Chapter 9 #2
Ximena swears under her breath in response.
“Yeah, he’s well and truly neutralized it.
” I rub the spot in between my eyebrows with my thumb.
“Let’s take stock of the situation Raffaele’s put me in, okay?
” A wheezing sigh forces itself through my lips.
The calls between an agent and their handler aren’t monitored—something about plausible deniability.
“Graham’s only here for a bit of freedom and a commutation of his sentence.
My role is to both protect him and keep him in my custody until we reach the end of the assignment. ”
Of course, I’m choosing not to mention this morning, when he’d disappeared for an unknown amount of time. My gaze falls on the empty champagne bottle on the bistro table. Lips thinned, I look back at Graham through the glass, who sends me a small wave and a wink.
One of us will die, alright. I’m going to make sure it’s him.
“Which is already like trying to hold onto an oiled up rabbit,” I continue through my teeth.
“The unfortunate thing, Ximena, is that the man’s not an idiot.
He knows my hold on him is about as strong as wet tissue paper.
He’s going to keep pushing the boundaries—because he can—and all I can do is roll with the punches and try to keep this mission on track. ”
An extended silence stretches through the phone. I allow my eyes to slide shut for a half-second, relishing the nipping breeze that tickles a strand of white-blonde hair across my cheek. Street sounds drift up from below and beg to be noticed.
“You’re right,” she finally replies.
Back to reality.
“I can’t do anything about it, but you’re right.” Shuffling paper on the other end. “I’ll come up with something to tell Raffaele and get back to you so that our briefs align.”
My mouth nearly hinges open. I must’ve really made a convincing case.
“Thank you, Ximena.”
“But you’ve only just made it past the twenty-four hour mark. If this is how it’s already going…”
“You don’t need to lecture me about?—”
“No,” she cuts me off. Her voice is hushed. “I don’t care how you get there—you must be successful, and there can’t be any hiccups. I’ll cover for you wherever I can.”
I swallow. “What are you saying?”
A door clicks shut, and there’s footsteps before she responds. “I’m saying that if everything after Chelyabinsk was punishment, then this is your test. I don’t even know everything, Sloane, but I’ve been here long enough to feel the tides changing.”
“You’ve made it more than clear that this is how I get back into Raffaele’s good graces,” I reply, watching Graham flip through one of the coffee table books.
“No seas necia.”
Don’t be foolish. There’s that unnecessary maternal tone I know and love.
“Ximena, I can’t help but feel that I’m being set up for failure here.”
“I will always have your back,” she replies, bristling. “You can be so short-sighted. There are more factors at play than just the ones in front of your face.”
Speaking in riddles is doing little to ease my nerves. “Are you in a secured area?”
Ximena hesitates. “Not completely.”
“We can finish this conversation later.”
“Fine,” she concedes, delving into the details of the new cameras she’ll send over via courier.
“A gun,” I blurt out, “I’m going to need a gun.”
“It’s not consistent with your cover?—”
“Send a gun,” I snap, words laced with barely-detectable panic.
“Okay,” she relents, “I’ll find a way.”
I can’t shake the feeling that this assignment will continue to be wrought with hail marys and last resorts. That this isn’t the last time the board will be shuffled.
Ximena’s still instructing me on all the information going forward when my hands suddenly feel warm and sticky. I glance down, heart in my throat, expecting to see rivulets of thick crimson trailing down my fingers. Nothing’s there. Of course. I haven’t seen that much blood since.
Squeezing my fists closed, I shake the sensation away.
The deep ache, the one that rears its head and bites down on my sanity if I lose focus, clicks its jaw.
Threatening the inevitable if I don’t pull back and regain control.
It took months to conquer the nightmares.
The flashes of panic at the sound of gunshots vanished through long hours spent at the range.
That pain, though, is a part of my DNA now.
All I can do is ignore it and act like nothing’s changed.
I can stew in grief, allowing my feet to stick in the mire until it drags me under, or I can survive. Forward is the only direction I can move. The rear view mirror is a killer.
“Call as soon as anything else changes,” Ximena’s saying, her voice coming back into focus.
“I’m your backstop before information reaches Raffaele’s ears.
Kat’s gone, and Mateo’s got his hands full.
You need someone to look out for you at HQ, Sloane—but I can’t do that if I have no idea what’s happening. ”
She’s not trained like I was. I can hear the slight waver in her words, the tension as she strains to sound unworried.
So, I draw my shoulders back and nod even though she can’t see. “I’ve been through worse and come out the other side. Remember that incident with the Somali pirates? When I discovered that I can hold my breath for a full two minutes longer than I thought?”
I force a carefree laugh. Sometimes I forget that the most excitement she sees on an average day is what to pick for dinner. Of course the idea of another catastrophe would send her into a state of terror.
She says I can’t see the forest for the trees, and she’s right. It’s how we survive. Do the next thing, follow orders, don’t dwell on what you’ve seen—if you can help it.
When she’s looking at the bigger picture, it appears to be insurmountable.
Ximena doesn’t laugh. My attempt to inject some levity for her peace of mind didn’t go far at all. “Thin ice, Sloane,” she says. “You don’t want to fall through.”
The call ends, and I’m forced to tamp it all down again. I slip back inside once I’ve composed myself.
Graham looks up from a large book of photography in his lap. “That was quite the laugh out there.” I reach for my bag, ignoring him. “Do you think they know it was fake?” he continues.
“It wasn’t fake.”
He grins. “Whatever you say.”
My hands plunge blindly into my duffel and find the zippered compartment.
Striding toward him, I make a show of cuffing his wrist to a large piece of furniture beside him.
I wish I’d had enough mental clarity to think of this last night.
I can’t maim him, I think, but I can at least make sure he doesn’t slip away again.
I’m about to go to the bathroom for a shower when he clears his throat.
“What?” I snap, turning back to him.
Graham motions to the handcuffs. “You don’t think I can remove these?”
“I’m sure you can. But if you do, I’ll kill you.”
“Not very sporting of you, Agent.”
I pointedly cast my eyes to the empty champagne bottle outside. “Did you honestly think drugging me last night would win you any favor?”
“Didn’t want to bother you,” he replies, tapping his fingers on his knee. “It was a mercy, really—you needed the sleep.”
“You’re in my custody, Graham. Where you go, I go.”
“How romantic.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and proceed to the bathroom.
“What if there’s a fire?” he calls to my back.
“Then, mercifully, we’ll both die.”