Pierce
Freckles. I called her Freckles. Two hours later, surrounded by flashing casino lights and every other kind of distraction, I still can’t get them—or the image of her wrapped up in my towel—out of my head.
I didn’t see more than her midsection, but it was dotted with patterns and shapes.
There was a heart at the center of her lower ribcage.
Stop.
This is ridiculous.
Spies don’t think about their assets like this.
She’s got me calling myself a spy. What is wrong with me?
I am doing my best to blend in, but the beauty beside me hardly blends in with her hot pink romper. Is everything she owns pink?
It was a terrible idea to bring her with me. News hasn’t broken about the body yet, and I don’t trust her to stay alone in my house. Plus, she wouldn’t let me leave her. She got all clingy and whiny; she even played the “I got drugged card”. Hard to fight with that.
I could have tied her up, but that goes against the claim that she can trust me.
Problem after problem.
I don’t want Mr. Smith to recognize Thea, which is why I made her wear a droopy sunhat I found in my neighbor's trash can, blue light glasses… and a scarf. The scarf may have been overkill.
As if she knows what I’m thinking about, she tugs on the thin, colorful scarf, revealing more of her smooth neck and freckles that run down to her collarbone… Do they connect to the ones on her midsection?
I should have found her a muumuu.
I check my phone again—still no message from Mr. Smith.
I sent him an email telling him where to meet me and at what time, so technically he doesn’t need to respond; he just needs to show up.
If people are tracking him, it’s better he doesn’t respond, but that leaves me with more stress.
What if he doesn’t show? What if someone else does? Someone more dangerous?
It’s not the money I’m worried about. I can survive without it.
I’ve never failed a mission. It's one thing if he's backing out, but I fear I screwed this one up. Everything has felt out of sorts since that letter appeared yesterday. I even had a dream last night. Or maybe it was a memory—when my grandfather took my cousins and me fishing in high school. I vaguely remember the event, but in my dream it was almost… peaceful. A word I never would have associated with my grandfather. Not knowing what he wants is clearly getting to my subconscious. I’m making up a man who doesn’t exist.
I tear my gaze from the soccer game on the television above the bar and focus on my surroundings.
Maybe a casino wasn’t the best meeting place. Mr. Smith could wind up drunk and gambling away his secrets.
“Who are we looking for again?” Thea asks, pushing her glasses up for the fifteenth time.
“A man.”
“Oh right. I forgot you said that the first time. How have I not found him yet?” She lightly smacks her forehead.
“You’re not supposed to find him. He’s supposed to find me.” I should have put her at a different table. Just as I think about doing so, a waitress passes with a tray full of drinks, leaving one in front of Thea. Thea grabs it, and I snatch it before it can reach her lips—which are also pink.
“Are you trying to get poisoned again?”
“It was non-alcoholic. I’m thirsty.”
“With your luck, it would be straight whiskey. I’m not hauling your drunk, whiny butt around for the next few days.” Ugh, is it really going to be a few days of this?
“How do you know I get whiny when drunk?”
“How do you know you don’t?”
“Touché.”
I lift the fruity drink to my lips and take a small sip, surveying the room over the rim of the cup.
“Why do you get to drink it?”
“I was testing it.”
Her jaw drops and she leans in closer, lowering her glasses to see me better. “Did you taste any poison?”
I have to physically restrain my eyes from rolling back into my head.
I make a show of blinking slowly, then swallowing and grabbing my chest. “Y-yes…” I drag in a breath like the very act is getting harder to do.
“Listen, when I get loopy or pass out, you’ll have to take over.
Don’t be afraid to beat the truth out of him. ”
She gapes at me. “W-what? I thought you were just meeting someone. Not”—she lowers her voice to a whisper—“torturing him.”
“T-these meetings can get… dangerous,” I wheeze.
“And you brought me? No! Hurry, drink some water to dilute it.” She glances around, searching for a waitress.
“Too late, the damage has been done.” I close my eyes and lean my head back. “Your future and safety now rest solely in your oddly tiny hands.”
“Pierce!”
I cringe at how loudly she says my name. She must think it’s the effect of the poison because she latches onto my bicep, both hands stretched to reach around it as she shakes my arm. Then she grabs my neck, pressing her fingers to my pulse point.
My pulse jumps beneath her touch. What is she doing?
“Are you alright? Your heartbeat seems normal. Your skin is still warm.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing and prop one eye open. “What exactly do you think happens when you’re poisoned?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. Open your mouth, let me look at your tongue.” She grabs my chin, trying to pry it open.
This has gotten out of hand. I flick her arm off. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” She grabs both sides of my face and stares into my soul.
Her fingers are soft and warm against my cheeks and her hat tickles my forehead.
“Because if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were teasing me.
” The corner of her lips tilt obnoxiously.
“The Pierce I know doesn’t possess humor. ”
Caught. I swallow. “It was… a joke.”
“Do you really think right now is a good time for a joke?”
Not anymore.
She releases my face, and I pick up my non-poisoned drink.
“I hope you learned your lesson.” She drops onto her seat with a confident thump. “Next time I might give you mouth-to-mouth.”
I choke on my drink, spluttering liquid down my chin and out my nose. That cannot happen. She may be frustratingly beautiful—a breath of fresh air in my one-man-only cave—but I can’t let her get close.
She’s a mission. That’s the only way I can think of her.
I clear my throat. Focus on what's important—finding my contact.
It’s thirty minutes past our meeting time. Mr. Smith is definitely spooked.
“Wait right here,” I command Thea.
“Is he here? Did you find him?” she asks, standing beside me. I push on her shoulder, shoving her into her chair.
“I said stay.”
She folds her arms and glares. “I’m not a dog.”
“What was rule number one?”
Her frown slips, and she mutters a “ruff” with a derisive glare.
Just for the sarcasm, I pat her head. “Good girl.” I weave through patrons and servers until I reach the bartender. He’s a man in his fifties, sporting an impressive beer gut and a handlebar mustache.
“What can I get for you?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
He picks up a rag and a glass, drying it as he sizes me up. “Everyone is.”
“Maybe you saw him. He was supposed to meet me here. American, light brown hair, ball cap and sunglasses. Fancy brown shoes.”
He puts the cup on a shelf and begins wiping the counter. “Yeah, I saw the guy. Too early for most gringos. I paid attention.”
“Did he say anything to you? Did you catch his name?”
He lifts an eyebrow and waits expectantly. I let out a long breath and dig into my pocket. I locate some pesos and drop them on the bar.
“No name.”
I glare at the man who just took my money for nothing.
“But…” He stops wiping the counter and gives me his full attention. I ready myself for what’s sure to be important information. “He was obviously waiting for someone, the way he was looking around. Then he made a call. Said something about a drive.”
Hope soars in my chest.
“Do you have security cameras? Can I look at them?”
He glances down the bar to make sure there are no listening ears before facing me again. “The only ones that work are in the high-stakes room. I didn’t see the guy go in there.”
Figures. “Did he say anything else on the phone?”
“Only that he was flying to California today.”
Dang it.
“What time did he leave?”
Once again, he waits, and I drop another bill on the counter. Bartenders are as good as spies… and just as crafty.
“Twenty minutes ago.”
I barely missed him. Or maybe he saw me coming in with Thea and bailed.
Now what? Is Mr. Smith in trouble? Is that why he left?
I could count this as a loss and take my vacation early, but something is nagging at me.
Maybe my own inability to quit. I’m not ready to give up the search for this drive just yet.
I thank the bartender and turn, searching for Thea. She’s not where I left her. She’s a few feet down the bar, talking to a much younger bartender who is clearly flirting with her based on the way he’s making her blush. My jaw clenches, and I stomp toward her.
“That’s sweet, but I’ll just have water,” she says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
The bartender dips his head and reaches for a cup.
“Hey look, that’s my hotel,” Thea says, pointing at the television above the bar.
The hair rises on the back of my neck, and my internal alarm blares. A single word pops up at the bottom of the screen. Asesinato.
Murder.
This is not good. The bartender slides the glass to Thea and looks up at the screen as a grainy image appears in the top right corner. Me. And Thea. It’s blurry, but damning.
Thea spews water across the bar. Water races down her chin, and I grab her arm, pretending to help but readying to run.
The bartender reaches for a rag, then stops. His gaze swings from Thea to me. His flirtations are long gone. “It’s you.”
My blood runs cold. How big of a threat can he pose? He’s a small guy; I could take him.
“I thought I recognized you.” The other bartender stomps over. “That’s been playing all day.” His eyes are suddenly alight with a curiosity I don’t like.
I slip an arm around Thea’s waist. “We’re just tourists.”
“I know what I saw. That’s you! Killers!” He reaches below the bar, but I don’t wait around to see what he’s grabbing.
I spin Thea and head for the exit.
“This isn’t real,” Thea whispers to herself as I drag her with me, dodging around tables and casino players. “This is a bad dream; it’s not real.”
It seems my little sidekick is losing touch with reality.
A bang echoes through the room, and I shove Thea to the ground, dropping my body over hers. Screams filter through the dining hall, and I see the bartender wielding a literal smoking gun. He jumps over the bar, yelling something about reward money.
“He just shot at us!” Thea gasps.
“Yeah.”
“What do we do?”
“Run.”