by Sarah Gay
“There was just this lady who escorted me through the tunnels earlier who said something about not wanting me to draw attention to myself. She spoke in this clandestine, monotone voice.”
Ginny squeezed his hand. “Everything looks in order here.” She pulled a phone out of her purse. “Call me later?”
“You’re leaving?” He sounded possessive and infantile, but he wanted to spend every minute with her.
Ginny handed him her phone. “I need to head in to work.”
He gave her a confused look. “You’re going to go hang out in your car?” He took the phone and entered in his contact info.
“Can you blame me?” She waved a hand in the air. “If you had a pretty candy-red corvette, you’d want to hang out in it as well.”
He brushed her arm. “I do want to go hang out in it.” He winked. “With you.”
She gave him an endearing smile. “Text me when you’re finished.”
Ginny disappeared into the crowd before he could give her a proper good-bye. Torin dropped into his chair next to his other teammate, Owen, and grabbed a marker to sign the posters arranged neatly in front of him.
Owen punched Torin in the shoulder. “About time you showed up. My hand is cramping from signing all these posters. I’m going to take a walk.”
Torin followed Owen’s eyes to a booth where a beautiful woman and her older double, possibly the woman’s mother, were selling outdoor clothing. “Dude, you think those dimples and your spiky blonde hair is going to land you that handsome woman?”
Owen responded with a guffaw. “I could always go up, grab her mother by the waist, and lay a wet kiss on her. You think that might impress the girl?”
“You have a valid point.” Torin shook his head and looked over at Scarlett who was showing Demitri how to adjust one of her back supports. “Do you think I’ll ever live that one down?”
“Nope. Not in this lifetime.” Owen slapped Torin’s back as he stepped out from behind the table. “Women remember everything.”
* * *
Ginny placed the invisible earbud in her ear as she stepped out of the pushy crowd and into an enclosed stairwell. “Agent 91357 checking in.”
“Voice recognition confirmed,” the computer responded.
Ginny should have checked in last night after she had completed her mission with the Russian, or this morning. In the back of her mind, maybe she wanted to be fired so people wouldn’t have to theorize why she’d left. If she quit, they’d say she couldn’t hack it. Getting fired seemed more respectable somehow.
Why was the agency following Torin? Had they sent an officer to verify Ginny’s status?
“5-7?” Ginny’s supervisor’s voice rang clear. “I’ve been worried.” He paused. “What happened?”
“The drug had a stronger effect on me than anticipated. I found a safe location to stay until the sedative wore off. Please verify that Agent 62395 is on location.”
“I will instruct 9-5 to meet you in the west tunnel in three minutes. Do you have the schematics of the building?”
“Yes.” Ginny’s personal mission to help her sister get into the expo began weeks ago. She’d reviewed a blueprint of the arena before she even slipped Scarlett’s business card into Torin’s hands. She turned toward the west tunnel. “On my way.”
When Ginny reached the gray painted door at the entrance to the tunnel, the automatic door opened, anticipating her. By Torin’s description, she wasn’t surprised to see the agent she had left at the mansion last night. Ginny had to restrain herself from chiding her fellow officer for blowing her cover to Torin.
“I have an update,” the agent said. “The Russian is dead, but we were able to retrieve the information we needed from him before he died.”
Ginny clutched her stomach. Nausea followed. She wasn’t assigned to mark the guy, only gather intel. “Was it the drug?”
“Partially, pending pathology. They believe he would have died within a few weeks due to natural causes.” She scrunched her nose. “His lifestyle caught up to him.”
Ginny frowned. “You found the information?”
The agent nodded. “He disclosed the data.”
Ginny’s body tensed in anger. The guy was a miscreant, but no one deserved to be tortured. “The mission was not to interrogate him,” she spat out, hoping his last few minutes of life hadn’t been painful.
“Actually.” The agent looked down at the floor and back at Ginny with a steely gaze. “It was.”
“Why wasn’t I told? This was my mission.”
“I can see what you’re feeling.” The agent rested her hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “There was a time when I felt what you’re feeling now, until I understood what animals these people are.”
There was a calculation to the agent’s voice that chilled Ginny to her bones. She didn’t ever want to become that calloused.
“So, we should act like animals?” Ginny countered.
“That wasn’t necessary. The drug is known for its persuasive properties.”
And this is where, and why, agents go rogue. But that wouldn’t happen to Ginny, not exactly. She nodded, turned her back to the agent, and walked away. She would have a sit-down with her superior.
“Wait!” the agent called after Ginny, her pumps clicking across the cement floor to catch up to Ginny’s stride. “The Russians followed you to Mr. Godfrey’s house last night.”
Ginny froze. Her chest rose and fell with such intensity that her lungs ached. Torin was in danger, and it was her fault.
“Explain,” Ginny finally said through clenched teeth.
“We didn’t know what affect the drug, even in its lowest dosage would have on you. The idea was for you to slip the pills into his glass, not both glasses.”
“Two pills.” Ginny held up two fingers as her anger grew. Why had no one told her they’d meant for both pills to go into the Russian’s glass. “He would have known if I had slipped two pills into his glass. And if I managed that, he would have known when he woke up that I had drugged him.”
Agent 9-5 simply nodded.
Ginny’s throat went dry. “That was never the actual plan, for him to wake up.” Her fists clenched. “You knew he’d remember if he woke.” Her eyes widened with the somber realization. “You knew he wouldn’t survive it.”
The agent remained stoic. “Like I told you, it was confirmed by his doctors before the mission. He only had a few weeks to live.”
Ginny leaned against the smooth cement wall. She understood the need for snipers to protect her freedoms, but she didn’t sign up to be a sniper. “I wasn’t recruited to be an assassin.”
“No, but you were recruited to retrieve critical intel, information to save lives. And let’s not forget, this man never hesitated to pull the trigger.”
Ginny hated to admit it, and even though they had used to her, Agent 9-5 spoke reason.
“When did they stop following me?”
“They trailed you to the restaurant, then back to Mr. Godfrey’s house. They left around 2:00 a.m. Our guess is they backed off when it became obvious you two were involved, because no agent would ever date someone of his…celebrity status.” She threw her hands in the air in defeat. “He has two million followers. No officer would ever allow themselves to be that—”
“Stupid.” Ginny buried her face in her hands.
Agent 9-5 relaxed into the wall next to Ginny. “I was going to say in love, because, let’s face it, that’s the only way for your brain to have fogged up the way it did.”
“I disagree.” Ginny held up a finger. “I was drugged.”
“Those drugs have been proven to extract the truth, not mentally impair. At any point in time, were your mental faculties diminished?”
Ginny shook her head. She had her wits about her when she made the decision to pick up Torin. She understood the risks. She knew what she was doing when she asked him to drive her to his house instead of hers. Ginny fumed at herself and at the agency for having placed Torin at
risk. She had been led to believe that the drug was merely a sedative. It made sense why they kept that drug top secret, not even disclosing it to their own agents. If Ginny had been given specific instruction to place both pills in the Russian’s glass, she would still be in the dark of its true effects and purpose.
The agent continued, “With the minimal amount you could have absorbed, you would have only felt the effects for a few hours.” She crossed her arms. “We never heard from you today,” she said with accusation.
Ginny closed her eyes at the onset of a sudden migraine. “What is my recommended course of action?”
“Ahh,” Agent 9-5 sighed out. “Well, that depends on whether or not you see more of a future with Mr. Godfrey.” She paused. “Or with people you refuse to call by name to prevent emotional pain.”
To protect the agents’ identity, only the agents’ code numbers were used in phone communications, even over their secured lines. At the agency headquarters, however, names were used freely. Ginny was the only agent who, since her friends had died, insisted on calling her fellow agents by their numbers. The agency understood their agents’ weaknesses. They watched their every move to assure their agents didn’t go rogue. They’d been aware of Ginny’s move to distance herself from her fellow agents.
Ginny hated to be psychoanalyzed. She’d dealt with it her entire life. “You sound like my psychiatrist father.” Ginny relaxed her head back into the unforgiving wall, willing the throbbing pressure behind her eyes to dissipate.
The agent reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a plastic sleeve. “I have something.” She handed Ginny a round flat lozenge that resembled an antacid. “It might help. It’s a migraine meltaway.”
“Thanks.” Ginny popped the pink lozenge into her mouth. “You carry these around in your pocket?”
“I’ve been an agent for fifteen years longer than you have. What do you think?”
Ginny’s body tensed in reaction to the burning sensation in her sinuses, causing her to suck in a sharp breath and hold the air in her chest. Eventually, her muscles relaxed into the torridity, allowing her migraine to dissipate. She studied the agent’s face, something Ginny hadn’t done with a fellow agent in years, and wondered what pain and knowledge was held in the pleats of her skin. Suddenly, Agent 9-5 was real, human.
“That meltaway was amazing,” Ginny said. “It actually did melt away my migraine. I need more of those.”
“Or,” the agent held up an open palm. “You could execute your plan to move your parents to Costa Rica and retire from the spy business, affording you the opportunity to run away with that handsome man.”
“Am I really that transparent?” Ginny puffed out a breath. “I’m that bad of a spy?”
The agent shook her head. “No, I’m that good of a spy.”
“Wait.” Ginny’s brain finally computed that the agent had mentioned to Ginny the possibility of running away with Torin. “Are you recommending that I leave the agency for a man I just met?”
“No.” The agent’s arms fell to her sides. “But, if I could turn back time, I would say yes to the man I left behind.” She sighed. “I want you to know you have a choice, a choice I never had.”
Could Ginny really have her storybook ending? This agent seemed to think so.
“Something else has come to our attention,” the agent continued. “Before you run off with Mr. Godfrey, we need to meet with the team to discuss an encoded message your mother managed to slip out this morning to Ireland. You may need to speed up your parent’s transfer.”
Ginny snapped her fingers, then pushed herself away from the wall, her mind now sharpened with determination; that tended to happen when she had a clear mission laced with high stakes. She nodded to the agent and strode toward the exit door. When she turned back, Agent 9-5 held a smile of accomplishment.
Ginny smiled back. “What’s your name?”
The agent’s eyes sparkled like an imp. “It’s Candace.”
Ginny let out an amused laugh. “I knew I liked that name for a reason.”
8
The crowds had finally thinned. Torin’s cheeks ached from smiling for the past four and a half hours. He didn’t mind the hugs, but he hated how he smelled, like someone took ten different perfumes, mixed them together, and poured the repugnant fragrance all over his jersey.
He glanced over at Demitri and Scarlett. Once Demitri got the back supports down, he kindly “volunteered” to help Scarlett demonstrate them, leaving Torin alone at his booth with a few Titan cheerleaders for the majority of the afternoon. Owen was in and out—mostly out, flirting with the recreation clothing girl.
Torin wanted to flirt. He pulled out his phone to text Ginny, but then he remembered that he didn’t have her number. He had programmed his number into her phone. He swore.
A young boy around eight or nine approached just in time to hear Torin cuss. “Mr. Godfrey, sir?”
Torin felt like an idiot when the boy’s mom gave him a disapproving eye. Good thing she wasn’t on the football field during a tackle. Torin had an angelic mouth next to most of the players.
“Hi there, big guy.” Torin’s face stretched painfully into a smile. “You look like you’re going to grow up to be a hard hitter someday.” Torin tousled the boy’s moppy hair.
“My mom says I’m not allowed to play football.” The boy looked to his mother who blushed with embarrassment. “She says I’ll end up stupid.”
Torin laughed. “Well there is some truth to that.” Torin pretended to knock on the boy’s head with his fist. “You’ve got to protect that noggin’ a yers.”
The boy’s face scrunched in confusion. “Huh?”
“At least that’s what my daddy always told me.”
“You got a daddy?” the boy said with excitement. “My daddy died when I was little.”
When he was little? This kid tugged at Torin’s heart strings. Torin bent down and retrieved a football from under the table, then looked to the boy’s mother for approval before showing it to the boy.
“My daddy died too, but he used to throw a ball like this to me every day before he died.”
The boy put his hand on Torin’s forearm to comfort him.
Torin continued. “You have to promise me that if I give you this ball, you’ll throw it with your momma and friends, and not worry about the scratchy signature I put on it.”
Torin looked to the mother. He didn’t want her hiding it away in a closet or selling it online. She nodded reluctantly.
“What’s your name, buddy?”
“Caleb.”
Torin signed the ball: To Caleb, the coolest kid ever, Your friend. Torin finished with his chicken scratch signature.
The boy nearly knocked Torin onto his back as he jumped into his arms, throwing Torin off balance. “Thanks,” the young man sniffled out, then leaned back and scrunched his face. “You smell like my grandma.”
“I get that a lot,” Torin laughed out. “Hey, do you want me to show you how to throw it?”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “Yes, sir.”
“Here’s how you hold the ball,” he said, demonstrating the proper handhold. “Now, you aim the point on the end like so.” Torin took aim at the back of Demitri’s head and gave the ball a light toss.
Bullseye! Demitri’s head boggled, then turned and scowled at Torin. The boy ran up to Demitri, picked up the ball, and clutched it into his chest. He waved goodbye to Torin as his mother yanked him by the arm and pulled him away. Perhaps hitting someone in the back of the head didn’t speak to her. Torin felt that empty pit in his gut as he lost sight of the boy. What would it be like to teach his own boy how to throw?
“You best watch your back,” Demitri warned.
Torin strode to Demitri and patted him on the shoulder. “Your turn at the booth.” Demitri looked as if he’d protest, but Torin held his ground. “Complaining about something?”
With a disgruntled huff, Demitri walked the few feet back to the Titans’ booth. There
was a hierarchy on and off the field and Torin was near the top of that Totem pole. He didn’t normally play that card, but considering Demitri hadn’t put in his booth time, Torin felt justified in calling him out on it.
Torin stepped to Scarlett’s side and held one of her back supports in the air. She appeared a bit down at having lost Demitri’s assistance. “How’d the booth work out for you today?”
Almost immediately, her composure shifted to contentment. “Fabulous.” She turned to him. “Thanks for sharing your booth with me.” She spoke quicker with every word. “You getting me here today, and the amazing help from Demitri, has lent me more credibility.” She clutched her hands together. “And, I talked to a few retailers who are willing to sell my back supports.”
“That’s great.” He pretended to examine a back support. “It’s too bad Ginny couldn’t stay longer.” He paused. When Scarlett didn’t say anything, he continued. “It seems like she really likes to drive around Dallas and meet new people.”
Scarlett pulled a plastic tote out from the corner and started to pack in her supports. “Yeah. I’ve never quite understood why. And why won’t she come live with me?” She tsked her tongue. “I hate living alone.”
Torin followed Scarlett’s eyes to Demitri, who perked up when she smiled at him. He looked pathetically sappy. Why was it so schmaltzy when other people got all sentimental? He didn’t look like that, did he?
“Hey,” Torin said, trying to reign her back into their conversation. “So, Ginny likes to live alone?”
“Ahh?” Scarlett tapped her fingertips on her display table as she bit at her lower lip and looked up to the ceiling.
“You look like identical to Ginny when you do that.”
“Do what?” She glanced from side to side.
He saw the differences in them when Scarlett joked or asked a question. She seemed to not have the same maturity as Ginny. Could be because of age, or more defining experiences? “Not that.” He wiggled a finger at her. “The other thing.”
She narrowed her eyes as if trying to figure him out. “I know you’re rich and handsome.” She pointed to his chest. “And Ginny is obviously into you, but she needs someone who’s smart.”