CHAPTER 18 Code Word Girl Talk #2
Scenario one was my favorite, mostly because it meant that my relationship, or non-relationship, or whatever-it-was with Jack wouldn’t come into spy play.
If Peyton, Kaufman, and Gray wasn’t involved, I was in the clear.
Scenario one also had the advantage that it would be pretty simple for us to save the day.
We’d keep track of the TCIs until the Big Guys identified the seller, and then we’d take him—and the weapon—out of the picture.
Scenario two was the pessimistic one. In that one, Peyton, Kaufman, and Gray was either responsible for brokering the deal that had brought the TCIs to Bayport in the first place, or they’d noticed the influx the same as we had.
Either way, they were now in the center of everything, and at any given moment, one of the most insidious, impenetrable rogue operations in the country would have access to a weapon we still knew nothing about.
Scenario two had the plus side that it might mean that Brooke and I would eventually see some action, but the Jack factor was enough to make me resign myself to discussing celebrities’ bangs and hoping that the rest of the night would be equally tame.
By the time we finished dinner, I didn’t even have to think about working my camera anymore, or checking pictures or license plate numbers against our database, and I’d developed an eerie sense for reading Brooke’s reactions to the news she was getting through her communicator.
I was also bored enough that I considered using the puppy in my pocket to knock myself out.
And then, just as I was cursing my own boredom, Brooke abruptly switched topics. “So,” she said. “You and Jack.”
There was something underneath her tone that I couldn’t quite read. Jealousy? Intensity? Heartbreak? Or maybe it was just that her tone was so painfully neutral that I couldn’t help but read into it all of the above.
“There is no me and Jack,” I said.
“You’re supposed to be able to lie better than that,” she informed me blithely.
“It’s …” I was going to say that my involvement with Jack was just part of the job, but I didn’t. “It’s complicated.”
That was, quite possibly, the biggest understatement that had ever been uttered.
“Things with Jack Peyton are always complicated.”
This was my opportunity to ask her about Alan Peyton and his involvement with our organization.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t risk it. Not in public.
Not so close to the firm. Instead, looking at the expression on her face, I found myself wondering for the first time if Brooke or Chloe had ever really liked Jack.
Chloe’s jealousy wasn’t enough to convince me that she had, and most days, Brooke didn’t even show any emotion—including jealousy—unless she wanted other people to see it.
I’d always just sort of assumed that the other girls had used Jack to get to his father and the firm.
Brooke was all Squad, all the time, half cheerleader/half agent, and nothing left for anything else, and Chloe was basically the wannabe Brooke.
They’d dated Jack because he was popular, and because he was the easiest way to the firm.
But technically, those were the reasons I was dating Jack, too. Only I wasn’t dating Jack. I’d decided not to date him. Homecoming was simply an unavoidable fluke.
“You like him.” Brooke spoke the words carefully, enunciating each one.
“No, I don’t.” My first reaction was always to argue, especially when I didn’t want to consider the fact that Brooke was absolutely right.
“Yes,” Brooke gritted out. “You do. And you’re not supposed to, and it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass.”
So much for the two of us pretending to be friends. We couldn’t even keep up appearances for a few hours before things went to heck in a pom bag.
Then, without warning, Brooke began cursing, quietly and possibly in more than one language.
I guess she felt more strongly about this Jack thing than I’d realized.
“You know that thing Tara and Zee were doing?” Brooke said.
I nodded.
“Well, they kinda lost it.”
Lost it? As in lost their mark? As in a TCI was out there, completely unsupervised, quite possibly acquiring a weapon we really didn’t want her to have?
“Yeah,” Brooke said, her voice conveying so much pissed-offedness that I got the feeling that the safest thing to do would be to back away slowly. “They lost it.”
I didn’t have to ask if the twins had lost Amelia as well. Despite Brooke’s calm outward appearance, she was freaking out, and that meant that things were bad.
Brooke’s fingers flew across the keys of her cell, and I wondered if she was giving instructions to the others, or if she was reporting the situation to the Big Guys. I wondered that right up until I saw a green sedan pulling into the parking garage across the street.
“Brooke,” I said, throwing caution to the wind. “What color is You Know Who’s car?”
Hopefully, if anyone was listening to me, they’d be up on their Harry Potter slang and think I was talking about Voldemort.
“Green,” Brooke said, and then she followed my gaze.
I recognized the license plate. My memory for numbers never failed me, and I knew even before Brooke confirmed it that something completely unexpected had happened. The other teams had lost their TCI, and we’d found her.
At Peyton, Kaufman, and Gray.