“Yeah,” I croak into my cell phone.
“You awake?”
Adam. I take the phone away from my ear and check the time. Two AM. “Do I sound awake?”
“Max called me. Said you’re taking too long. Something’s going down a couple days from now and he wants you to put things in motion.”
I sit up in bed. “What? Since when?”
“I dunno. I’m just the messenger.”
I sit there thinking about this for a moment.
“You got any ideas?”
“About?”
“Sasha Cherlin, who else.”
I have a lot of ideas about that girl, I chuckle to myself. But none of them have to do with this job. “Maybe one or two.”
“Then do it. Call me if you need anything.”
I get the hang-up beeps from Adam and fall back into my pillows. Sasha Cherlin. What an enigma. I’ve thought of nothing else but this girl since the moment I laid eyes on her. I’m glad Max is getting restless. I’ve been restless for months. I’m tired of waiting around for something to happen. And I might have a way to get her to move.
I set my alarm and close my eyes so I can picture it in my head. And then I fall back asleep wondering what it would be like to kiss her.
Sasha Aston—AKA Sasha Cherlin
Place of birth—unknown. No official birth certificate for Sasha Cherlin exists. Sasha Aston, however, was born in Denver, CO to parents unknown.
Age—twenty-four
Blonde hair, blue eyes, five-six
Attended and graduated from Regis Jesuit High School, Aurora, Colorado
BS in Geological Engineering from Colorado School of Mines, Golden, Colorado
Current position—PhD student at University of Kansas in anthropology, Lawrence, KS
Job history—none
Criminal history—none
That’s it. After four months of digging, surveillance, and greasing palms with favors and promises to gain access to files I have no clearance for, this is the extent of my information about Sasha Cherlin. No parents, not even her real ones, are listed. But I know she was a Company kid.
I have my sources, and she admitted it in that one encounter we had at DIA when she acknowledged she knew Nicholas Tate. She never went to an elementary or middle school before she moved in with Ford Aston from what I can tell. I’ve checked every school in the west and found nothing.
But I’ve known one other kid with this very same background. The pattern fits—with one exception. Sasha is still alive.
I’d like to know how she managed that, to be honest. I’d like to know who raised her, what secrets she’s keeping, how she got inducted into a makeshift family of con men and killers. I’d like to get inside her house. Turn over every mattress, pry up every floorboard, and peek into every crevice. But that place is locked up tight unless she’s entering or exiting.
What kind of grad student has security like that? What kind of person, period?
I’ve looked into her adopted father’s personal history, and it almost reads as true. He has parents, at least. Very rich family with a long history in Denver and the surrounding areas. He has children, a home, and a job. Two, actually. A semi-famous television producer of reality shows and one long-running science-fiction series on a major cable network. And he’s on a CIA watchlist for criminal hackers. That guy’s history is a case all its own.
But I don’t care about her adopted father’s indiscretions. I want more info on Sasha and the only way to get that info is through Sasha.
Max is right. We need to move this case forward and I need to do whatever it takes to make that happen. We can’t afford to wait until Nick makes a move. If we let this opportunity slip by we’ll lose any ground we’ve gained over the past four years.
But Sasha does not seem to be on the same timeline as us. I’ve followed her relentlessly. I’ve bugged her office phone. I’ve even gotten two students to spy on her. One asked her out on a date, which she declined. She does not party, she does not have friends, she does not do anything even remotely suspicious.
But I know who she is. So I’m not falling for any of it.
Sasha Cherlin might be the most dangerous woman in this entire country. She has no weapons registered to her, but if my sources are right—and I believe they are—she has guns. She possibly has explosives. And she knows how to use them. Furthermore, just the fact that she admitted to being Sasha Cherlin is enough to put her on every watchlist in the country. Probably every watchlist in the world.
But the fact that she is not on any of these lists—even though her adopted father is—tells me something I can’t ignore.
The Company is still taking care of her.
It all adds up to something and even though I can think of a few scenarios that might involve the Company reasserting their claim on this girl, none of them are good for her.
They want her skills for a job. They want information. Or they want to kill her. These are the only three possible reasons for Nick’s renewed interest in Sasha Cherlin.
I want her for all those things too. I don’t want to kill her, but if she’s working for them again—if that meeting I interrupted when I approached her at DIA has something to do with the Company—then I will.
They have a serious blood debt with me and I’ve waited a long time to get even. I’ve lost a lot trying to get to this moment in time. I’ve put things on the line. People on the line. And Sasha Cherlin will not yank the only opportunity I have for payback away from me because she’s careful.
She has to fuck up sometime. And I need that fuckup to happen soon or years of waiting and work will all go down the drain. Hell, I might lose my position at the FBI over this if anyone finds out. And that’s not all. I could be charged with treason just for looking at the information Max gave me.
And Madrid. She’s been professional and she was sent by Max. He’s one of the only people I can trust, so I accept her as a partner. But who is she? Why is she here? Why is she on this case that isn’t even a case? How did she manage to get assigned to a top-secret mission like this?
There’s only one answer for that.
She’s involved.
Like me. Like my brother. Like Sasha.
Madrid and I don’t work the same shift. She takes days, trailing Sasha discreetly at school using campus cameras from a remote location. And I take nights watching her house. No one comes. No one goes. At school, she’s an exemplary student, teacher, and citizen. No parties, no drugs, no drinking, no friends, no men, no nothing.
Sasha is a living, walking ghost.
I check my watch from the front room of the apartment across the street from her. She leaves every day at seven-fifty and walks to school. That’s in three minutes. So I grab my keys and walk out the door. Today, she will have company.
I paid the student who rented this place four months’ rent to get him to move out and let me have it, still under his name. And my four months are just about over. We need to change the course of things and I plan on doing that today.
When I get out onto the street it’s seven forty-nine. I wait in the front-door vestibule until she exits and pushes through into the rain, locks up that fortress she lives in, and crosses the street.
I take her in as I exit the building. She has a look to her. A style specifically for school. When she came home from Peru she was casual class. But she’s changed since last summer. At least on the outside. She started school wearing slacks and blouses. Kinda nerdy, if you ask me. But as the weeks went on her style morphed into jeans and grungy t-shirts. She wears a coat that one might find on a cowboy—those short jackets made out of tan canvas. Her hair started the semester in a tidy up-do, but now it hangs, covering her face. When she turns and sees me, I catch a moment of surprise. But it only lasts a moment, and her expression never changes. I’m just very good at reading people.
She walks down her front steps and turns left, towards the main street that leads to campus. I join her on the sidewalk as she opens her umbrella. “Miss Aston. May I walk with you?”
She smiles without turning her head. “I doubt I can stop you.” She gives me a one-second onceover. “I’ve been wondering when you’d show up again.”
“Oh, I never left.”
“I know.” She snorts. “I see you.”
Hmm. “How’s school going? Anything going on I should know about?”
“Well, if you like hearing about lab results, student teaching woes, and plans for winter break, I’m happy to tell you all about it. These are the only thing I’m enjoying these days.”
“I’m not surprised.”
She sighs, like I’m boring her. And I probably am.
“I mean, lab results, I don’t know what you’re doing as far as that goes. I can see you enjoy your field of study, so the joy you get from teaching seems in line, and the fact that you have no plans for your break pretty much sums up the rest of your social life here on campus.”
I get a scowl from this and that makes me smile because I know she has no plans.
“Do you have something you’d like to discuss with me, Agent?” She stops walking. The rain is dripping down the sides of her black umbrella, and I’m well on my way to soaked. “Because I already told you what I know and I’ve got nothing to add.”
“Well,” I say, lowering my voice to something just above a whisper, “I’ve got some news.” I clear my throat to give her time to react, but she is passive and still. “There’s been some buzz in the Agency that Nick Tate might be planning a trip to the US.”
She shifts from one foot to the next, like she’s anxious to get away from me. “I’m not sure what that has to do with me.”
“I think he’s coming to see you. And quite honestly, I’m worried about it.” I frown to illustrate my concern. “You’re locked up tight in that house of yours, but you walk to school. Maybe you can let me drive you from now on?”
She shakes her head and starts walking again. “No, thank you.”
I walk alongside her until we get to the corner and have to cross the street. We let a car pass and then step off the curb together. “I’d make it worth your while.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She walks faster now. School is only two blocks away, and we’re not very far from the museum where she has her tiny grad school office. I glance over my shoulder and see one of the students Madrid has placed on Sasha, and give him a nod. He drops back into a crowd of girls and lets them pass.
I only have a few minutes to make my move. “I’ve just noticed you’re not very social. No boyfriend, no dates, not even a girls’ night out. Nothing on your calendar the entire semester. And I get it. You’re not one of those pretty, popular girls—”
“Excuse me?” She huffs out a laugh.
“—so I thought you could use a date.”
Now she lets off a guffaw. “Wow, that was a pretty pathetic way to ask a girl on a date. And even though I might appear hard up and undesirable, I’m going to have to pass on that.”
I take her arm, gently, not wanting to startle her. Something tells me a startled Sasha is a bad thing. I lean into her space. She smells like shampoo and flowers. “Miss Aston, I’m not saying you’re undesirable at all. I’m just saying you could use a night off.”
She looks down at my hand on her arm and I remove it, but when her blue eyes meet mine, I feel a little wave of apprehension. “I said no, thank you.”
She starts walking again. I let her get a few paces ahead, so she can wonder if I will pursue, and once she shoots that glance over her shoulder I jog a little to catch up. “OK,” I say calmly. “But everyone needs to have some fun, Sasha. And I’ve been on this boring job for months. I’d like to have some fun.”
“Agents don’t have fun with suspects.” She laughs.
I like the sound of that laugh. It was real and this girl is so serious. I had started wondering how deep her unhappiness runs. “I told you months ago, you’re not a suspect. We just want to work with you.”
“Agents don’t have fun with prospective agents, either.”
“Since when?” I chuckle.
“So date Madrid if you need to get laid. I’ll let her spies know that you’re interested. She’s pretty, but I doubt she’s getting much action the way she’s all over me.”
“Madrid isn’t even in town.” She is, but she’s behind the scenes. Only watching from remote locations. “Besides, she’s not my type.”
“So what’s your type?”
“Ah, I knew you were interested.” I take her arm and wrap it in mine as we walk. She tries to pull away, but it’s a half-hearted attempt at best. So I grab hold with my other hand. “Madrid is all sorts of tough, you know? Those women who have a chip on their shoulder. They work a man’s job and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! You did not just say that.” She stops again, and by this time I’m good and wet. Rain is dripping down my face. But this is a reaction I can work with. “So she’s a bitch, is that what you’re saying?” A snort from Sasha at that. “She’s serious and goal-oriented, so that makes her tough. Well, I have news for you, Agent Jax, I’m not a soft girl either, so I have no idea what you’re talking about when you say I’m your type.”
We’re at the corner of the last street we need to cross before we get on campus and Sasha pushes the walk button repeatedly.
“You seem soft to me.” I say it in a low voice again. This makes her stiffen a little. “And I’m not disparaging Madrid. I don’t know her very well, actually. I just don’t like career women.”
“Oh my God,” Sasha says, shaking her head. Another student standing at the light with us shoots me a disgusted look. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m a career woman.”
“Ah,” I say, waving my hand at her just as the walk light illuminates. We head across the street with her once again struggling to free herself from my arm, but I hold onto her tightly. “You’re not, Sasha. you’re playing at it. Dabbling. You’re filthy rich, you have a thing for dinosaurs, I guess. So you figured you’d waste some time at school because you don’t know what else to do with yourself. Nick left you behind. You never got over it. And so you spend your days immersed in science labs and boring lectures. You stay away from men and friends because you can’t relate. And maybe Nick isn’t coming back. You think about it all the time, don’t you? Are you saving yourself for him?”
“I’d slap the shit out of him,” the girl in front says over her shoulder. “Punch him in the face.”
“Hey,” I bark at the feminist. “This is private.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t be saying that shit in public,” she retorts before veering away from us.
Sasha finally tugs her arm from my grasp and starts walking fast towards the museum. We are steps away and I’m not sure my approach is working yet. I did get her to talk, but it’s not enough. I need movement on this case and I need it today. So I jog to catch up and then get ahead of her so I can open the door.
She rolls her eyes at me, but she steps through, folding up her umbrella. I follow her in as she makes her way to the stairs. “What are you doing?” she asks in a hushed, but angry, whisper. There’s no one in here. The museum isn’t normally busy this early in the morning and there’s no classrooms in here. Just the grad school offices on the third floor. “Go away. I’m at work. I’m pretty sure agents are not allowed to harass upstanding citizens at work for no reason.”
The stairs are not enclosed. The building is old and elaborate with dark hardwood banisters and marble steps. But it is a little dark in this area since there are no windows. She takes the steps two at a time but when she gets to the landing between the first and second floors, I grab her hand and pull her close for a moment. “I think that girl was right. We need some privacy.”
“Agent Jax,” Sasha growls. “I’m not interested in your offer, your work, or your interest in me. And if you touch me again”—she pulls her arm away a final time—”I will break all your fingers.”
I put my hands up in surrender. “OK, look. I heard some news, I said. And I think he’s about to make his move. I don’t think you’re safe.”
“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, Agent.” She says it with determination as she unbuttons her raincoat, but I catch a moment of doubt in her eyes. It throws me for a second. Because I know she’s quite capable. If I had to bet which of us was more capable, I’d put my money on her. So this is interesting. “I don’t need you to protect me, I have not heard from Nick Tate in ten years, and I have no interest in a—”
I cup my wet hands around her face and kiss her.
She drops her umbrella and struggles for a moment, but when my tongue slips between her lips, she stops. Not quite giving in—her hands are gripping my biceps as I play with her mouth—but she doesn’t pull away. I push her backwards until she bumps up against the wall, pressing my wet clothes into her open coat. And I slide one hand behind her neck to draw her closer while the other one fists her hair.
Her tongue responds, twisting together with mine. Her chest begins to rise and fall more rapidly, and then she is panting in my mouth. Fuck.
I pull back and release her hair so I can palm her cheek. I slip my thumb up to her lips and she actually moans. And when I try to slip my thumb into her mouth, she opens for me.
Good God.
I stare down at her as she looks up at me. My hair is dripping water down her face, but she stays absolutely still. “I want to take you out tonight, Miss Cherlin.” She swallows when I call her by her real name. “I’m not taking no for an answer. So I’ll pick you up at eight.”
And then I kiss her again—this time no tongue—and turn away to jump down the stairs.
When I get to the bottom I turn around. “Hey,” I call up to her. She’s still backed up against the wall, her mouth open from the kiss. It makes me grin to see her so caught off guard.
“What?” she whispers, her hand reaching towards her heart.
I hold up both hands, palms out, and laugh. “I’ve still got all ten fingers, killer. Looks like you’ve lost your game.” And then I drop the smile and give her a stern look that makes her face scrunch up. “If we hire you to help us, you’re gonna wanna get that game back, understand?”
I don’t wait for an answer, just turn and walk away. Out of her line of sight from the stairs, and then out of the building. It’s still raining outside, but the only wet thing on my mind right now is that girl’s mouth.