14. Concrete Critiques and Cheeseburger Chats
CHAPTER 14
CONCRETE CRITIQUES AND CHEESEBURGER CHATS
LEDGER
I f you ever want to keep your self-esteem intact, I strongly advise against having your handler, your intelligence operative partner, and your partner’s tech op ever discuss how your body matches up against others. Especially if they’re doing it as if you can’t hear every word they say. It’s like standing in front of a jury, wearing nothing but a unitard, and having your physical traits up for discussion.
Oh , and do it in a room where the walls are cement, the lighting is harsh, and the only mirror is warped and makes you look like a funhouse attraction.
The list of art enthusiasts who are invited to Savovi?’s private auction that we got from Mila contains sixteen names. Right off the bat, we eliminate eleven names because their body type is too different from mine, because their faces are too well-known, because Savovi? or Mona Liza are close to them, or because they only speak Serbian , and I do not. For the other five, I get to hear Packston and Kella in my earpiece and Zoe in real life as they look at pictures of the men on the list and give their opinions of who I should impersonate in order to get a private showing.
Opinions like, “ I think we could fake the tattoo sleeves, but Ledger doesn’t exactly have the build of an ultra marathoner.” And “ I don’t think so. Look at that picture of the man rock climbing. If Ledger tried to impersonate him, he’d look like he was smuggling boulders under his climbing shirt.” And “ The guy’s a former ballet dancer— I don’t think Ledger can pull off being that graceful.”
I exhale loudly. “ Do I really need to be present for this conversation?”
After a little too much discussion, we settle on Tobias Rennert who, according to Kella , is a “hyper-animated tech mogul turned art investor from Toronto , Canada .” He live-streams art experiences, which makes impersonating him both easier and more difficult.
From what I’ve seen of his videos and other intel they’ve gathered about the man, he talks at breakneck speed about the convergence of technology and art, is always sporting (and can’t stop talking about) his high-tech accessories, like smart glasses, he visits the gym often, and almost always wears a blazer over a t-shirt with some kind of tech joke.
And , from all the info we were able to gather, he and Mona Liza haven’t been in the same location, so my cover won’t be blown. The guy is single, too, so we won’t have to explain why he’s showing up with his administrative assistant instead of his wife.
His personality is a bit much, which is good because then impersonating him will help take the focus off Zoe so she can place the tracker. Which we need since she’s the kind of woman who grabs people’s attention. She grabbed mine. She still grabs it every day, even when I’m vigilant in distracting myself from thinking about her. Even though I know she fakes feelings about people. About me.
We work with the CSA and CIA to come up with a plan to stall the real Tobias Rennert from entering Serbia before I finish pretending to be him. We settle on creating a situation where he’ll need to stop in Berlin , Germany on his way from Toronto to Belgrade to fix a manufacturing problem with an interactive art installation that uses his company’s technology. The issue is happening on the eve of its unveiling, much to the consternation of the panicked organizers. And by “panicked organizers,” I mean Packston embracing a role he “was born for.”
We let Packston and our agencies do their thing while we go gather everything I’ll need to impersonate Tobias . But as charming as I am on the phone with Mona Liza , I can’t get a private showing at the mansion scheduled until tomorrow morning.
Since there isn’t anything more we can do to prepare, Zoe and I actually have time to sit and wait. And I hate sitting and waiting. Spending five minutes playing with a soccer ball with the local kids when the next step is ready to be taken is one thing. But being held back from doing the next step is frustrating.
So , instead of sneaking into the mansion, disguised as someone else, and completing this leg of the mission, we order room service. Pljeskavica for me, which I’ve never had but from what they tell me, is a Serbian burger made of spiced pork, beef, and lamb. And a mushroom risotto for Zoe , along with Sjenica cheese.
We both sit on the bed to eat in our budget dungeon suite with the cement walls and floors because the only other place to sit in the room is on the cot they brought in for me. And honestly, I don’t think it’ll hold both of us and stay in one piece. And since we are eating in bed, I made the request to room service that Zoe’s food be “ Something that makes a lot of crumbs,” just like she requested for me on the plane. So they sent the cheese with very crumbly crackers.
I tipped them extra.
Zoe unwraps the cheese, and immediately, a very assertive, earthy, pungent smell fills the space. I put a knuckle under my nose. “ I can’t believe you brought that into our room.”
Zoe just smiles, cupping the cheese in the palms of her hands, like it’s precious, and smells it, breathing in deeply. “ It’s an art, Ledger . The stinkier the cheese, the deeper the flavor, the richer the experience. Want to try it? You’ve been missing out on a whole world of taste.”
“ Missing out?” I raise an eyebrow. “ I prefer my food not to assault my senses before I eat it. It smells like you’ve marinated gym socks in vinegar, put them in a gym bag, then left it in a hot car for a week.”
“ That ‘assault,’” she says, breaking a piece of the white cheese off and looking at it like it’s a rare gem, “is a symphony of history, culture, and a meticulous aging process. It’s not just cheese; it’s a story in every bite.” She places the piece of cheese in her mouth and closes her eyes, moaning at how good it is.
I cross my arms. “ And ‘the story’ is a suspense thriller where the plot twist is that everyone’s noses are the victims.” This is the Zoe I fell for back in Moldova , and I’m feeling drawn to her in the same way right now that I did then. My brain keeps sounding the alarm that shouts Divert your thoughts! And I should. I know I should. But I’m also having fun.
We are sitting on the bed like the comforter is a picnic blanket, and Zoe laughs and breaks off another piece, holding it out toward me like she wants to place it right in my mouth. “ Come on, try it. Live dangerously. Who knows, you might just find that your taste buds are more adventurous than you’ve given them credit for.”
Even though, smell aside, it looks rather tempting between Zoe’s fingers and part of me really wants to lean in toward it, to lean into her, I eye it like it’s a live grenade. “ I don’t have a HAZMAT suit with me, so I don’t think I’ll survive the first bite. I’ll just stick with this adventure,” I say, picking up my burger which actually looks rather tasty. It probably smells tasty, too, but it’s hard to tell over the stench of the cheese. I take a bite— it’s definitely tasty.
Zoe pops the cheese into her mouth. “ You don’t know what you’re missing, Lancaster . But I’m happy that it means there’s more for me.”
I lift my burger, and just before I take a bite, I say, “ When you find the right guy, you’ll make sure to warn him about your stinky cheese obsession before you get to the ‘ I do’s, right?” I cannot believe I just said that. As far as I know, marriage hadn’t even been on my brain. It had to have been the baby carriage that planted the thought. It was still working in my subconscious. I blame it all on that. But I’m also surprised that I actually planted the mental image of Zoe being with anyone else. I don’t like that image at all.
Zoe’s initial reaction is a shocked look that I can’t quite read before it’s gone, and then she scoffs. “ I am not getting married.”
“ Ever ?” I ask. I’m both surprised and not surprised at the same time. And , strangely, a teeny bit disappointed.
“ Oh , come on,” she says. “ As if I’d have any idea how to be married. No Dad , remember? And it wasn’t like most of the foster homes I lived in were shining examples of marriage. Most of the time, they just fought.”
She reaches up and touches the locket at her neck before picking up her fork and moving it around her risotto. “ There was one family I stayed with that was a shining example, though. My first one. I was five— in the middle of my Kindergarten year. It was the one place that showed me that life could be different. I could live a life I never knew existed.”
It’s been a long time since Zoe shared anything personal with me. At least not anything like this. I’m holding my breath, like I’ll be able to keep from spooking her into stopping, but she’s stopped anyway. So I give a little nudge. “ How long were you there?”
“ Five months, then I went back to live with my mom. I’ve often wondered what my life would be like if I had been able to just stay with them, though. If I’d never gone back with my mom and then into different foster homes. Maybe I could’ve eventually been adopted by them. If I had been, then maybe I would understand how to be married.”
She gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head as if she just realized that she got so personal and is pulling herself out of it. “ How about you? Do you think you’ll get married?”
“ Sure . At some point.” Huh . My initial thought wasn’t my usual Heck no. I’m not about to give up my freedom! My mom would be so proud if she knew. Only Charlie is younger than me and none of my older siblings are married, so I doubt she’s been worried that I’m twenty-six and still not married. But I’m betting it has crossed her mind that I might not ever want to be.
Honestly , I’m also pretty surprised at my line of thinking. I’ve had a couple of previous relationships that made me feel trapped and that’s the worst feeling.
“ I guess that makes sense,” Zoe says. “ You grew up in a house with a pretty good example of marriage, right? Your parents were at least married long enough to have… how many kids?
“ Six . And yeah, my parents were married all the way up until my dad died. ”
“ Six ?!” I didn’t see Zoe take a bite of her risotto, but it seems like she’s almost choking on it. “ How did this never come up in Moldova ?”
I shrug. “ I guess it’s because we spent all our time talking about being intelligence operatives. And what we wanted in our futures.”
“ And about our moms.”
I nod.
“ But apparently not about siblings. Okay ,” she says, holding up one finger, “so I’ve met Jace in the field a couple of times, and I did know then that he’s your brother.”
“ He just got engaged while we were both on that mission in Cairo , so I’ll get a sister-in-law soon, too.”
“ And apparently your handler—”
“ My substitute handler—”
“— Charlie is your sister. And then there’s your brother who’s the dad of your niece… Blake , right?”
“ Yep , he’s the oldest. Then you know Emerson .”
“ I do?” A moment of confusion crosses her face before she gasps. “ Emerson ? As in the lead analyst that teamed up with Kenneth ? He’s your brother ?”
It hadn’t occurred to me that she didn’t know. She’s still gaping at me in stunned silence when I say, “ And then there’s my twin, Miles . I don’t know if you saw him when you came in for the mission briefing.”
“ Miles is your brother, too? I know of him but haven’t met him. Ledger , does your entire family work for the CSA ? ”
“ Not Blake .”
“ Oh , of course. Not Blake . The black sheep. Because you live in some insane world where not being an intelligence operative would make someone the black sheep of the family.” She rolls her eyes. “ It’s a good thing you’ve got the CSA because that kind of nepotism would never fly at the CIA .”
“ Hey ,” I say, feeling heat rise right along with the need to defend my family. “ It’s not because of nepotism that so many of my siblings work at the CSA .”
“ Yeah , sure it isn’t.” She pops a piece of cheese in her mouth.
I take a deep, somewhat calming breath. “ Who is the best intelligence operative in all of the CIA ? If you were judging without bias.”
“ With or without bias, the answer is the same. It’s me.”
I nod my agreement. “ And we’ve gone up against each other…”
“ Eight times,” Zoe finishes, and I’m impressed that she knows the exact number. It looks like I’m not the only one keeping track.
“ And you’re currently ahead on ‘missions won’ by one. Do you know how many of those eight times I’ve been up by one?”
“ The same as me. Okay , so fine. You’re almost as good as me. But that doesn’t say anything about your siblings. Are you the best intelligence operative when competing against them?”
“ I don’t compete against my siblings.”
I can tell by the look on her face that she’s running through her mind the couple of interactions she’s had with Jace . And I can see the moment it dawns on her that I might not even be the best in my family. Not that I would ever admit to any of my siblings that they are better than me. But I like that Zoe is wondering about it. “ Let me ask you this: Who is the best intelligence operative that the CIA has ever had?”
Objectively , we both know it’s my mom. We talked enough about her in Moldova a year and a half ago for me to know that she idolizes my mom. Her eyes stay on me, and she bites her bottom lip, which is extremely distracting. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to.
“ And that’s just one of the parents who raised me and my siblings and taught us everything they know. The other parent— my dad— is legendary at the CSA .”
She puts her fork down and crosses her arms. “ Fine . The CIA would probably name an entire division after the Lancasters . They’d let your whole family work there.”
“ Except for Blake .”
She waves a hand. “ Except for Blake .” Then she picks up a piece of cheese and punctuates the air with it. “ But they’d let him if he wanted to.”
I try to hide my grin. I believe that is one point for me. But I didn’t tell her all that so I can claim a win for getting her to change her mind about something. I did it because, crazy as it seems, I apparently really want her to like my family.
Now what I really want is to hear more about hers. “ How about you? Do you have any siblings?” I don’t think she does, but I guess we don’t know each other as well as we thought we did.
“ Nope . Only child here. But I was in a foster home once for almost a year and a half when I was fourteen. Two boys were in the same foster home— actual brothers— one was a year older than me and one a year younger. They felt like what I imagine brothers feel like. I still talk to them once a year or so.”
I’ve never known what it’s like to not have a bunch of siblings, and I can’t imagine how lonely it must’ve been to be an only child in foster care. Back in Moldova , she told me about her mom. Things hadn’t exactly been stable at home with her. She’d gone into foster care permanently when she was six. Her mom passed away at some point. Even though she hadn’t been living with her, she’d told me how hard that was. It meant she wasn’t only a foster kid— she was also an orphan.
So I had gathered that her dad wasn’t in the picture, but I’ve never actually asked her about him. “ And your dad?”
I’m not even sure she’ll answer. But after a moment, she takes her tray of food and twists to set it on the nightstand. When she turns back, she says, “ My mom wasn’t ever really a get-their-last-name kind of person. So when I asked about my dad, she didn’t have much to tell me, except the first names of four possibilities. For one, she couldn’t remember whether it was Brian or Ryan . For another, she said the name he gave her was likely a nickname. None of the four ever found out that they might be my dad— she didn’t have a clue how to even find them.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then chuckles softly. “ So , of course, I became obsessed with people’s last names. I learned how to read pretty well during Kindergarten , and especially while I was in that first foster home. When I was back home after that, every time my mom brought a guy back to our place, I would catch him before he left the next morning and ask him for his full name. Then I would write it down so if I ever got a sibling, we would know who their dad was.”
“ But you never got a sibling.”
“ No . But other than my necklace, that little notebook was the one thing I carried with me to each foster home.” She smiles. “ I read back through it once as an adult. I’d thought I was so good at reading at the time, but those were about the most creative spellings of names I’ve ever seen.”
I chuckle softly, too. Then I close my eyes and rub my forehead, thinking back to the comment I made at the gallery when explaining our names “ Account ” and “ Stainless .” I’d said something along the lines of no one being able to look at her without saying “ I know exactly who your daddy is.” I hadn’t figured it out at the time, but it was the comment I had made right before she started acting like something was wrong.
I meet her eyes. “ I’m sorry for the comment I made about your dad at the gallery.”
“ You were making it about Account’s and Stainless’s fictional dad.”
“ Still . I am sorry.”
She gives me a smile that’s sad but also something else. I’m not quite sure what. Then she looks at her watch and says, “ We should probably get to bed.”
I nod and take both of our food trays out to the hall for pickup. Then I head into the bathroom that’s almost big enough to fit my shoulders and arms as I’m pulling off a shirt and change into a tee and shorts. Once I come out, Zoe heads in to change.
I’m getting the blankets situated on the cot when she comes out, wearing an oversized nightshirt. I swallow, look up at the ceiling, and grasp for anything to think of to divert my mind, coming up blank. I can’t be feeling so close to Zoe emotionally right now and also let in thoughts about her legs.
I look down at the blanket on my cot. Wrinkles in the bedding. I can focus on smoothing them.
“ Ledger , you can have the bed.”
“ Nope , it’s yours.”
“ You’re not going to fit on that thing.”
I meet her eyes and repeat with more conviction, “ The bed is yours.”
She looks like she’s going to argue, and I’m already thinking of what my responses could be, but for some reason, she just sighs, gets into bed, and turns off the light. “ Goodnight , Ledger .”
“ Goodnight , Zoe .”
She’s right. I really don’t fit on this cot. And I’m a little nervous about turning over in the thing— I’m pretty sure it’ll either break or dump me on the floor if I do. Even though this isn’t the critter-filled CIA safe house, the thought of lying on the cement floor makes me think of dozens of rats and cats all over it, living in peace. So I mostly stay still .
Several long minutes go by and I’m nowhere closer to being asleep when Zoe says, “ Ledger ?”
“ Yeah ?”
It’s quiet for a moment before she says, “ I’m sorry about Moldova .”