The Agent
The humming of Mateo’s pager vibrating on the nightstand was just the thing I needed to stop faking sleep.
I’d been lying here all night, eyes closed but not dreaming.
I avoided tossing and turning by laying on my back.
I didn’t want to wake Mateo. He was lying beside me, his arm slung over my waist and his face pressed in my hair.
I could tell from the occasional brushes of his fingers on my hips and kisses on my head that he wasn’t fully asleep either.
A part of me was glad he was worried about me, but another felt bad for burdening him with my feelings.
This is what I’d been asking him for. Now that he’d finally given it to me, I shouldn’t be crying over it.
Mateo rolled over with a drowsy groan and grabbed his pager off the nightstand.
I turned onto my side and watched as he peered at the message through narrowed eyes. “New assignment?” I asked.
“Mhm.” The hand with the pager fell as the other ran over his face. “What time is it?”
I looked past him at the digital clock atop the dresser. “Eight-thirty.” I pushed myself up. “Are you hungry? I’ll make breakfast.”
Mateo didn’t have a chance to respond before I was out of bed and scurrying out the door.
After being still for so long with so much on my mind, I needed to move a little bit. Release some of the anxiety that built up overnight.
Cooking was a good way to do that. I knew how to make omelets and homefries by heart, so I didn’t need to think too much about it. I was able to move around the kitchen on auto-pilot. Honestly, I would’ve preferred going for a run, but I doubted Mateo was ready to let me roam around on my own.
I put on some music to distract myself from thinking about Marcos’ broken limbs and empty eyes.
I tried to focus on the lyrics, humming along to some of my favorites.
The music pushed away the clouds hovering over my head, allowing some room for sunlight to creep in.
I assumed Mateo and Maria had their own ways of coping with this job. Perhaps music could be one of mine.
Footsteps were padding down the hall by the time I finished making breakfast. Mateo and Maria emerged through the doorway, both their eyes hanging low from drowsiness.
Maria gave me a wave and perched herself on the marble island across from the stove.
Mateo continued to stroll towards me. The fresh scent of his bodywash wafted through my nose as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pecked a kiss on my lips. “Smells good in here,” he murmured against my lips.
I smiled. “Tastes even better.”
His brow rose. He leaned down to put his lips against my ear. “Oh really?” He whispered, his already baritone voice dropping even lower.
Maria loudly cleared her throat, reminding us we weren’t alone.
Mateo rolled his eyes as he pulled away from me. “Don’t act like you and the hacker aren’t ten times worse,” he told her.
I couldn’t help but giggle when she flipped him off.
We all sat around the island and ate together. Mateo turned on the small television I hadn’t realized was sitting on the counter, so we could watch reruns of old sitcoms.
Once we were finished eating, Mateo took over the dishes while Maria and I headed into the living room. Maria connected her laptop to the television, so I didn’t have to look over her shoulder at the computer screen.
I watched as her fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard to access the encrypted file sent to her computer. My brows rose at the familiar face that popped up on the screen when she opened it.
Chester Roswell ran in some of the same circles as my stepfather.
He was one of the new-money billionaires who’d built their business from the ground up.
From how my step-father used to speak about him, he seemed like an alright guy.
The only gripe a lot of the others in their circle had was how fast he’d blown up.
Before, I thought it was a usual case of old money versus new money.
But, knowing someone paid to have him killed, their suspicions might have been well-placed.
Instructions accompanied the bullet points listing his basic information. The buyer wanted him to die at a charity gala Roswell was hosting this weekend - in a dramatic but untraceable fashion.
The latter stumped me. How were we supposed to kill him in front of a huge crowd without being seen?
“Your wheels look like they’re turning,” Mateo said as he leaned in the doorway. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m trying to think of discreet methods for murder,” I replied. “If there even is such a thing.”
“There is. Picture the event. Think about the people milling around the room. The things they’d be doing.”
Nodding, I thought back to the fancy events I’ve been to with my family. All the people. All the movement. All the clattering of silverware and clinks of glasses.
“Wait,” I murmured, an idea finally coming to mind.
“What about the champagne? The wait staff are always carrying around glasses and passing it out to the patrons. We could spike one somehow with something lethal and make sure it goes directly to him. It’d work better if we could do it during the dinner portion where everyone’s already seated.
We could swap out an old drink for the new one. One sip and…you know.”
Maria smiled. Spoken like a true pro, she signed, mouthing the words to assist with my understanding.
Mateo nodded in agreement. “Sounds like a good plan. Slipping in with the wait staff will be easy. No one bothers to look at a roster, especially at events like these. You’ll be invisible.”
“Wait, you’re sending me in to do this?”
“It’s your plan. And another chance to prove yourself as one of us. Throwing that man off a balcony was a nice warm-up. Now, it’s time to see you do the real thing. You up for that?”
“Yeah,” I said, straightening my composure. “I am.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Good. Because this one’s all yours.”
The flutters in my stomach from his ghost of a smile made me think he was joking. Turns out he was dead serious.
In the days leading up to the gala, he let me take charge of all the prep. While he and Maria had no problem assisting with whatever I needed, I was the one who had to make the request.
I had Maria get the seating chart and ballroom layout from the event coordinator’s files while Mateo worked on getting his hands on a poison to slip into the champagne. The only tasks I really had to do were find an appropriate uniform to blend in with the wait staff and study the event floorplans.
Since it was Roswell’s event, he was going to be the center of attention.
People were going to be swarming around him all night.
Meaning he wasn’t going to be paying any mind to whatever drinks or foods he plucked from passing trays.
My challenge was squirming through the crowds to get close enough to him.
As I visualized the crowds and possible pathways for proximity, I was almost reminded of the undercover stints I’d done with Gabriel.
They were usually similar to ones like this where it was one night and only for a few hours.
We’d infiltrate organization hangouts in disguises and follow them into their vice of choice.
Now, instead of cuffing my targets, I’d be killing them.
The thought made my stomach turn on the night of the gala. I fidgeted with my earpiece for a few moments longer than I should’ve. The vial of lethal liquid in my hands weighed me down, feeling as though it was nearly a hundred pounds.
“You good?” Mateo asked, joining me at the van doors.
“Yeah,” I said with a nod.
He cocked his head, one side of his mouth turning downward in disbelief.
His expression added to my nausea. After my last mission, the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint him. Mateo didn’t seem like a man who gave second chances. It was in my best interest not to make him regret it.
I leaned up to kiss him before he could say anything. “Be right back,” I promised as I opened the van doors and hopped down onto the concrete.
My no slip shoes were silent as I hurried across the street towards the back of the hotel where the event was being held. I slipped in through the back exit of the kitchen.
Almost instantly, I was thrust into the chaos of a busy kitchen. Chefs were yelling over the sounds of chopping knives and oven alarms. Servers were bustling around near the front doors, coming in with empty trays and heading back out with full ones.
None of them paid me any mind as I made a beeline towards the rack of trays holding freshly filled glasses of champagne.
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was looking, I took a ribbon labeled “Reserved” and slipped it around one of the glass stems. The vial of poison followed, blending in with the bubbles.
I hoisted the tray up with one hand and held it up over my shoulder. I followed one of the other servers out the door into the main ballroom.
The elegant strings of the instruments played by the live band hovered above the soft chatter buzzing through the room. Patrons, most notably older than the crowds my mother usually ran with, were milling about.
I glanced over the crowds in search of Roswell. His head of silver hair was hard to pick out in a room damn near full of them.
Slowly, I made my way across the room, offering drinks to the other patrons I passed. While I doubted anyone was watching, I didn’t want to appear suspicious.
Within a few minutes, I spotted Roswell near the stage where the live band played. His arm was around his noticeably younger wife, and he was laughing at whatever the man on the other side of him was saying.
Unlike last time, I didn’t read too much into his file. I didn’t need to know about his hobbies or his family or his life. That’d lead to me humanizing him and second guessing delivering death to his doorstep. All I needed to know was the plan to kill him.
And I think only having that information was better for me. Seeing a face and not having a story attached to it made sure there was no hesitation in my steps, no rapid thuds in my chest, and no potential regrets. It was easier this way.
“Um, excuse me,” a voice behind me put a pin in my determined stride.
I nearly dropped my tray when I looked over my shoulder and saw a pair of brown eyes I used to know. Ones I used to care for.
Justin’s brows pinched as his eyes ran over me. His mouth opened and closed, struggling to find words. “I’m…I’m sorry. I, uh…I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just, uh…you look…you look just like…my ex-girlfriend.”
I feigned confusion, staring at him as if he’d lost his goddamn mind. “Pardon?”
“She died,” he blurted out. “Recently, actually. Looking at you is like looking at a ghost. For a second, I thought…” He cracked a nervous smile. “Fuck, I’m making this awkward, aren’t I?”
“Extremely,” I admitted.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his eyes falling down to my name tag. “Mia,” he read. “I’ll, um… I’ll leave you to it.” He plucked a champagne glass from my tray and tipped it in my direction.
I turned on my heel and hurried off before he could stare any longer.
Justin was the last person from my old life I expected to be here.
He and Chester Roswell didn’t run in the same circles.
Not that I knew of, anyway. But, it’d been a while since I’ve seen him.
Maybe time changed him more than I thought it would.
I know it’s definitely taken its toll on me.
“Ah,” Roswell said as I approached him and his small posse with the champagne tray. “Just in time for the honorary toast.”
I handed him the ribboned glass while the others grabbed the remaining few glasses. I hadn’t timed it this way, but seeing him fall in front of everyone after a public toast fit the dramatics the buyer probably wanted.
After gracing him with a smile, I turned on my heel and hurried back through the crowds towards the kitchen.
Behind me, Roswell’s voice replaced the soft instruments of the band.
I glanced over my shoulder to see him standing on the stage with his mouth to the microphone and champagne glass in hand.
As I looked away, my eyes fell on Justin who was still watching from the other side of the room.
His brows were still pulled together, and his head was cocked as if trying to rationalize what he was seeing.
Either he was going crazy or there was a woman who truly looked just like the one he used to want forever with.
The film over his eyes was the only assurance that he didn’t truly think the old me had risen from the dead.
For a brief moment, he was wearing his grief on his sleeve.
Although it was working in my favor, I couldn’t help but wonder: did I really look that different?
The abrupt sounds of choking and sputtering didn’t allow me time to ponder over that question.
The room erupted into an orchestra of horrified screams and urgent demands for help.
Other servers rushed past me, curious about the sudden noise, as I ducked back through the double doors into the kitchen.
The cooks ceased their movements, the sounds from the ballroom echoing through the kitchen.
All of them stared past the doors, their brows stitching together in confusion.
They didn’t even glance in my direction as I slipped past them and exited through the same door from which I came.