“Don’t.” My words are a tense whisper, my feet are around the counter in an instant and my insistent finger is in his face. “Don’t you do that to me.”
“What? You’re the one who wanted to elope.”
“I need somebody — I need you to believe I’m coming back alive.”
Danny leans closer. “Then do.”
I nod, moving less than a centimeter, as near as I can get to a promise. Danny watches me another minute, like I might renege at the last second, before he finally turns away to pop my bowl in the microwave.
The hum starts up and the seconds count down, and now I put my over-taxed, under-rested brain to work on every possible choose-your-own-misadventure scenario. Brand hunts me down here. Brand hunts me down at home. I’m stupid enough to come into the office —
The office.
“Wait a minute.” I hear myself say it before I realize I’m talking.
Danny presents me with a raised eyebrow and my apple juice oatmeal with brown sugar and maple syrup. Exactly how I make it — but that’s not what’s so perfect.
“He doesn’t know.” The relief, the excitement in my voice are just the beginning of my mental celebration. This is a way out. It has to be.
“Who doesn’t know what?”
“My boss doesn’t know I was there. He doesn’t know it’s me. He doesn’t even know it was Elliott.” I wander a few feet from the counter. Much as I want to take Brand down, fast and hard, this means not only am I (sort of) safe, but I have time to bide my time. I can wait until I have everything I need. I don’t want to — I want to make him bleed like he made Elliott bleed — but I have to. Because if I don’t, Brand will know exactly what I’ve done.
Danny slides the bowl in my direction again, and I drift back to take a bite. “I know I’m no Elliott,” he says, “but if I can do anything, please tell me.”
I almost choke on my oatmeal, and my rejoicing cuts off as abruptly as a needle scratching a record. (What? I’m old enough to remember those. You know, kinda.) I would — will — do risk my life every day so that Danny will never, ever be in that same danger.
I won’t lose him. I can’t.
Apparently my reaction speaks for me. “Hey.” He offers his hands like he can’t understand my objection. “I’d hope I’ve proven myself.”
“Yes, you were great.” I mean it, I really do. We’ve fought for our lives together — he might have been fighting harder for me than for himself. But staring at my oatmeal probably isn’t convincing Danny. Even if I’m only doing it to keep fear from spiraling out of control.
That hypothetical of him and Brand squaring off against one another? Cue the repeat loop in my brain. I’ve already lived that nightmare, or close enough for a thousand lifetimes.
Danny isn’t done. “I won’t pretend like I’m James Bond here, or that I’ve taken up MMA —”
I can’t help an incredulous look at that one.
He holds up his index finger and thumb an inch apart. “Eh, just some cage fighting.”
“Ah.”
“The point is, I want to be there for you.”
I can feel my shoulders fall. How could I ask that? I concentrate on eating. With each second of stillness that slides by, the oatmeal, the conversation and the kitchen grow colder.
At last, I push away my bowl. “Listen. I already asked someone for help. Someone who, no offense, is a lot better prepared for this kind of thing.”
“Elliott isn’t the only one —”
“Yes, he is,” I cut him off with a hiss. Elliott may not be the only person who can help me, but he is the only one: the only one I can risk. “And see where it got him?”
Silence slams down on us. After a long second, I dare to meet his gaze. Danny isn’t looking at me. His eyes focus in the middle distance. He nods. Even in the light from the pantry, I can see the set to his jaw. He isn’t agreeing. He isn’t giving in. He’s just ending the conversation.
“Elliott’s out. I have to depend on me.” What’s left to say? “Sorry. I have to go to work.”
“Are you crazy? You can’t go in there with this guy —”
“I have to. If I don’t, he’ll know something’s up.” I shove in a final mouthful of oatmeal and start out. Before I reach the back door, I practically trip over a bag there. My bag. With all my supplies for last night.
I look back to Danny. He wants to help. He wants in. He’s been there and he knows what he’s risking. I wouldn’t ask it of Danny over any other alternative, but if Brand’s half as careful as I am, he’ll be watching my every move. And Danny’s the one person Brand would expect me to contact. Which makes any contact I have with Danny that much less suspicious.
I could get away with calling or texting him, unlike Will or anyone else. And it’s not like Danny would have to be the backup himself. He can just call in my cavalry.
I dump out the bag on Danny’s counter, then shove the operational phone and memory card at him. “This phone should be clean. Nobody else should call. If I need backup, I’ll send you an encrypted message. The memory card has a one-time code pad with the app.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“Wikipedia explains it well.”
He takes the phone, though his expression doesn’t change from I can’t believe you don’t trust me. “Wikipedia? Sounds really secure.”
Probably a bad time to tell him about Intellipedia, the country’s intelligence wiki, huh? “One-time pads are the only unbreakable code. They use a random set of numbers as a key to encrypt the message, and we have the only copies of that key. Just run the app to decrypt it. Don’t forget to destroy it after.”
He purses his lips and takes the card. I can see what he’s thinking: the things I do for you.
I know.
“I love you,” I say.
“Prove it.”
I flinch. Not the response I expected. I hold up my left hand, wiggling my ring finger.
“Live to make good on that promise.”
He knows I can’t swear to that. I mean, geez, I could fall asleep at the wheel and drive off the Champlain Bridge. Get maimed in a wreck. Be attacked by a rogue bear in the woods.
Okay, all those are a lot less likely to bring me harm than Brand. The CIA’s life insurance policy can’t actually ensure the “life” part.
“I’ll do everything I can,” I say. “Not like I’m running around with a death wish.”
“You’re seriously going into work with this guy?”
I nod.
“Close enough.”
“I told you, I have to. If I don’t, he’ll suspect me. Trust me, okay?”
His gaze hits mine and we have target lock. “Trust. Me.”
I gesture to the phone and things I’m leaving with him — which, hello, are government property — and, yes, a scoff escapes me. How much more does the guy want?
“I don’t want your stuff,” he answers my unvoiced question, firmer than even with his mom. At the last second, he softens enough to break my heart, adding, “I want you.”
And I don’t want you to die, I manage not to shout back. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I got it. Depend on yourself. And Elliott, when he isn’t hurt.” Danny turns away. I’m not sure whether he can’t bear to watch me go, or I’m being dismissed.
I hesitate at the door. We have to say I love you. It’s not like I’ve forgotten, and demanding I come back and marry him is a pretty clear message, but the silence still hurts.
I slip onto the back porch, letting the door swing shut behind me. By the time I reach the stairs down to the yard, the door still hasn’t latched. I retreat to get it. Danny’s a couple steps behind me, and my about-face doesn’t stop him. He slides one hand around my waist and cradles my head with the other.
Now this is target lock. Everything he didn’t or couldn’t put into words comes through in this kiss. I love you. I need you to come back. And I am so, so scared.
Those feelings and
fears, raw and vulnerable, echo through me. Finally I have to withdraw to wipe my tears.
I can’t afford fear now. I definitely can’t face his. Play it off. “You going to see me off that way every day?”
“Every day you’re taking on the guy who shot your coworker, yep.”
Danny draws me close before he could’ve seen my sarcastic look. He rests his chin on my head, wrapping me in a full-body hug. “I just worry, okay?” he admits in a whisper.
“Hey, I should be the worried one if you didn’t care that much, right?”
I feel more than hear his laugh, and then his sigh. “I know it’s hard for you, so thank you. For telling me the truth. About Vince.”
The realization hits like a cold splash. I’ve told Danny the terrifying truth, all of it — except who “Vince” really is. And if I did . . . what would he say? Especially when he thinks I’ve sacrificed so much to let him in? He has no idea.
“I love you,” I murmur. Maybe it’s me, but the words sound hollow.
“I love you too — that’s why I’m going nuts here.”
I hug him tighter. “I know.”
“For the record, I’m still opposed to this,” he says.
“I know.”
He pulls back to meet my eyes. “And if you ever need anything —”
“Danny,” I cut him off. “I know.”
And we both know I will never, ever take him up on that offer. Not when I’m facing off with a would-be killer.
My building is supposed to be one of my only refuges, but now I want to run away from it. I’ve already called the hospital to get a status update on Elliott. Pretending to be Shanna backfired — she was in his room. Good on two counts: she cares, and he’s well enough for visitors. But it also means I’m out of stalling tactics.
All I have to do is act like it’s any other Wednesday at the office. Pretend I wasn’t there when Brand tried to blow Elliott away. Fake like I know nothing. Because if I don’t, Brand will know right away. And right away the first test comes: as soon as I pass the security swipe, I find Brand standing at my desk. Watching me. My stomach drops and gives me twenty lurches.
Looking at the man who shot Elliott, my mind starts fabricating memories of them walking down the sidewalk. Brand drawing the gun. His finger pulling the trigger.
My brain reels backward, but my feet keep carrying me closer. Brand waits until I’m in range to speak. “We need to talk.”
He leads the way to his office, and I draw in as much air as I can. Why couldn’t I have woken up in time to hit my best gun cache while no one was around?
Sure, firearms are the opposite of covert in a developed country with strict gun laws, and a “lawyer” would know that all too well, but I want the comfort of knowing for sure I’m not alone with a guy who’s packing.
No, I don’t have a gun on me, and yep, believe it or not, guns aren’t nearly as useful to spies on a daily basis as you’d think, especially not spies in Canada.
Except for maybe one. Brand holds the door open for me, then locks it behind us. He might as well grab me by the neck, my throat closes so fast.
No. I have to be reasonable. It’s a little early, but we’re not alone in the office. Even a suppressed gunshot would attract too much attention.
Didn’t make a difference to him last night.
I walk a couple feet into the office, like I can’t let myself get too far from my (locked) escape route. Brand stands a yard away, studying me. No way will I let him see the truth. I shoot for a wary, but wondering expression — not too hard, considering I’m both wary and wondering.
“There’s no easy way to say this.” He edges closer. I’m not sure whether I should stand my ground or obey the instinct to flee.
“Say what?” I curse my voice for being no stronger than a whisper.
“Nobody else knows.”
Fear creeps down my spine on cold, clawed feet. I steel the muscles in my face to keep the same confusion there. “What are you talking about?”
“You know Josh Lee?”
I have to shuffle back to keep my balance. To keep him at a distance. He knows. He knows that’s Elliott. Brand knows I was there.
I’m dead.
Brand watches me for an eternity. “You know he’s CIA?”
It takes two full seconds to register: he’s not talking about yesterday. “Yeah, we worked a case with a Finnish contact together, years ago. Why?”
“Were you watching Will last night?”
“No. Dinner with my fiancé and his mom, remember?”
He moseys over to cut off my escape route. “Bad night to take off. Lee was shot. Seems Will’s the shooter.”
Fortunately, I’m shocked enough at the cover story that my relief stays hidden. (He doesn’t know it was Elliott! He can’t trace it back to me!) “Is Lee okay?”
“Hospitalized.”
“Why would Will do something like that?”
Brand sighs, like he’s sorry to be the bearer of bad news to someone so sweet and innocent. “My theory is Lee was getting too close to the truth.”
“And where’s Will now?” I have to probe how far Brand’s willing to take this cover story — and how far he’s already taken it to cover his tracks.
“Embassy legat.” Legal attaché, the FBI presence in the embassy. He’s in custody.
Yep, Brand’s taking it pretty far. He could’ve planted the gun at Will’s by now, and that’s just the beginning.
I’ve got to stay safe. I’ve got to stay afloat. I’ve got to stay useful to him.
If I’m the only one he told about Will, he needs me around, right? He needs me to “establish” his suspicions. My “reports” on Will’s nonexistent activities were off the books. Never expected that to fall in my favor, but Brand needs me. I just have to remind him of that, make him think I’m on his side. Sick. Twisted. Wrong on every imaginable level. And my only choice.
“All right.” Like I can compartmentalize my colleague being critically injured (and it secretly being my fault). “What do you need from me to make this happen?”
His eyebrows make their little surprised leap, though he doesn’t betray any other response, not even to shift his weight. “What do you mean?”
I’m careful not to let the triumph show, but I have the upper hand. “I’m the one who’s been watching Will. If anybody can help you hang him — and believe me, if he did this, we all want that — it’s got to be me.”
“Yeah.” The gears of Brand’s brain obviously churn to catch up. “Start cataloguing what you’ve seen. Don’t use any established code names.”
“Right.” Maybe if I can work this, I can turn it all back on Brand.
Or maybe it’ll all come crashing down on me.
A risk I have to take. To save Will. To pay Brand back for Elliott. To keep my promise to Danny.
“I’ll get to work.” I move for the door. Brand doesn’t move, and suddenly I’m close enough I can practically feel him breathing.
Close enough to kill the man who could’ve killed Elliott.
Realistically, Brand has every physical advantage. But for once, I’m not afraid to be close to him. No, this time, it takes all my strength to rein in the rage running rampant in my veins.
But I will wait for my advantage. I will watch for my chance. I will outwit him. I maneuver past him. Because I will catch him. Somehow. Soon.
I spend all morning crafting a narrative of Will’s espionage adventures (based on a true story, though not his) until Brand leaves for lunch. Ten minutes later, I’m out the door.
There’s one resource I haven’t tried yet, one last backup who might actually be able to back me up: our Canadian spy counterparts, CSIS. Normally, we work together quite a bit, though obviously my schedule’s been a little full lately.
I park outside an office complex. I have no reason to have Mack’s cell number, but hello? Spy. Of course I do. Not exactly surprising when he answers with “Royal Canadian Mint.”
“Mack,
it’s Talia.” I don’t bother with the formalities and spy stunts we’d usually go through to make triple sure we’re both clear to speak and not under duress. “We need to talk.”
“We have rules about these calls, you know. Protocols? For our safety?”
“Speaking of safety, Will’s in trouble. He’s being set up.”
Mack’s quiet a long minute. Maybe too long. “By whom?”
The grammar shows it: he’s choosing his words carefully. Is that good or bad?
“By his replacement here.” And, also, me. I omit that part.
Again, two beats too long a silence. I tap my knuckles on the steering wheel until he answers. “Sorry, Talia. I’d like to help, but we can’t step in the middle of a CIA turf war.”
“A CIA war on your turf?”
“That may be, but this seems like an internal affair. Sorry.”
I stammer for a reply. I can’t come up with anything more convincing than I really, really want you to. (Couldn’t blame him for saying no to that argument.)
“That everything?” He wants to hang up on me, I know, but his Canadian conscience won’t let him. Yet.
“You’re my last hope. This guy is willing to kill for this, and he nearly has.”
That gives Mack pause. “You’re talking about here?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s working with foreign intelligence? Selling Canadian information?”
Oh. Crap. I have no evidence of selling out anybody though shooting Elliott isn’t exactly playing nicey-nice —
“Talia?” Mack says slowly. “Can you give me any proof?”
“Only my word. I’d hope that’s good enough.” We’ve worked together for years.
Apparently that’s a couple years too long. “I want to help you,” he says again. The unspoken but . . . hangs in the air.
Defeat steals my breath before Mack can finish.
“I understand,” I say.
“It’s just that . . . you have a reputation.”
“Wait, what?” My seat belt seems to transform into a lead vest. Did Brand get to Mack, turn him against me? My old — okay, friend is a little strong —
Spy Another Day Box Set: Three full-length novels: I, Spy; Spy for a Spy; and Tomorrow We Spy (Spy Another Day clean romantic suspense trilogy) Page 43