew I was at the hotel, our entire cover would be blown. They’d know Agent Baker in Denver wasn’t me, and they’d come flying in through the suite doors, guns drawn, and take me however they could—up to and including harming the others in the room, even Eddie.
I scooped up my yellow dress and walked toward Eddie. As I passed by him, I stepped extra close, letting my breasts rubs against his upper stomach. He glanced down at them against him.
“I’m sorry you had to see me this way,” I whispered, my lips inches from his.
His jaw clenched and he turned his gaze away. I walked to the bathroom, but before I went inside, I motioned to the bedroom door. “You know your way out.”
I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted him to rush up behind me, cup my breasts and pull me back against him while whispering in my ear that he could no longer hold back his feelings for me. I wanted him to press me up against the wall and have his way with me.
But I was also irritated and mad, and he was the closest and easiest person to blame in that moment. And when he didn’t rush up behind me and take me as his own, when he walked out of the bedroom and slammed the door behind him, I flipped him off.
But as I stepped into the hot shower, the feel of the water against my skin kept Eddie in my mind. The warmth of the water enveloped me, covering every inch of my skin. I wanted Eddie covering every inch of my skin, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep those thoughts to myself.
Chapter Sixteen
I woke up the next morning—the day of the gala and my nineteenth birthday—with stiff muscles, as though I had slept squished up all night. Nineteen didn’t feel any different from eighteen. Both still with a teen at the end, making me feel like a child.
I checked the alarm clock next to me. It was just after six AM, much earlier than I usually woke up, but my mind was spinning. No way could I go back to sleep, especially with new thoughts and worries about whatever today held. The gala, me pretending to be Theresa Roberts… How was all this going to go down?
I needed concrete answers. After brushing my teeth and throwing on a pair of black shorts and a black tank top, I slipped out of the bedroom. No one was in the living room. I plodded barefoot toward the tech lair. Voices spilled out of the half-closed door. It was Toby, Han, and Eddie—and someone else whose voice I didn’t recognize. Probably the other tech guy who never talked much because he was always busy listening to chatter over his headphones.
“She’s not gonna go through with it,” the tech guy said. “Betcha a hundred bucks she chickens out or pukes before she even gets into the ballroom tonight.”
“Shut up,” Eddie said.
“What’s the big deal with this girl anyway?”
“Natalie … she has a name.”
“Whatever,” the tech guy said. “But seriously, why is this girl wanted by everyone? First The Barber’s all over her, and now Sergei Romanov? What’s she got, tits made of gold?”
My mouth dropped open, and I stopped just short of the doorway, leaning forward to eavesdrop.
“I said shut the hell up. Get to work.” Eddie’s voice had an edge to it, as though his professionalism was about to crack.
“They like her kind,” Han said. “You know what I mean.”
“Italian?” Toby asked.
Han laughed.
“Virgins,” the tech guy said. “They make a ton more money on the ones who haven’t been diddled.”
There was a loud, abrupt shuffle inside the room, and then a thump against the other side of the wall right in front of me.
“Shut the fuck up!” Eddie roared. His loud voice came right through the wall where he must’ve had the tech guy pinned on the other side. “You do your job, and you don’t say another goddamn word about her, understand?”
With two long strides, I stepped into the doorway—just in time to see Eddie let go of the tech guy’s collar, having slammed him back down into his chair.
“Interesting morning, fellas?” I asked. Eddie’s face was flushed, his jaw tensed. “I’m hungry. Who’s gonna order me breakfast?”
Toby raised a finger. “I got it. Scrambled eggs and wheat toast?”
“The usual. Thanks Toby.” I looked at the techie guy who was doing his best to ignore me and hide his beet red face. “By the way”—I pressed my hands to the sides of my breasts—“they’re not made of gold, but they are pretty spectacular.”
The guy turned an even deeper shade of red and hunched over his computer. My assertion about my breasts was an exaggeration. I didn’t think they were spectacular. Nice, maybe, but too small. Definitely not my favorite body part. I liked my butt better.
I left, and Eddie followed. Halfway through the living room, I spun around to face him. “What?”
He stepped up to me, leaving just a few inches between us. His fingers grazed mine, sending a ripple of electricity up my spine.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you last night,” he said. “But it’s really not safe for you to go outside.”
“I know that. I’m sorry I broke my promise to you. And they’re wrong, by the way.”
“Who is?”
“Han and that tech guy. They’re wrong about me.”
Eddie’s face contorted in confusion, and I willed him to understand what I was trying to say without having to actually say it. Be
cause if I told him I wasn’t a virgin, would he wonder why I was telling him? Would it sound too forward? Like, ‘Oh hey, by the way, I’m totally not a virgin, so if you want to boink me, go right ahead.’ In my head, it sounded so tacky, like I was handing him an invitation into my pants.
But I also didn’t want him to think that I was a virgin and have that be a reason for him to stay away from me. As if I was some sort of precious keepsake that shouldn’t be touched.
“Two weeks ago, when we were tied up in that basement, you told me to say I was a virgin to help save me. But it wasn’t true. I’m not. And I just wanted to set the record straight. Not that it matters.”
I moved past him, and my gaze dropped to the floor.
“Natalie, wait,” Eddie said, following me into the bedroom. “Stop.” He grabbed my arm, and I turned to look at him. “Were you worried that I would think less of you if it had been true?” He studied my face with concern. “Or are you worried that I think less of you now because it’s not true?”
I shrugged, not sure what I felt, other than yearning for him to want me that way I wanted him. “I wanted you to know the truth. Take it for whatever it’s worth, I just didn’t want there to be rumors floating around about me. I hate gossip.”
He let go of my arm and stepped back. “Okay.” Concern shone in his dark eyes as he scanned my face, as if sensing my unease, but he said nothing else.
It’s also my birthday, I wanted to say. Happy birthday, Natalie.
No one else was around to acknowledge it, only me and my thoughts. And when Eddie walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door between us, I felt more alone than ever.
My birthdays had never been a huge deal to me. Same dinner. Same card and money from my dad. But now those things would’ve meant the world to me. To be able to see my dad. Hug him. Eat dinner with him. Laugh at his lame jokes. Roll my eyes at his self-importance. I still couldn’t remember my last words to my dad, but I was clinging to hope that I’d be able to see him again and say something kind to him.
When breakfast came, I barely ate. In the afternoon, I stared at the ceiling as time ticked by far too quickly. The gala began at seven o’clock, and I still wasn’t sure what was expected of me.
At five, there was a knock on my door.
“Come in.”
The door opened a few inches, and Eddie peered inside. “We need you come out here.”
I got off the bed and walked to the door. Before I could step out, Eddie stopped me and whispered, “Remember you don’t have to do any of this tonight. You do not owe me or the FBI anything. If you want to tell us to fuck off, you can.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. “But whatever it is you want me to do to help bring down Sergei Romanov, just know that I’m not doing it for you or for the FBI. I’m doing it for myself. They have messed with my life one too many times, and I want them all to come toppling down. First Sergei, then that stupid asshole Brandon.”
Eddie smiled and moved so I could walk past him, into the living room. Near the sofa, Han and Thatcher stood. Alongside them was a tall, plump woman with short dark hair. She smiled broadly at the sight of me.
“Natalie,” Thatcher said, “this is Suzanna Haas. She’ll be helping you get ready for tonight.”
“Okay.”
Suzanna wasted no time in sashaying her big hips up to me, taking my hand and pulling me into the bedroom. She unloaded bags onto the bed and then turned and studied me with her eyes. Uncomfortable with her stare, I stood with my legs bent together, hands clasped in front of me.
She sat me in the desk chair then pulled my hair into a tight bun. “Tilt your head back,” she instructed. I did as she asked, only to have her plunk a contact into my eye.
“Ow. What the hell?”
She smiled. “Gotta cover up those pretty hazel eyes. Hold still, please.” She pressed another contact into my other eye.
Once I stopped incessantly blinking, the makeup came next. Layers of foundation and powder. Eyeliner, eyeshadow, fake lashes, and coats of mascara. Suzanne then came at my nose and cheeks with different colored bronzes and blushes.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Contouring. You’d be surprised how different a face can look with a few magical makeup tricks. No one will recognize you.”
If you say so, I thought. But my dad was going to be a huge problem. He’d recognize me from just my stance, or the sound of my voice.
After the makeup, Suzanna pulled out a floor-length, beaded black gown. Strapless and slim cut, it was beautiful. I stepped into it and she pulled it up, telling me to suck in as she zipped. It fit like a second skin. She slipped my feet into low black heels.
“Now,” she said turning back to her large bag. “It’s time for la piece de resistance.” From the bag, she lifted out a mannequin head with a short, blonde wig. My heart beat increased in anticipation. I had never had blonde hair before, though I had threatened it once when I was thirteen and had been pissed off at my dad. I had said I was going to douse my head with hydrogen peroxide to have blonde hair so that I didn’t have to look anything like him anymore. Thankfully I had been too chicken to follow through because it probably would’ve turned my hair orange. As if middle school hadn’t sucked enough.
Suzanna placed the wig onto my head, yanking it here and there, and using some sort of small comb to adjust it in the tiniest ways. She brushed the hair out with her fingers, and then sprayed it with hairspray.
She stepped back with squinted eyes, head tilted, taking me in. After another minor adjustment, she declared it, “Perfect!” Out of the bag behind her, she produced a small black box, from which she pulled a strand of intermixed rubies and diamonds.
“Oh my God, are those real?” I asked as she placed it around my wrist. I rarely wore jewelry, and had never worn anything that sparkled under the light the way the bracelet did in that moment.
“Do they look real?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She smiled. “Then they’re real.” She spun me around to face the full-length mirror. “Perception determines reality. Isn’t that right, Theresa Roberts?”
I stared at the person in the mirror.
“Holy shit.”
Chapter Seventeen
Staring back at me from the mirror was a different person: Theresa Roberts.
The blonde wig didn’t look like a wig at all, it looked like real hair from my head. Chin-length with a side-swept bang, the wig hugged my face. But the most startling change was my blue eyes. My natural hazel eyes had stared back at me from before I could remember, but now, looking into the blue eyes in the mirror, it was as if an entirely new—and strange—person had taken over my body. I didn’t look like myself one bit. Not the hair, not the eyes, and not my face shape, thanks to Suzanna’s contouring brushes. My nose appeared thinner, my face more gaunt.
“Wow,” I whispered. “I can’t believe it.”
“Glad you like it,” Suzanna said.
“Theresa Roberts. Theresa Roberts.” I said the name over and over again. It didn’t feel comfortable or familiar.
“Let’s show ’em.” Suzanna opened the door and I stepped out into the living room.
At first, no one said a word and I was fearful that they didn’t like it. As though it wasn’t good enough and Suzanna and I would have to start all over.
But then Toby whistled. Not a catcall whistle, but a long, low, whistle of Wow. Thatcher smiled and clapped her hands together, apparently in agreement with Toby. Han had no change in expression, which didn’t surprise me. Once a douche, always a douche.
Eddie didn’t say anything, he just stared—and kept staring.
Suzanna explained all the changes she had made. “She needs to look beautiful, but forgettable. The black dress, though nice, will blend in because many people will be wearing black. It’s a classic color. And her hair, though very light blonde, is short, which is more forgettable than long, wavy hair.”
As she continued about my appe
arance, Eddie kept his gaze on me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Did he like blondes? Did he not like blondes? What about the blue eyes? So different from my hazel ones. But what if he liked blue eyes better and when I took out the contacts he’d be disappointed? All kinds of idiotic worries flew through my head, adding to my already huge list of anxieties over the night to come.
Thatcher put her hand up, stopping Suzanna mid-sentence. “Thank you very much, you did a wonderful job. Agent Kim here will show you out.” Han stood and escorted Suzanna out the suite doors. Thatcher turned her attention to me. “You’re probably wondering what exactly we’re expecting from you tonight.”
I nodded.
“It’s really quite simple,” she said. “You’re going to be a guest at the gala. You simply need to meet Sergei Romanov, who will be under his alias, Jack Chenko. Hear him speak and give us the signal whether it is the same man from the lumber warehouse last week.”
“What if he recognizes me, though?”
Eddie shook his head. “He won’t. You look nothing like yourself, besides he’s never seen your face, right? You had a pillowcase over your head when you met him. All he’s ever seen are photos of you, which aren’t as good for identifying people.”
“Okay, but how am I going to give you a signal if it’s him? What if it’s not him?”
“You’ll be wearing this,” Toby said, walking up with a tiny piece of peach plastic in his hand. “It’s an earpiece. You’ll be able to hear me through this.”
“And how do I talk back to you?”
“You don’t, at least not if anyone is around because you don’t want to be seen talking to yourself.” He nodded to my breasts. “There’s a microphone and camera sewn into the front of the dress.”
“Where?” I felt around the material. “I don’t see either one.”
Toby smiled. “That’s the point. But trust me, they’re in there.”
“Okay,” I said. “I have a microphone and camera in my boobs, and you’ll be talking into my ear. How do I find Sergei?”