Five days later

“This is where you’ll sleep,” Agent Smith leads me into a small, rectangular shaped bedroom in the back of the fourth safe house we’ve been to in as many days. The walls are flat white like chalk and void of any decoration. If it was a paint color it would be called institutional white. The double bed situated in the middle of the far windowless wall is covered in a navy-blue comforter. Two American flag pillows rest against the wooden headboard - a tribute to the red white and blue. How appropriate. My mother and father dedicated their lives to making this country a safer place and paid the ultimate price for that same cause.

“Why don’t you set your bag down?” Agent Smith gently presses her hand in the middle of my back, ushering me forward. “Do you want to unpack now or after you eat?”

“Am I staying here for more than one night?”

“Yes, Zoe. That’s the plan anyway. This will be your home until the trials are over.”

My feet move soundlessly on the beige carpet until I drop my oversized duffel down on the bed. Plucking the zipper between my thumb and index finger, I think about the last time I used this bag and what a happy occasion it was. We went on a family vacation to South Carolina and my mom helped me fit everything I needed for the two-week stay inside the limited space. It’s hard to believe that was the last trip the three of us would ever take.

How different the circumstances are now.

When Agent Benton and his team rescued me the night my parents were murdered, I was brought directly to my house. An Agent Osbourne was waiting outside when we arrived. He instructed me to pack up my belongings and told me I was only allowed one bag. Still in shock, I carefully folded each article of clothing like I had watched my mom do and loaded the duffel with all my favorite things including a picture of the three of us on my eighteenth birthday. I wasn’t sure how long it would be before I could return to my home and I’m still not.

Releasing the zipper from my grasp, I spin around. “I think I’d like to eat now, please.”

Agent Smith smiles, her brown eyes filled with kindness. “What would you like? I’ll send someone out for food.”

“Can I have pizza?”

“You can have anything you’d like. I know this situation is difficult. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you, but you’re safe with us. I want you to remember that. We’re here to protect you.”

“How many agents are there are on duty?”

“Three at the minimum. There’s one inside and two outside at all times.”

Chewing on my bottom lip, I mull her words over. Three doesn’t seem like much against an underworld kingpin. Especially one who recently murdered two federal agents overseeing the task force set up to take him down. And tried to kill me as well.

Agent Smith places her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’re all trained and here to keep you safe. Everything will be fine.” She smiles, reassuringly. “Let’s go get a menu and order some pizza.”

Two hours later, my belly is full, and I’m slumped down on the couch staring at the picture of my parents and I, the same one I snuck into my bag. I glance at our smiling faces until my eyes blur with tears. I can’t believe it’s been almost a week since we spoke or shared a hug. We had a daily tradition every morning before I headed off to school. Dad would call out for a “family hug,” and the three of us would crowd together in the kitchen and wrap our arms around each other. That reminder of how much my parents loved me, was always the best way to start each day. This picture is a poor substitute but will have to suffice now that there will be no more family moments to share.

Who’s going to hug me? Who’s going to make me feel loved... even when I can’t stand myself? Who’s going to help me through the heartbreak of losing a first love, or walk me down the aisle when I get married someday?

I could really use a shoulder to lean on. I’ve got someone shadowing me twenty-four-seven and yet I’ve never felt so alone. I’m not allowed to make any calls and from what little I’ve been told; internet access is a big no-no. Agent Smith mentioned she would go over the official dos and don'ts with me tomorrow. I imagine it’s a very short list for what I’m allowed to do. I may have survived everything that’s happened to me, but right now dying seems like it would’ve been the easiest option. I’d be with my parents and I wouldn’t have all this guilt crushing me.

Was there something I could’ve done to save my parents? I’ve replayed the scene in my head on what feels like an endless loop. Could I have saved one of them? When my father was killed, did I hesitate too long? Was there something I should’ve done? Something that would have prevented my mother from the same horrible fate? Did I do anything in that moment to provoke Sergei? Was it my fault they were killed?

These are the wearisome questions I repeatedly ask myself and I’m not sure I have the answers for them. I think Sergei would have killed them no matter what. He was what my parents used to call a blunt instrument - someone capable of nothing more than following orders. I’ll never know for sure and that’s why the doubt and guilt keep creeping in. But it’s the images I can’t escape; no matter what I do. Images of my parents beaten, begging and broken, keep flashing through my mind. It doesn’t matter whether I’m asleep or awake, I can’t stop reliving the sight of their faces and heads exploding right before my eyes. No matter how much I try, I can’t block those horrifying images. It’s a nightmare I’m afraid has no end and my life will never be the same.

Another night spent fitfully tossing and turning, will I ever feel well rested again? What about safe? Because even with three people protecting me, I sure as hell don’t feel secure. Popov’s reach stretches far and wide. My parents were as open as they could be about the work they did. Of course, they couldn’t divulge details, but my safety was always utmost on their minds. As a result, I’m more informed about things most teenagers have no concept of.

Throwing yesterday’s clothes back on, I brush my teeth and run a comb through my tangled strands. Glancing at my pallid face in the mirror, I take in the dark circles under my eyes. Each morning they appear to be larger. I don’t even look like myself. Who is this sad girl staring back at me?

It’s difficult to believe how much your life can change in an instant. Less than a week ago, I was eating ice cream with my parents while we cuddled on the couch watching How to Lose A Guy in Ten Days.

God, I miss them.

My reflection blurs, tears pooling on my lower lids, before I brush them away with my palms. Crying won’t bring them back. I have to be strong and get through the trials and make sure their killers pay for what they did. My parents deserve no less.

“How are you this morning?” Agent Smith inquires as I walk into the kitchen. She’s seated at the table, a steaming mug of coffee between her hands.

“I’m fine,” I murmur, flatly.

“I’m sure you must be bored by now.”

“You can say that again.”

“Especially with the lack of technology. I know it’s inconvenient, but it’s for your safety.”

“Yeah, I know, but it sucks for sure.”

“I don’t know if this will help or not, but I grabbed you some books my daughter read when she was your age. You’re welcome to them.” She gestures to the neat stack of paperbacks on the table. Some are young adult romance type books and buried under the pile I find a few of the Harry Potter series.

A small smile teases my lips. “Thank you. These are great. Reading is one of my favorite hobbies and you can’t go wrong with Harry Potter.”

“My daughter always had a book in her hand, in fact she still does.”

“How old is your daughter now?”

She smiles, her face lighting up with motherly pride. “She’s twenty-two and just graduated from Boston College. Can you tell I’m proud?”

“Just a little.”

“Anyway, I’m not sure if you’ll find all these books interesting or not, but it’s something different for you to do.”

“Hey, it beats television,” I reply over my shoulder as I pull off the milk cap and pour myself a glass.

“There’s a plate of bacon and eggs on the counter if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks. You don’t have to cook for me, I know how.”

“You seem like a very capable girl for your age.”

I shrug noncommittally before answering, “I did a lot of cooking with my mom.” I smile as I think about how much fun we had together.

“Happy memory?” she questions.

My eyes flick to meet hers and I nod. “Yeah. There was this one time, I must’ve been around ten or eleven years old, my mom and I were making cookies and my dad threw flour all over us. We each grabbed a handful and tossed it in his face and then he chased us across the kitchen until he caught us both. By the time he was done hugging and kissing us we wore as much flour as he did.” My cheeks stretch into an impossibly wide grin.

Agent Smith laughs. “Focus on the good times, Zoe. It sounds like you had a great relationship with your parents.”

My teeth press into my bottom lip, scraping back and forth over the soft flesh. “I did. They were the best parents I could’ve asked for. My father always told me if anything happened to them I should be thankful for the time we had and not mourn the time we’d miss.” My eyes drop to my bare feet, toes curling away from the cold linoleum floor before meeting Agent Smith’s. “I’m trying to do that, but it’s a struggle. No matter how many great times we packed into eighteen years it isn’t enough.” I shake my head. “It’ll never be enough.”

She rises to her feet and has me in her arms before I realize it, reassuring me while I sob uncontrollably.

“I know I’ve been here with you around the clock, but that’s not how it’s usually done. I wanted you to have a chance to settle in before we switched out agents on a rotating schedule.”

“What does that mean? Are you not staying with me anymore?”

“I’ll still be here, but not all the time.”

“Who’s going to be here with me?”

“Agent Garrison.”

A new agent? But I like Agent Smith. She hugs me when I’m down and bakes cookies.

“Don’t look so concerned, honey. Agent Garrison is a very nice man.”

“Man? I don’t want a strange man I don’t know staying with me.” The words fly out as my heart races anxiously.

“Zoe.” Agent Smith places her hand on my shoulder. “Calm down. Everything will be fine. I’ve worked with Agent Garrison and there’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”

I nod weakly. Her words do nothing to lessen my unease. The last time I was around a male stranger I was kidnapped; my parents were murdered in front of me and Sergei threatened to rape me. I know my worry seems unreasonable to Agent Smith, but for me it’s completely rational.

“Besides, you’ve been fine with me for the last few days, right?” I nod my head in agreement. “Well I’m much scarier.” She turns to face me. “And twice as dangerous.” She winks and smiles, but it’s not what I’d call a friendly smile. For the first time I see Agent Smith not as a female sent to placate the scared little girl, but as a strong, capable operative; a protector.

A sudden knock on the door has my heart thundering in my chest. Agent Smith glances at her watch. “Speak of the devil.” She smiles reassuringly, before she moves to let Agent Garrison in. I grimace at her horrible choice of words. I’ve seen enough evil to last me a lifetime. I know who the devil is - his name is Marius Popov.

Spinning around, I head toward the kitchen. I don’t want to meet the new agent. Why does anything have to change? I’m fucking sure I’ve endured enough change already.

I tug open the fridge and twist the cap off a bottle of my favorite soda, before checking the door shut with my hip. Taking a large sip, the cold bubbling liquid tickles the inside of my mouth, before I swallow it down. A loud burp unexpectedly erupts from my chest and I giggle.

“Bless you.” A deep voice behind me has me whirling around so fast soda spills over the back of my hand. My cheeks instantly warm. I feel them flush a scalding pink color. “Here.” He plucks some napkins from the stack on the table and hands them to me.

Careful to avoid his fingers as I grasp them, I mumble a reluctant, “thank you,” and wipe the sticky liquid from my skin.

“I guess I should introduce myself.” My eyes swing up to meet his. He smiles and for a moment I’m struck speechless by the sight of his gorgeous face. Warm honey brown irises framed by thick, dark lashes stare back at me. “I’m Agent Garrison, but you can call me Nash.” He holds out his hand.

Ignoring his polite gesture, I reflexively take a step back, placing more distance between us. “I’m Zoe.” My voice is unusually hoarse. Being this close to him has shaken me and not in a good way. My heart is pounding so rapidly, it’s pulsing in my ears. My knees are weak and the thought of my skin touching his has my stomach spinning wildly with fear.

To his credit he moves further away, taking a seat at the table. “It’s nice to meet you, Zoe.” Relaxing, he casually props his ankle on his knee. I’m sure he’s trying to set me at ease, but it’s not working.

“How long have you been an agent?” I question, as my inner voice shouts to be careful. He’s a stranger and I shouldn’t trust him, even if he is handsome and well spoken.

“Six years. I came on board right out of college.”

“So that makes you twenty eightish?” I’m not sure why I ask him this. What does it matter how old he is if he’s good at his job?

“Yep, I am. And don’t worry, I’m good at my job.” He winks, teasingly. “And reading people.”

I sigh. “I hope you are because I want those guys to pay for what they did to my parents and I’m the only one who can testify.”

His stare is direct. “No one’s going to hurt you on my watch, Zoe. I give you my word and that’s not something I do lightly.”

“Okay then.” I nod, walking across the kitchen. Reaching the doorway, I peer over my shoulder feeling somewhat placated by his words. “It was nice meeting you, Nash.”