30
Simon and I were friends for only a few months, and obviously there was a lot I hadn’t known about the California senator’s son, but seeing his handwriting again, I can’t help the haunted feeling that creeps up in my belly. I imagine for Miles, who knew Simon much longer, that feeling is magnified, especially because this note is to him. And if I’m understanding things correctly, following this wild agent-to-be chase, this note is to Miles in the event that Simon was unable to do whatever it is Miles is supposed to do.
“The inside,” I say slowly, reading the words from the note for the fifth time. “As in inside St. Felicity’s?”
A long silence sits between us until Miles finally says, “Yes.”
I keep staring at the note, unable to look at Miles as his confirmation sinks in. And suddenly I hear even more in that confession, in that one yes he just uttered. I turn sharply to face him. “Inside St. Felicity’s but also inside Jack’s group.”
My feet instinctively move backward, away from him. “That night he kidnapped us, Jack offered you a spot on his team. And since Jack and others there that night aren’t around to offer the real story, you could easily slide that offer back onto the table to the remaining members of the group. That whole time we were held there, for hours, you were listening to those assholes talk. They said something or gave away a security code, something that would get you in without question.”
Miles steps closer, reaches a hand out to smooth down my probably wild make-out hair. “You really are good at this. It’s mind-blowing.”
“If I were good at this, I would’ve figured it out a week ago,” I snap, and then I shove his arm away. “Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just hand over the list of names to the godfather of St. Felicity’s and let them handle it?”
Why couldn’t Simon have done that? He might still be alive if he had.
“Right.” Miles lifts his hands, exasperated. “Because every group must have a leader? If they do, I’ve yet to meet him or her. And as for the members I have met? How am I supposed to know they aren’t part of Jack’s group, too? Hell, I don’t even know if it’s Jack’s group! He may have been calling the shots to the handful of guys with him, but that doesn’t mean he was calling all the shots. We don’t know who is involved outside of those names he left. There’s a reason Simon didn’t tell anyone.”
“Yeah, and look how that turned out for him,” I remind him.
Hurt flickers across Miles’s face. “He left me this job; am I just supposed to ignore it?”
Yes! I want to scream. Instead I lean against the wall and scrub a hand over my face. “Simon was murdered trying to play undercover hero. Am I supposed to be happy that you’ve decided to pick up where he left off?”
He opens his mouth to argue but stops, seeming to rethink his answer. “I…I don’t know.”
And for a moment he’s the same Miles who took me to the fort he built in the woods near his house, the same guy whose hands roamed over my body with boyish curiosity after he admitted his inexperience with girls. But if I dig deep into my memories, study them more closely, I’ll be able to see that he was never completely mine. Some part of him has always been devoted to a lifetime of service—as a spy, as an agent of some kind, as a hero to someone else…or something along those lines.
“So Jack’s group, the bad assassins, is involved in my dad’s con somehow?” I assess, shifting back to business.
He offers only a swift nod.
“And sometime between the last time I saw you, the night of the pre-Christmas dinner, and when you showed up in New York, you managed to pledge a lifetime allegiance to an organization of noble assassins, then found some of the bad assassins and convinced them to let you in on their money-making schemes?”
He looks like he wants to deny it but seems to know better. “Simply put. But yes.”
“If St. Felicity’s is such a secret organization, how did you join so suddenly?” I ask. “I can’t imagine they have a 1-800 number that prospective members can just dial whenever they’re ready—” The answer lands right in front of me. “Your dad. He’s a member, too, isn’t he? And he revealed this when you revealed why you wanted to go to Turkey. He probably has a phone number.”
Miles nods. “There’s a home base in Bucharest. I went through a ten-day initiation program.”
There’s a hint of something deeper, darker when he says initiation, but I’m not sure I want to know. And ten days? I think that coordinates pretty well with the length of his radio silence. I can assume he wasn’t allowed cell phone privileges while in Bucharest. At least now I know he wasn’t just blowing me off. As if the truth is any comfort.
“What happens if I make good on my promise to the FBI? If I turn in my dad,” I say. “How much danger are you going to be in with the Feds busting up the fun? I doubt you want them getting their hands into your investigation.”
“I’ll be okay,” he says.
Miles has succeeded in lying to me before but this time I hear it hovering in the space between his words and him looking at me..
I look at him, desperate for someone to send me in the right direction. If such a thing exists. “What do you want me to do? Back out? I will if it means you’ll be okay. I can use the Zanettis as my excuse.”
The words are out before I can stop. Damn those clingy girlfriend responses. I need to figure out how to bury them.
“And what about your mom?” Miles asks.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “Maybe there’s another way.”
He closes the gap between us, gets his arms around me before I can protest. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
Anger bubbles up in me. I tug out of his grip and shove him back. “This isn’t something you can apologize for, Miles.”
“Not even for someone who’s gifted at apologies?” He grins, flashing me those dimples.
His teasing only infuriates me more. “I already know how this will play out. We’ll sneak around until something happens that puts me in danger. Again. And then you’ll vanish. For my sake. Because you’re Miles who follows rules, uses logic, and has enough willpower to stay away for the right reasons. If it comes to choosing them or something else…we both know where your loyalty lies.” I point to his left hip where the tattoo is covered by his jeans. “It’s almost like you were born to be a noble assassin.”
With that, I turn my back on him and make my way out of the tiny secret room. The apartment is lit only by a small lamp, but after the dark room it feels as bright as Times Square. I squint while slipping on my shoes and coat, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
Miles is taller and takes more time getting out of the small room, then shoves the bed back into place.
“Ellie—” he starts when he sees me preparing to leave.
“What?” I tug the zipper on my jacket and then rest a hand on the door before finally offering eye contact. Part of me is afraid he’ll be able to say the right words, ones that make me forget he isn’t going to choose me in the end. And ending this is easier on my terms.
He tugs a hand through his hair, looking more nervous than I’ve ever seen him. “You aren’t—I mean you can’t tell anyone. I need your word.”
Definitely not the right words. Justice was right. I should have ditched tonight’s escapades and stayed for the whole show. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing myself back to that theater and out of this nightmare where my boyfriend turns out to be an assassin. “I’m not an idiot.”
Guess you’ll just have to trust me, Miles.
I’m almost out the door, but warm fingers catch my wrist, holding me in place. Miles has that same smoldering look in his eyes. “I’m here if you need me. Always.”
I let him hold onto me for a few seconds, savor it, even. Then I free myself and step into the hall. “I’ve heard that line before. But that guy didn’t answer his phone when I called.”
He looks like I just slapped him but offers no argument. So I just leave him in the hallway like that. I don’t know if it’s for good or not. All I know is that things are very different now.