A couple of days later, I go back to my apartment. At first, I enter cautiously, terrified of my own shadow, but nothing seems amiss. Everything is exactly as I left it before my trip, only a little dustier. That night, sitting with the curtains drawn and the television on low, I realize that I’ve never been more grateful for the fact that I have a small, studio apartment. I can only imagine how I’d feel in a large spacious three-bedroom house all by myself. At least here I can see the whole place from my bed, and I know that no one is secretly climbing in through one of the other bedroom windows.

After a couple of days of coming home after work, I finally start to relax. Maybe Cal isn’t going to come and surprise me. Maybe Logan will let me just be. Carrying a large bouquet of baby’s breath and my groceries, I struggle to find my keys in my purse.

I really need a smaller purse, I say to myself. Everything in this one just falls to the bottom and it takes me forever to find it again.

Finally, I open the door and head straight to the kitchen.

“Hello Avery,” I hear an unfamiliar voice coming from somewhere behind me. I think I have my purse on the counter, but I drop it to the floor with a large thump sound. All the contents spill out.

“What the hell do you want?” I ask, grabbing at my purse and pulling out my new gun. I just got it two days ago, and I just learned how to load it. Unfortunately, I hadn’t loaded it yet.

“Hey, hey, hey, Avery. Please put that away,” the man says. I peer into the darkness. The curtains are closed and I can’t see his face very well.

I don’t listen to him. Instead, I stand up straight and point the gun right at him, with my arms extended just like I’ve seen Detective Benson do hundreds of times on Law and Order: SVU. I’m bluffing, but he doesn’t have to know that.

“Get the fuck out of here,” I say. I hold the gun steady. I don’t want him to know how terrified I am of it and of the very act of pointing it at him.

The man remains seated. He looks calm.

“Avery, I am Director Franklin Truman. I work for the CIA. I am happy to show you my credentials if you just promise to not shoot me.”

He motions toward his jacket’s breast pocket and waits for me to respond.

“Can I get it?” he asks.

I nod, but keep my arms extended. What the hell is the CIA doing in my apartment? He has to be lying, I decide. But I secretly hope that he isn’t. My gun isn’t loaded, and this is pretty much the extent of what I can do with it.

Slowly, he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a badge.

I take a few steps forward to get a better view. The picture looks like it was taken years ago, but it’s him. Even if he is fifty pounds heavier now. For a second, I hesitate. Maybe it’s not him after all, but I know that I have to take a chance. I don’t have any bullets, and I’m not going to shoot him anyway.

I put down my gun. Director Truman lets out a sigh.

“Nice to meet you, Avery,” he says, standing up and extending his hand. We shake hands.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. “What do you want?”

“Are you always this rude?”

“I am to strangers who barge into my place and scare me half to death.”

“I am sorry about that,” Director Truman says. “You are very good with a gun,” he adds with a coy smile. I stare at him as if he had lost his mind.

“I hate guns. I have a lunatic after me. My ex-boyfriend and the cops aren’t doing shit.”

“Still, I’m impressed.” He pulls out a pack of cigarettes.

I stare at him. He doesn’t seem to notice and pulls out a lighter.

“You can’t smoke here!” I shake my head. “This is my apartment. And if you hadn’t noticed, it’s not very big.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Director Truman puts everything away. “You just left me a little unnerved. Do you have a drink or something?”

I shake my head. “Aren’t you not supposed to drink when you’re working?”

“Do you know a lot about the CIA?” he asks, with an amused look on his face.

“I know enough. I watch TV.”

“Oh yes, television. Television makes every Tom, Dick and Harry think that he knows about the inner workings of government organizations.”

I shrug. “I still don’t really understand why you have broken into my apartment?” I ask.

I need to get this guy out of here, one way or another.

“Okay, then let’s get right to it,” he says. “Where’s Logan?”

“What?”

“Logan Davenport? You were with him last week in Tulum. Where is he?”

My heart drops to my feet. I feel my face lose all color. I feel like I’m going to faint right there and then. You didn’t do anything wrong, I say to myself. Why are you so worried?

“I don’t know. I left after the wedding, and I haven’t seen him since,” I say in my most confident tone.

I can’t tell him what happened. He’s the CIA. They arrest and detain people without fair trials! I saw Logan murder people. What does that make me? An accessory to murder? An accomplice. Various legal terms swirl around in my head. Homicide. Accessory. Death penalty. Fifth amendment.

“You had plans to leave the day after on his private plane. But instead, you took a 6 a.m. flight out of Cancun. Something must’ve happened.”

He walks up to me. Stands too close. He’s trying to intimidate me. And succeeding perfectly!

“We had a fight. I didn’t want to stay with him any longer. I could take my own flight,” I say. I meet his eyes, even though I’m terrified. I don’t look away. I don’t mumble, but inside, I’m trembling.

Director Truman takes a step back. He goes to my refrigerator and pours himself a glass of orange juice. These people don’t really have a lot of respect for private property, do they? I wonder in disgust. I mean, who the hell does he think he is?

“Come sit here,” he sits down at the dining room table in the kitchen. “I didn’t want to do this, but I guess I have to. There are some things you don’t know about Logan.”

Reluctantly, I sit down across from him. I hate the way he’s treating my apartment as if it’s his. I wonder if it’s a Truman thing or a CIA thing.

“This is top secret information. And if you were to ever tell anyone, you could be arrested and sent to jail. And we would deny it, of course.”

I feel him studying my face. My heart beats so loud it feels like it’s going to pop out of my chest. But I remain stoic, waiting for him to continue.

“Logan is a CIA agent. He works for a special unit with the CIA. He’s one of our top agents. And we haven’t heard from him since the night of the wedding.”

“A CIA agent? What does that mean exactly?” I ask. Does that mean he’s allowed to murder people? I want to ask, but I don’t. I’ve seen the movies. I’m afraid that if I tell him too much, he won’t tell me anything at all. We’re locked in a game of who knows what, and neither of us are caving easily.

“It means that in addition to being in Tulum for his brother’s wedding, he was also there on a mission. The mission was supposed to take place the night after the wedding, but we haven’t heard from him since then. And we are worried. Very worried.”

“Oh, wow,” I mumble. I shake my head. “That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not,” Director Truman says. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but it took a lot of convincing on my part to get permission to reveal to you these details. What we do is covert, and everything is on a need to know basis.”

I nod.

“So, what can you tell me?”

I take a deep breath. I have to tell him everything.

“I didn’t know he was there on a mission. He just left. Without an explanation. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Do what?” Director Truman’s eyes narrow.

“I followed him. And I saw him in that man’s hotel room. He was trying to suffocate him. And then someone else came in and he shot him. And I screamed and ran away. I thought he was a murderer. I didn’t know he worked for the CIA.”

“Well, the line is very thin there,” he smiles. “Did you see anything else?”

“I saw three men enter. But I don’t know what happened. I never heard from Logan again.”

Director Truman nods and gets up.

“So, what does this mean?” I ask. “Where’s Logan?”

“I can’t be sure,” he shrugs. “You have been very helpful. Thank you.”

Director Truman heads toward the door.

“Wait, where are you going? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. But if it happened as you had described, it’s not good.”

“Are you saying…” I can’t let myself go there. But I need to know the truth. “Are you saying that he’s dead?”

Director Truman shrugs. “I don’t know anything more than you do. Someone will be in touch with you in the near future. You will need to come into the office and get debriefed.”

I nod. He waves good-bye and leaves. I close the door behind him and lean back against it. Suddenly, my knees grow weak and I slide down to the floor.

Logan isn’t a murderer. He’s a good guy. He was just doing his job. And now…he’s dead. Is that what’s really going on? I search my mind for any details from that night – all the details that only a few days ago I tried so hard to forget. Those three men were armed. And they came there for him. He had just killed someone very important to them. Oh no, this isn’t good.