by Sarah Gay
Ginny swirled her glass until the pill dissolved halfway, taking care to assure his had dissolved completely. “It only takes two sips. More than that and we’ll be out cold in no time.”
He laughed. “You think I can’t handle it?” He downed the drink in two gulps.
“What’s the room number?” she said in a hushed tone. “Leave the door unlocked. I’ll freshen up, then come to you without being seen.”
A wicked smile played in his deep caramel eyes. “Room 211. Come to me soon or I will come find you.”
His threat settled deep in her gut. She needed to tread with care. “I’ll be there.” She took a long sip and exaggerated a swallow. She took his glass from him, winked, and walked to the ladies’ room, turning back to catch his gawking eye.
Once inside the bathroom, she locked the door and spat her drink into the sink, but it had been in her mouth too long. She wouldn’t be able to escape some of its effects. She prayed they’d be minor as she rinsed her mouth with vigor, then gently placed his glass into a plastic bag.
Before long, the secret knock echoed through the room. Ginny opened the door to a fellow female agent.
Ginny handed the agent, known to her as Agent 62395, the Russian’s drinking glass. “Room 211.”
“You’ve done your part,” the agent, dressed in a server’s costume said in a monotone voice that Ginny could’ve fallen asleep to. “We’ll take it from here.”
“His prints are good.” Ginny motioned to his glass. “And he downed the entire thing,” she sighed at the man’s stupidity. “He’ll be passed out within minutes and you’ll have full access to his room. Let’s hope he has the data we’re looking for.” She reached for the door handle. “And if you plant his room as planned, he’ll think it was just another one of his flings.”
Her fellow agent nodded. Ginny didn’t know the agent’s name, only her number. She had made the mistake of becoming friends with fellow agents in the past, and then they died. She shivered, remembering when Jenny took her last excruciating breath, and the pained look in Seth’s eyes when he realized he wouldn’t make it. It was easier to say goodbye to someone who didn’t have a name.
A few minutes later, Ginny sat in her car and contemplated how to spend the remainder of her evening. She craved normalcy, connection, anything to drown out the ghosts in her head. Scarlett had gone to a movie with friends. That’s something Ginny couldn’t have, real friends, at least not now. It was too dangerous for everyone involved. Ginny should have distanced herself from Scarlett the moment she was recruited, but Scarlett was her only lifeline and Ginny had accepted a career as an intelligence officer to protect her sister from a greater danger.
Ginny and Scarlett had had a target on their backs since infancy, thanks to their mother’s involvement in the Irish Republican Army. Ginny’s maternal grandparents had been heavily involved in the IRA and had a difficult time dropping their arms when the party adopted peaceful diplomacy in the mid-1990s. Growing up in that environment, it was an engrained part of her mother’s identity, something she either couldn’t, or wasn’t willing, to give up.
Ginny had always known her mother was different from other moms, more paranoid and less affectionate. It wasn’t until a psychology class in college that she recognized that what her mother suffered from was a severe case of PTSD.
She had approached her father in anger, demanding to understand how a psychiatrist would not have gotten his wife the proper treatment or protected his children from her constant abuse. That conversation didn’t go well. Turned out even psychiatrists don’t always take their own advice.
Without her father’s assistance, and not wanting to alarm Scarlett, Ginny had gone on a lone quest to understand the origin of her mother’s PTSD. The dark discovery of her family ties to the IRA catapulted Ginny to a dismal angry place where she felt only the military could beat the anger out of her, and it did.
With Ginny’s security clearance, she was now able to monitor her mother’s correspondence and interrupt anything dangerous or implicating. Ginny had worked years to eliminate the threat to her family, and she was now within reach.
Last year, her father had finally acknowledged his wife’s disorder and agreed with Ginny that the best thing for everyone was to have he and his wife retire to Costa Rica to an area off the grid, but with access to civilization and medical care.
Ginny hadn’t burdened Scarlett with the knowledge of their mother’s IRA ties and the danger it placed the family in. Without that insight, Scarlett understandably fought against the move, but reluctantly agreed. Together, the sisters purchased a small home on the Costa Rican Nicoya Peninsula where life would be quiet and beautiful for their parents.
Once her family was no longer a target, Ginny could retire from being a spy and do something normal, like be a real Uber driver. And that’s exactly what Ginny needed to do to silence her mind—give someone a lift and wish she had their normal, boring life.
In less than fifteen seconds, she pulled out her phone, accessed her Uber account, and noted her immediate availability. A ride request popped up from Torin’s address. It made sense, the mansion was less than a mile from Torin’s house with the Greek fountain.
Ginny relaxed into her seat, contemplating Torin’s therapeutic touch as her finger slid across the screen to accept his ride request.
4
Even with his four-hour intense workout earlier that day, Torin couldn’t get the copper-haired beauty out of his head. Her red hair had lit a flame inside of him that wouldn’t die and a thirst that wouldn’t quench.
He pulled Scarlett’s card out of his wallet, ignoring the fact that he was on the way of becoming the stalker he himself constantly fended off. He dialed her work number. Before he pressed the last number, he received a text from Uber.
“Yes!” he shouted when Ginny’s photo popped up as his driver, although the name under her photo read Candace.
The app showed Ginny’s car approaching his neighborhood. He panicked. She was only a few minutes out and he still hadn’t showered. He ran to his room, jumped into a cold, twenty second shower, then threw on black slacks and a grey button up shirt. The doorbell rang before he had a chance to throw on a tie. He tousled his hair with thick, aromatic pomade as he sprinted for the door.
He opened the front door with the same anticipation he had as a boy waking up to gifts under the tree on Christmas morning. The emotions churning inside of him when he drank her in rivaled any Christmas morning he’d ever had.
“You?” He blinked his eyes a few times. “You’re hair?”
She had dyed her ginger hair jet black. Her dark loose curls framed her milky face and large green eyes.
Her bold eyes widened with a look of discomposure. “Oh,” she stammered out, then regained her poise. “Do you like it?” she questioned, twisting a section in her fingers.
The mystery behind those beautiful elusive eyes intrigued him. She seemed so giddy and full of life one moment and haunted by ghosts the next. He found her exciting and fresh—while at the same time veiled and mystic. She was like the most esteemed paragon in a fairy tale.
“You look amazing,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her. “Straight out of a fantasy storybook.” Or a fantasy straight out of his dreams.
She touched his hand. “Did you say storybook?”
He threaded his fingers through hers as an electric bolt surged through his heart, then ricocheted out, pulsating as it rippled through his veins, causing his muscles to quiver.
* * *
The setting sun cast rays of pale crimson and cerulean blue across the evening sky as they stood on Torin’s porch with their fingers intertwined. Ginny smoothed her hand against his and enjoyed how his palm ridged with deep callouses from years of dedication to his sport. Did he feel as tranquilized as she did when they touched? It was the first pause of solace Ginny had felt since he had touched her last.
“This is not professional of me,” she said, pulling her hand back.
She turned away from him and walked toward her car. “Why don’t we get you to the restaurant, so you can meet up with your party,” she said cheerfully.
“I have a confession to make,” he grabbed her hand before they reached her car. “I don’t need a ride anywhere, but I did make reservations. Would you be my date tonight?”
Her mouth must have dropped open momentarily, because he laughed as he studied her lips and chin. When he took her hand in his, she suddenly felt faint. Her anxiety spiked. The blue pill. If the little blue pill was taking affect, she’d need food in her stomach asap. Note to self; eat before swishing with a sedative that could knock out a bear.
“I would love to,” she said with a soft smile.
“Perfect. Do you mind if I drive? I’d like to open your door for you.”
If they didn’t hurry, he may need to do more than open her door; he may need to carry her.
“Can’t handle the speed?” she teased, walking toward his car.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I’ll show you speed.”
“Promise?” she almost begged. Time was of the essence.
They made it to the exclusive restaurant in record time. Torin had been true to his word. He opened her door and offered his hand, then his arm, allowing her to lean into him as they walked into the restaurant. She couldn’t have planned it better because she could no longer walk in a straight line.
The posh restaurant sported white linen and tapered candles. Ginny’s chest grew heavy when she recognized the paintings on the wall. She had been here before. The exclusive club had ties to a mafia. The night of their operation, the mission had been compromised, exposing the agents. Ginny had made it out with her arm grazed by a bullet. The other agent hadn’t been so lucky, and that one had a name.
Ginny fought back her tears. “Excuse me, I need to find the restroom.”
“Of course,” he said, concern clouding his voice. “I’ll wait to be seated.”
“Don’t be silly,” her voice slowed to nearly a slur. “I’ll come find you.”
Instead of heading to the restroom, she went straight to the bar. She pulled a twenty-dollar bill from her purse and waved it at the bartender. She had no time for pleasantries. She hadn’t eaten in time and needed a cover, and quick, to explain why she was acting drunk. “I have an unusual request. I need a tiny squirt of lemon and vodka in a wide glass with a salted rim please.”
The bartender furrowed his brow and grimaced but reluctantly prepared her “drink.” She swirled the small amount of liquid up the sides of her glass and waited until a sufficient amount of time had passed for her story to be believable, then made her way to Torin’s table.
Her stomach ached when the aroma of freshly baked bread hit her nose. She held her glass in the air. “They were handing out free drinks in the lobby.” She set her glass on their table and took her seat. “That smells so good.”
He gave her an inquisitive look as if he wanted to ask her a question. “You setting that glass down reminds me of the last time I was here.”
“Oh really?” She didn’t like how rude she appeared at having enjoyed a drink without him or how she feverishly started into her food, but her physical, as well as mental, abilities were rapidly failing her. She took a roll and bit into it. “What does it remind you of?” she questioned, breaking off another piece of bread and chewing it with purpose.
“Even though the Texas Titans is the third NFL team I’ve played for, it was my first year as a Titan. And as a rookie to the team, it was customary to have the new guys buy the entire team drinks at an inaugural night out with the guys. I’m not much of a drinker, so I didn’t know what to expect. When they handed me the bill, I about passed out.” He threw his head back and laughed. “Fifty-grand to split between the three of us. Can you believe it?”
“Wow.” She blew out a low whistle. “I don’t drink either,” she pointed to her glass. “Virgin.”
He took her glass and smelled it. “Ginny, this is not virgin, and, considering how you’re slurring your words right now, I’d say it was pretty strong.”
“How?” she questioned innocently. “I asked for a virgin Margarita.”
“How high was this filled?”
Ginny touched the rim of the glass. “At first it was only to here.” She pointed to a third of the way up. “But after that first sip, I told the bartender how much I liked it and he filled it to the top and chatted with me as I drank it.” She smiled brightly. “He’s really nice. Said I could come in any time, even by myself and he’d pour me another one for free.” She hoped she hadn’t laid it on too thick. Judging by the rose color in Torin’s cheeks, she had gone too far with her naïve stint and implicating the bartender.
His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head to one side. “You feelin’ alright?”
“Now that you ask.” She cast her eyes to the ceiling. “I am feeling a little dizzy.”
“Are you sick?”
“No.” She twisted her lips. “But I’m getting really sleepy.” She slumped into her chair. “Do you mind if we leave?”
Torin stood and held out his hand. She took his hand and smiled, but her legs refused to lift her body.
“Sorry.” Fear engulfed her. She had never experienced the sensation of incapacitation before and she decided she’d never allow this to happen again. “My legs don’t want to cooperate.”
The muscles in Torin’s jaw tightened as he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the club. “That bartender is lucky I have my arms full of something precious, or I’d knock him from here to Timbuktu.”
Once in his arms, her fear subsided. She basked in the serenity he provided. “Do me a favor,” she said, straining to keep her eyes open. “Don’t contact my sister. I feel like an idiot. I’ll sleep this off and I don’t want to worry her.”
“Where do you want me to take you?” he said in a breathy, strained voice, but he didn’t appear winded.
“With you,” her voice trailed off as she closed her eyes and surrendered to the sedative.
5
Torin drove into his garage with Ginny slumped over the center console, her arms stretched to the floor. “That doesn’t look comfortable,” he said.
“It’s not,” she replied.
He hadn’t expected her to answer. “You awake?”
“No,” she sighed out with her eyes closed.
He had to restrain himself from laughing. He’d had plenty of drunk girls come on to him, but Ginny acted different somehow, and she didn’t smell like alcohol. He leaned down and took in a deep inhale of her hair and neck. She smelled like lavender and vanilla.
He quickly jumped out of the car and went to her passenger side door. He pulled her into his arms and out the passenger door.
“Do you want to walk?”
“I can’t,” she whined as if she wanted to. “My legs aren’t working.” She kissed his neck in gratitude as he cradled her in his arms. “Thanks.”
A surge of adrenaline coursed through him. “No problem.”
Her tiny frame was surprisingly heavy. He imagined that if she flexed, she’d be all muscle, but right now—she was all mush.
He stopped abruptly as he stepped in through the doorframe of the garage into his house and stared down at her peaceful face. He had always imagined the first girl he carried across the threshold of his home would be his newlywedded wife.
“You okay?” she whispered. “Want me to try and walk?”
He shook his head, wishing she would open those amazing eyes and look up at him. “I’m good.” He continued walking. “It just feels like a lie, carrying you inside my house without me being in a tux and you in a wedding dress.” She wouldn’t remember the conversation anyways.
She smiled, showing a strip of her straight teet
h and patted his cheek. “I’ll make an honest man of you yet.”
“Promise?” he laughed out as he carried her up the stairs to the guest loft with a king-sized bed and private bath that rivaled his master suite.
He pulled back the covers on the bed.
“Promise.” She held her hand in front of his face with her pinky finger out.
Was that a promissory sign of some sort like the Boy Scout sign and salute? He wasn’t sure what to do, so he gave her pinky a quick kiss. She released a soft, throaty giggle as he set her gently into the bed and folded the covers over her, tucking them in at the side.
He sat next to the bed and watched her breathe. She slept more peacefully now than in his car. He didn’t want to be that creepy guy who stared at women, especially not a sleeping woman, but it amazed him how anyone could sleep so peacefully. As he contemplated her gentle, 100% feminine face, it made him happy for some inexplicable reason. He couldn’t, however, rationalize staring at her all night.
He stood and turned to walk back down the stairs when he heard a strange noise bubble out of her throat. She no longer held a serene facial expression. Her body tensed, and her chest lifted and fell rapidly. “No, no, no. Scarlett,” she said as if in the middle of a nightmare.
“Ginny?” Torin slipped his hand inside the covers and held her arm. “You’re alright,” he said in a comforting voice.
Her body relaxed as quickly as it had tensed. “Don’t go.” Her eyes fluttered under her eyelids, but they didn’t open. “Will you hold me again?”
Torin contemplated her request. “You want me to…” He paused for a few seconds. “Lie down with you?”
“Yes,” she drew out. “I’ve never been more at peace than when you touch me.”
Now Torin knew he was dreaming. Had the dream started last night when he reached the airport? Or was he dead? Fear overtook him. Maybe his flight had gone down, and this was the waiting place before heaven. Or this was heaven.