The Accidental Cases of Emily Abbott #2
Plan to Fail
By Perry Elisabeth Kirkpatrick
Copyright ©2018 by Perry Elisabeth Kirkpatrick
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by www.PerryElisabethDesign.com with images from www.depositphotos.com
www.perrykirkpatrick.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
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Chapter 1
TERRY GLARED AT THEM as they hit the back door of Sunrise Coffee running.
Emily worked hard to hide her grin. This was a brand new kind of adventure: leaving work just as her shift was starting—sanctioned by the company owner, no less—to help a mysterious agency with a mission.
She turned left in the alley to head toward her usual parking garage when she remembered. “Oh. My car,” she said, biting her lip and turning to Brent. He’d wrecked it last week when evading the men chasing Dr. Novak, a kindly, defecting scientist.
“Don’t worry,” her coworker said with a grin, “I’ve got something to show you. C’mon!” He tugged her arm, and she followed him in the opposite direction.
She jogged to stay alongside him, quickly working up a sweat in the blazing Arizona heat. He glanced sideways at her and deliberately slowed his pace. “Sorry,” he said, looking sheepish. “Long legs.”
Chuckling, she shrugged even though she did appreciate slowing to a brisk walk. “Did you drive to work?” she asked. “You normally take the bus.”
“Precisely, Sherlock.”
That better not be a new codename...
“ICS will be replacing your car, but while they finalize everything, they wanted you to have a rental.” Brent cut his eyes sideways with a penitent grin. “I don’t want you to be inconvenienced by my—what did Santa call it?—recklessness.”
Emily laughed. “I do appreciate the rental. Tell Santa I said not to be so hard on you.”
They entered the shade of a parking garage. It was a relief to be out of the intense sunshine, but the air inside the multi-story cement structure was close and thick with un-circulated hot air.
“Well, I wasn’t too happy with some of the close calls I put you through, but luckily, Santa has promised me that tonight’s mission will pose no risk to you.” Brent put a hand out to keep the doors of the elevator open and ushered her inside. He selected the third level and pressed the button to close the doors.
Emily perked up. “What can you tell me about the mission?” she asked eagerly. The warm elevator whirred slowly upward.
“I’ll get a full briefing on it when we get back to the North Pole—” Brent rolled his eyes at Emily’s ill-concealed snicker at the codename for headquarters “—but what I know so far is that we’ll be attending a charity gala tonight so I can plant a bug on someone.”
“Really?” Emily squealed in an excited whisper. “We’re going to plant an honest-to-goodness bug on someone? That’s like spy-stuff 101, right there!”
Brent shook his head. “Don’t be too disappointed if you don’t even notice the moment I plant the bug, Sherlock.”
“So I do have a new codename!” she said, poking his shoulder for emphasis.
He winked, but didn’t reply.
Emily frowned. “Did I leave something at work?” she murmured.
“Huh?” Brent raised an eyebrow.
She shrugged. “I just have this nagging feeling I’ve forgotten something.”
“It probably just feels strange to have left the coffee shop right when our shift was supposed to begin.”
“That must be it.”
The elevator dinged, and he shifted to one side of the small space, watching warily as the doors parted.
He’s always on guard.
Brent stepped out first, swiveling his head from side to side and then nodded to Emily with a grin.
I don’t think he even realizes he’s constantly scanning for threats. He’s just naturally... tactical.
“Okay,” he said, sauntering easily down the row of cars nearest the elevators, “this was supposed to be a rental for just you to use for the next few days. So this is going to be a little... awkward. Try not to laugh too hard.”
Jogging again to keep up with his long strides, she laughed at his words. “Don’t tell me you got me a motorcycle, Brent.”
“See, you’re laughing already. If I’d gotten you a motorcycle, that would have been cool. I’m afraid this rental is very low on the cool-scale.”
“Another gold minivan?”
Rather than answering, Brent stopped just ahead and faced what appeared to be an empty parking space beyond a pickup truck. Frowning, Emily joined him.
“Oh, my.” She clapped a hand over her mouth to cover her disbelieving grin.
“Yeah, I know,” he said, sounding chagrined.
Emily walked forward and rested her hand on top of the white, toy-like smart car. “It’s positively microscopic, Brent!”
He tipped his head and gave her an appraising look. “Actually, it’s about the right scale for you.”
“Seriously? You’re going with a short-joke?” It was Emily’s turn to look him up and down. “Okay, I actually can’t wait to see how you folded yourself into this thing to drive it here.”
Brent looked pained. “There’s a reason I warned you not to laugh.”
Emily watched in amused silence as he unlocked the two-seater car and stuffed himself into the driver’s seat. She worked hard to swallow the laugh that was threatening. Brent opened the passenger’s side door for her, and she slid in.
Sliding her eyes to the left, she took a quick glance at him and lost it. She laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Brent held out as long as he could by looking severely disappointed in her lack of control, but a snicker escaped him. After that, there was no holding it in.
A few breathless moments later, she wiped her eyes and gasped out an apology. “I’m so sorry, Brent. You’re just... your head is literally touching the ceiling. And your knees! They’re bumping into the steering wheel!” she shook with silent laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stuff the mirth back in.
“I noticed,” he said dryly, although a smirk hung around his mouth. “If you’ll buckle up, we can hit the road.”
Emily considered making a snarky comment about how it would be very unsafe to “hit” the road in such a tiny vehicle, but she was afraid if she started laughing again, she’d never be able to stop. Instead, she pulled the seatbelt across her and bent to clip it in—slamming her head into Brent’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” she said, sitting back up when the seatbelt was secure, “not a lot of elbow room in here.”
“Literally,” he said, starting the
car and reversing out of the parking space. He unintentionally elbowed her in the arm as he turned the wheel.
“She even sounds like a toy,” Emily said, shaking her head at the puny sounds the running car made.
“She?”
“Oh, stop it. Just tell me where we’re going?”
“Back to my place for a makeover!” Brent said.
“You know how weird that sounds, right? Especially considering I’m assuming this ‘makeover’ is going to take place in your ‘basement’.”
“That is pretty cringy.”
Chapter 2
BRENT PARKED THE SMART car in the garage of the house he shared with a couple other agents. Once the big door had rolled shut behind them, they tried to avoid elbowing each other as they unbuckled. Emily made it out first, and got to watch the tiny vehicle rock as Brent pried himself from its grip.
When he finally stood, he stretched and winced, popping his back.
Emily shook her head. “You poor thing.”
Brent replied with a long-suffering sigh. He led the way to the door connecting the garage to the house. Inserting a key in the lock, he turned it to the right, and then paused with his thumb and index finger gripping the head of the key. A green light glowed from both sides of the key, scanning his fingerprints.
A second later, the deadbolt snapped back with a loud click.
“Spy stuff!” Emily whispered, delighted.
Brent shrugged and smirked.
The house was quiet, but Emily felt they were being watched all the same as they made their way through the messy kitchen and living room.
“Still haven’t gotten around to cleaning up, have you,” she said.
“Would you expect college-aged guys to have a spic-and-span, nicely decorated place?” Brent asked pointedly.
“No, I know it’s all part of your cover, but I just feel sorry for the person who has to stare at this mess on monitors all day.”
Brent paused and looked at her sharply, his eyebrows raised.
“Come on,” she said, smiling, “there’s no way you guys don’t have surveillance hidden all over the place. This is practically the front door of headquarters—just disguised as a house. Don’t try to tell me I’ve just watched too many spy movies.” She leaned closer and widened her eyes, whispering, “I can feel them watching us.”
Brent snickered. “You’re somethin’ else, Sherlock.” He glanced up toward the ceiling and said louder, “Oh, yeah, by the way, her codename is currently Sherlock. Have someone add that to her file?”
“I was right!” she squealed, following him down the hall to the bathroom. “You were talking to them!”
He pulled back the shower door and motioned her in.
“This is still so delightfully weird!” she said.
Brent entered and closed the door behind him. “Want to do the honors?” he asked.
“Can I?” Emily didn’t wait for him to reply. She gripped the cold water knob and cranked it. With a lurch, the shower sank through the floor. Thrown off balance by the motion, she stumbled backward.
Brent steadied her. “Careful. It’s a little touchy. Should have warned you.”
“I just need practice,” she said, tipping up her chin.
He didn’t reply, but she could guess he was thinking that she probably wouldn’t get that practice. Someone like her helping with ICS missions was unorthodox and unusual—not to mention accidental in the first place.
I’m not a real agent. I’m just a coffee barista.
And Brent’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to be responsible for putting me in any more dangerous situations.
They stepped out of the shower-elevator and into the ICS headquarters space under Brent’s house. Emily noticed the main area had been transformed from an office space into something that looked like the backstage of a theater. Racks of clothes were parked between desks, and one end of the room was entirely filled with a mini-salon.
“Wow,” Emily said, glancing at Brent. His face registered surprise, too. “I take it things didn’t look this way when you left this morning?” she whispered.
“Nope.”
“Here they are.” Edward Best, codenamed “Santa”, pushed open the glass door of his office and joined them in the common area. He wore his silver hair short, and he was clean-shaven unlike the jolly saint. His neat, grey suit was a far cry from the garish costume his codename might evoke. “Welcome back to the North Pole.”
“Hey, boss,” Brent said. “You pulled out all the stops on this one.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been telling you it’s time for a haircut,” Mr. Best said dryly.
Brent ran a hand through his dark hair, standing the top all on end. Emily raised her eyebrows. “As if you need to look any taller,” she said. “You’d never fit into the smart car with hair that high.”
Mr. Best snorted. “How do you like the rental, Miss Abbott—or should I say ‘Sherlock’?” He shot Brent a tired look.
“It’s great, thank you, sir. As long as poor Brent doesn’t have to cram into it anymore, that is. If he has to drive it again, I’m afraid your agency will end up paying for him to visit the chiropractor.”
Brent’s boss pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “That would be the least of our medical bills when it comes to Nighthawk.”
Emily glanced at her coworker. He pasted an innocent look on his face.
“Briefing in my office, and then these hair and wardrobe teams will get you looking the part,” Mr. Best said, turning and beckoning them through the glass door.
Once they were inside the room, the older man tapped a spot beside the door, and the whole wall instantly changed from clear glass to opaque grey.
Emily refrained from exclaiming out loud in the presence of the boss, but she mouthed “Spy stuff!” to Brent. He grinned and rolled his eyes.
“Have a seat, you two.” Edward Best rounded the desk and sat, motioning them to the two leather chairs on the other side. “Miss Abbott—er—Sherlock, some of the details of this operation are need-to-know, so whatever you need to know will be included in this briefing. Nighthawk, you may review this file while getting ready out there. It has everything on your mark and this operation.” He handed a brown folder stamped “Classified” across the desk.
“Understood, sir,” Brent said, nodding. His often-grinning face was serious, and he focused intently on his boss.
“When you say, ‘his mark’...” Emily spoke up, a little unsure if she was supposed to ask questions just yet. “You don’t mean—”
“No, no, Miss Abbott. Nothing deadly. A simple tracking and transmitting device will be planted on this individual.” Mr. Best didn’t seem bothered by her question.
Emily let out a breath and nodded.
Mr. Best continued. “We received intel that someone intends to sell top-secret blueprints from a local aerospace company. The research and development this company is doing will provide the US with a whole new generation of aircraft stealth tech—unless our enemies already know how it works by the time Uncle Sam is ready to roll it out. There are more details on the company and its tech in the file you’re holding, Nighthawk.
“Verifying that our intel is correct and the plans are indeed about to be sold, and then thwarting that sale is our mission. To that end, we’re sending the two of you to a charity gala also being attended by the possible source of the leak.”
The older man slid a photograph across the desk. The face staring back at them was of a tired-looking man with intense eyes behind large metal-framed glasses. “Meet Gregory Malachi, a top engineer at the R&D facility in question. We have reason to believe he is either the one planning to sell the plans, or knows who is. The goal of your mission is to plant this—” he slid a small black box across to them “—on the nose pad of his glasses. They’re the only thing on his person that he wears continually and has with him at all times. Our techs will be able to track and listen in on him remotely.”
Brent nodded.
“Sounds exciting,” Emily said, eyeing the black box.
I wonder what the bug looks like!
“But not too exciting, remember,” Brent said. “This is perfectly safe. You’re just going as my plus-one to complete my cover. Eat a few hors d'oeuvres, look pretty, make small talk—easy. And most importantly, not dangerous.”
Mr. Best shifted and folded his hands on the desk top. “About that, Nighthawk—”
Brent narrowed his eyes. “You assured me this would be—”
“It is quite low-risk, just as I promised, Brent. But we’ve decided due to the fact that it can be easily concealed under a long fingernail, Miss Abbott will be the one to actually carry and plant the bug.”
Chapter 3
“I CAN HEAR YOU STRESSING out over there, Brent.” Emily found she was trying to speak without moving her mouth, as if that would help her stay perfectly still for the hairdresser sectioning off her hair.
She heard his snort over the low buzz of clippers on the other side of the divider between the adjoining salon areas temporarily occupying one end of ICS headquarters.
“Stress can’t be heard, Sherlock.”
“Yours can.”
“Uh-huh. You’re just guessing based off my facial expressions and body language between Santa’s office and here.”
“So what if I am? You’re stressing because I’m playing a bigger role tonight than you thought I would be.” She eyed herself in the mirror. The pinched-faced woman cutting her hair appeared to not be listening. She was too busy frowning at the blunt, boring trim Emily had recently inflicted on her own long brown hair.
“Brent?”
“Yeah?”
“If I ask you something, will you promise to be totally honest?”
“Of course.”
“Are you stressing because you don’t think I can do it, or because you’re worried about me being in danger?”
There was silence on the other side of the divider for a few seconds. “Does it count if I say a little of both?” Brent finally asked.
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