Assassin Games
by Sidney Bristol
Copyright © 2018 by Sidney Bristol. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
Friday, outside DC
Anderson Gratney stood in the middle of the crowded room, eyes closed, her face filling his mind. She didn’t know him. Probably hadn’t ever heard his name, and yet she was now the center of his world.
Carol Sark.
He was doing this for her, the woman with the eyes so dark they matched Andy’s soul. She was a good person. She didn’t deserve to be marked for death, which meant he was going to put it all on the line to save her.
And she might just hate him for it.
“All right, people, let’s get started. We have fifteen minutes to decide our fates.” Irene Drummond had chosen to stand with her back to a corner, arms crossed over her chest. Defensive.
Across the room from her was the golden boy darling of the CIA, Mitch McConnel. His right foot was forward and he kept darting glances at Irene, after which he’d glance at the rest of them, as though it would hide the fact he couldn’t stop staring at her.
There was something going on between the handlers. A power struggle? Irene, Mitch, and the absent Hector were constantly butting heads over what the best course of action was. Andy was just about sick of their talk. They were biased and their judgments suspect. Each wanted to cover their own ass, which meant that despite their best intentions, they couldn’t be trusted. At least not entirely.
But they were unified on one point at the moment.
“Andy?” Irene nodded at him.
He tapped the laptop, projecting his screen onto the wall. A small video feed took up the lower corner.
“Rand, Sarah, you with us?” he asked the two faces squeezed into the frame.
“Reading you loud and clear,” Rand said.
Their background was dark, and both of them wore headsets. The better to mask their location. No identifying markers of the room, no ambient sounds. Good. Sarah had been the target of a mole by the name of Charlie trying to sell CIA secrets that were in her care. They didn’t think either was still in immediate danger, but it was better to be safe. Sarah was no longer as valuable a resource as she’d been during the China issue, but she still knew enough to make her a target, and their lives were still in danger. Loose ends always had to be tied. And in the event their team discovered who else was responsible for the leaked intel, Sarah would be a star witness. Protecting her was Rand’s full-time job.
“I don’t have a lot of time for this circle jerk,” Noah drawled. He was the only other CIA contract operative present.
Andy ignored the other man and began. Their time was limited, and they had a lot to cover.
“The word on the dark net isn’t good for us.” Andy braced his hands on the folding table and brought a flow chart onto the screen. “Using Charlie’s old laptop, I’ve been piecing together who he was working for, with, and why. Each bubble represents a different entity known by a handle. You can see here, King Kong was Charlie, probably since he was stationed in Hong Kong. From the looks of how small this net is, I’d say he was a minor player.”
“Have you been able to connect these other handles to anyone?” Irene asked.
“Nothing definitive.” Andy gestured to the bottom of the screen where he’d populated a list of notes. “Carol’s work is proving valuable in creating a pool of possible suspects, but these people are good. They’re careful. For every handle we have dozens of potential suspects.”
“They have to be. These are our people. A secret organization within the CIA selling our secrets. Putting our people at risk.” Irene shook her head.
It was a blow to each of them. They were patriots, some to a fault. They’d done things in the name of their country that would forever stain their souls. When the hard, no-win decisions had to be made, they were the people who made things right. To save innocent lives. But those decisions came at a price. Andy had long since accepted that his life, his very person, was forfeit for the greater good, which made him uniquely qualified for this kind of work.
“What about the memo?” Mitch asked.
“You are right. Management is discussing Carol’s work.” Andy toggled to a different screen, showing the damning memo.
UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
MEMORANDUM FOR: [redacted]
Progress:
At this time we are following leads pertaining to the sensitive leak of documents being transported to our [redacted] offices. During the discovery process it has come to light that one [redacted] has accessed almost every file in question. This leads us to believe that this employee may be involved. It is our recommendation that a detailed evaluation be conducted without [redacted] knowledge so that we may ascertain if intel was passed along illegally.
Andy didn’t have to know the redacted parts to read between the lines.
This memo was about the events around Rand and Sarah, and how Andy got caught up in everything.
“I know we were hoping that Carol’s algorithm project would fly under the radar, but whoever these people are, they’ve flagged her research as suspect. Which means there’s someone watching Carol directly, likely within her own department, someone she thinks she can trust, and someone in management. Probably someone in IT or field tech as well.”
Andy had made it a priority to familiarize himself with everyone working on this. He hadn’t met Carol, but out of everyone, she was the person who fascinated him the most. She was a brilliant analyst focusing on the greater Asian area. Her work with Irene had uncovered many of their leads on Charlie. Carol had been working on an algorithm to search out similarly failed missions to create a pool to work from. Ops where agents had died or things went inexplicably wrong. Something to help them identify who the leak could be. Andy was jealous he hadn’t thought of it first. But the project wasn’t done yet, and now she was drawing the wrong kind of attention. Which was where he came in.
“How close is the algorithm to being done?” Mitch stared at Irene. Following the China fiasco with Rand and Sarah, they’d been careful about who interacted with whom. By keeping Carol on the outside with her only contact being Irene, they’d hoped to protect her.
“There’s still a ways to go.” Irene shook her head, but didn’t return Mitch’s gaze. “Coding isn’t her specialty. It would go a lot faster if Andy could work with her directly.”
Andy swallowed. His computer acumen was one of his skills that made him uniquely gifted for this line of work. He knew that he and Carol could knock this out, but the instant they started working together was when she’d lose her freedom. Someone like her, who followed every rule, would come under scrutiny if she began working with him. What he did came at a price.
“Putting Andy and Carol in the same room is signing her death warrant. You know as soon as whoever instigated this memo finds out they’re working together they’ll be on the hunt for her head,” Noah said.
“I know that.” Irene’s voice dripped with irritation.
Rand, Noah, and Andy were all private CIA contractors with different skill sets. Rand was a sleeper agent, capable of long-haul missions—at least before Sarah. Noah moved in white-collar circles; his charm could open doors it shouldn’t. Andy not only stalked his prey, he knew their every analog and online move. He was a finisher. He made problems disappear.
“We need Carol’s predictive algorithm online. Once it’s active it will do the work for us. We’ll have a leg up on them and then we can take them out.” Irene was preaching to the choir.
Andy had looked over Carol’s work a few times at Irene’s request. It was some brilliant coding, even if it wasn’t her strength. Once the algorithm was operational, it would correlate those same failed missions to people and places associated with them, weeding out the good guys and leaving them with a pool of people who could potentially be the true moles working against the Company—wolves among the sheep.
“If this memo is to be believed, they think Carol was working with Charlie.” Mitch gestured to the screen.
“Carol is at risk, that’s why she’s not here with us.” Irene still wasn’t looking at Mitch.
Interesting. Mitch was staring at Irene, while she seemed to prefer to pretend like he wasn’t there.
“Someone’s setting Carol up,” Andy said, bringing his attention back to the present. It was the most obvious play with their insight.
“It’s what I’d do,” Noah said. “What? I’m being honest. You two are upper management, you have years of fieldwork. You’re harder to oust. Carol is young, and her daddy’s reputation as a bang-up agent is only going to protect her so much. She’s the low-hanging fruit in this scenario. They’re picking off the weaker targets, thinning out the herd. You may not want to hear this, but what if we cut her loose? Andy could finish the—”
“No,” Irene snapped.
“I can’t finish it,” Andy said.
“Why not?” Noah would opt for the easiest path.
Andy swallowed.
The simple reason was that he didn’t want to kill Carol. She was good. But that wasn’t enough of a reason for Noah.
“She’s an analyst. She sees things differently. She’s got access to files and data the rest of us don’t. Besides, without her help it would take me weeks to figure out the project, and by then who will they be onto next? Hm? You?”
“We aren’t hanging Carol out to dry, and that’s final.” Irene folded her arms over her chest. “What do we think they’d do to make her go away? How can we keep her safe?”
“They’ll try to kill her,” Andy said.
“You think?” Irene’s mouth twisted up. She didn’t like that answer.
“No loose ends. They killed Charlie while in custody; that shows they have reach. There’s no reason to believe they haven’t killed CIA employees in the past who were getting too close. They’ll make it look like she ran or disappeared, or outright kill her and it’ll be an accident.” Andy had quietly drawn up a list of deaths for agents, contract workers, assets, and informants going back five years that he knew of. Unless they were outsourcing the jobs to someone besides an employee or a contractor, there’d be a pattern. They all had it, a signature, that thing that made their work different. If Andy could determine who’d been ordered dead, he could find a signature.
“They won’t outsource right now. Too much risk,” Irene said. “There are currently six active operatives—”
“Five,” Rand interjected.
“Five active operatives who could do this job. Two of them are in this room.” Irene stared at Andy. “We need to make sure Andy is the only one who can take the gig.”
“What am I doing here, then?” Noah sighed and checked the time.
“Moral support,” Mitch said.
“If we need backup, you’re our closest asset.” Irene spared Noah a momentary glance.
“We could come back,” Rand said.
“No, you need to stay wherever it is you are.” Irene shook her head. “Protect Sarah. If we figure out who is behind this and it comes to a trial, she’s an important part of it. We need to think big picture here, no short-term goals.”
Andy clenched his teeth. He’d thought it might come to this.
“Andy’s MO will give us time to figure out who is behind trying to get Carol out of the way. Everyone knows he insists on vetting his targets before carrying through with a kill order. Andy, I’d like for you to circle in Noah on what you’re doing so he can act as support. Begin planning your extraction and where you’ll take Carol.”
“How do you know they won’t pull someone from the field to do this? Or ask me to do it?” Noah grimaced. He’d hate being holed up in one spot, sitting on his hands.
“You’re too valuable where you are,” Irene said. “Rand is nonactive. Andy is technically still on the Istanbul assignment, but we can mark that as ‘complete’ tomorrow. That leaves three other assets, all of whom are on long-term assignments.”
It made sense. It was what Andy had predicted Irene would suggest.
He still didn’t have to like it.
“We must be prepared that they won’t want me based on the reasons why you do,” he said.
“Our time’s almost up, guys,” Noah announced.
They could only set aside a half hour for these meets. Anything more was too risky. Too much time spent together could tip off the wrong people.
“What do you suggest?” Irene ignored Noah.
“I’ll prepare a safe house, somewhere remote, out of the country. Off the grid. Either I’ll wait for instructions for the hit, or when I see someone moving in on her, I’ll move. She and I will disappear. On one condition.” Andy didn’t look away from Irene. Mitch and Hector might like to throw their weight around, but it was Irene who was in charge. “I do a soft meet. Carol doesn’t know me. She’s an office girl. This is going to be traumatizing to her even if I do this as gently as I can. Being familiar with my face could make it better.”
“You run the risk of getting caught on surveillance,” Mitch said.
Andy ignored that.
He’d been at this game longer than Mitch had been with the CIA, back when his aspirations were political. If Andy got caught on camera, he’d fucked up and deserved it.
“If that’s what you think is best, I trust your judgment,” Irene said.
“Time’s up,” Noah announced.
Andy cut the video feed, shut the laptop, and yanked the plug out. They filed out of the door with no further words spoken. Noah killed the lights, leaving them in pitch darkness.
The construction site was dark and deserted at this hour. An easy spot to identify surveillance on the basis that there was nothing around them. No vantage points, no cover, and no way to keep tabs on them.
Andy hesitated for half a moment while he blinked away the white spots left by the lights floating in his vision.
No one spoke. No one said goodbyes. They all knew their lives were on the line, and none greater than Carol Sark.
Andy understood Irene’s judgment call to extract Carol even if it was treacherous.
One of the reasons Andy had preferred to be a contract employee was the ability to say no. He wasn’t a good yes man. Never had been. If a target didn’t deserve to die, if their soul wasn’t as black as Andy’s own, he didn’t do a job. That might have been an issue, except he was very good at what he did. Maybe better than the others.
Killing was in his blood, but this time, he’d protect Carol, or die trying.
…
Saturday, DC
Carol Sark took a deep breath, braced herself for the tide of anxiety, and stepped out of her front door.
The hair on the back of her neck rose, and her stomach knotted up. She clenched her purse to her chest and glanced in both directions.
It was a normal, if chilly, Saturday morning.
She still couldn’t shake the dark cloud hovering over her.
It’d begun as furtive glances at the office, people looking at her behind her back when they thought she wasn’t looking. Catching someone staring at her in the reflection of a window or her sunglasses. Ever since she’d laid out what she knew of Charlie to Director Scott, things had been different.
Irene wouldn’t comment on it, but Carol didn’t have to be a master at reading people to notice the signs. Irene knew more than she was letting on. A lot more. And she was no longer confiding in Carol.
She sucked down a deep breath, the cold air freezing her lungs for half a second.
She’d never thought a paper-pushing job at the CIA would become so stressful. She wasn’t a field agent, she didn’t have a gun, and it wasn’t her job to face down the bad guys. She looked at numbers, information, trends, and picked out the important bits, framed it in the context of history, and presented it.
Carol forced herself to shut her front door. She wanted to dive back inside and stay there. Instead, she crept down the stairs to the sidewalk. Her neighbor had been kind enough to throw some salt on the ice so her footing wasn’t quite so treacherous.
She fell into step behind a family with sleds thrown over their shoulders, probably headed for the park. Like any normal family might on a brisk, sunny winter day.
The assignment she’d made for herself was simple. A quick walk around the park, stop into the market, and then home again. An easy foray out into the world to show herself things were fine. Everything was okay.
Except nothing had been right since the fall.
It’d begun early last year, when Carol started seeing trends. She worked with a division that monitored Asian activity. Her specialty was China. She was a walking encyclopedia of their economic and political power, their history, their methods. It was her job to remain informed and pass along noteworthy information to the operational department so they could decide how to act, what to do.
That’s how it’d started.
Carol had seen a few anomalies. Missions that shouldn’t have gone sideways, enemies knowing things they should have had no way of knowing. So she’d reported it, only to be brushed off by everyone.
Except Irene Drummond.
Part of Carol wished she could go back and tell her then-self to keep her mouth shut. How many lives would have been lost if she had? How many would have been saved?
Charlie Peterson would have successfully faked his own death and absconded with some of the most sensitive information they had. Good people would have died, that was simply a fact. The impact to the worldwide political climate could have been catastrophic. But they’d avoided it because they’d known what to look for; they’d seen the signs, and they’d stopped it.
Carol could have never predicted the risk to herself in all of this. She’d simply seen a problematic trend and acted to correct it. Her algorithm had begun as a bit of guesswork, and now it was a full-blown, unsanctioned, covert operation. It was what she’d been trained to do. Now, she didn’t know what was going on. She had a sneaking suspicion she was being followed any time she left her home. And the people she should be able to trust were leaving her in the dark.
It did not make for a comfortable way to spend her days.
Perhaps it was time she visited a friend. Enzo had been after her to visit him now that he was set up in Paris. Nathan was raving about London. It seemed that her exchange-student siblings were all moving up in the world and she was looking over her shoulder for the dagger that might kill her.
She was going to think herself sick, going in circles like this.
This walk, this excursion out of her house, was supposed to be about clearing her head. Not bringing her worries out for a stroll.
Carol began reciting the names of Chinese heads of state and what positions they’d served prior to taking the reins of the country. It was a soothing exercise, full of routine, that often helped to center her. Lately, it hadn’t worked quite as well. But then, nothing short of medication likely would.
At the far side of the park, several shops were open and doing a steady stream of business, from coffee and hot chocolate to fresh flowers and hot dogs.
Carol steered clear of the food and drink. She was already stress-eating her way through early Valentine’s Day candy.
Flowers, though…
Little vendors like this were popping up all over the place, what with the holiday bearing down on them. Carol didn’t much care either way about Valentine’s, but the flowers…
She caressed a cheerful yellow daisy and smiled.
Maybe what she needed was something indulgent and beautiful.
Flowers wouldn’t solve all her problems, but something living, green, and fresh might help chase away some of the dread. Something that was soothing, an arrangement to serve as a reminder to calm down. Flowers had a language all their own. Carol’s fascination with the history of multilayered meanings had begun as a footnote in a textbook on Chinese court life. To truly understand the present political and social climate in Asia she’d begun her studies hundreds of years ago, all so she could focus on the now.
“Excuse me?”
“Hm?” Carol glanced up at a man on the other side of the bucket of flowers. His sun-bleached brown hair stuck up, and his brow was wrinkled. Stressed-out man looking for something to buy his girlfriend?
“I’m trying to pick out flowers for my mom and…I don’t want to get her boyfriend flowers. Does that make sense?” He scrunched up his face.
“I suppose so.” Carol was glad he wasn’t seeking relationship advice. She, like her father, was married first to her work. But flowers? She’d fallen in love with their language. Besides their importance in court life, spies of different nationalities had communicated using the properly selected blooms, while others used them to confess love.
“Roses… It’s too much, isn’t it?”
“They’re classic. All women like roses.” At least in America…
“But my mom’s not really… She’s not a rose woman.” He pushed his hand through his hair, further messing up whatever styling he’d tried to do.
“What does your gut say? What do you think she’d like?”
“I don’t know. That’s just it.” He chuckled, lips spreading into a smile that invited her to laugh along with him. “I think I’m doomed.”
“No, you just haven’t found what you think suits her. Tell me about her.”
“Mom…” He stared into the distance, eyes growing a touch unfocused. “She’s amazing. No one works as hard as she does. She never expects anything in return. She kept all us boys in line, which was no easy thing to do. I just… I want to show her I care.”
Damn. Right in the gut with just a few sentences. When was the last time Carol talked to her mom? Their chats were always stilted and a bit awkward, but she was all Carol had. That made her important.
She’d have to call her when she got home.
“There are some cultures that have a…sort of a flower language. It’s died out here, but there are still many people that practice symbolic meanings with them.” She gestured to the abundance of roses. “Valentine’s Day and red flowers, for example. Here, it’s a symbol of love, but in some Asian countries thorny flowers, like the rose, are symbols of pain and unhappiness.”
“Is there a flower that says I’m sorry for being a brat?” He grinned.
“Pink and white carnations.” Carol walked around the bins to a corner of nearly forgotten blossoms. “They never lose their petals, so they never forget what’s precious to them. Pink is for devotion and love, white for remembrance. Classic apology flowers. Unless you’ve really messed up and then maybe go big with some hyacinths.”
“I asked the right lady for help.”
“You happened on the right nerd.”
“Lady nerd then?” He held out his hand. “I’m Mark.”
Carol swallowed.
Was he…flirting? She could never tell.
She put her gloved hand in his.
“Carol.”
“Nice to meet you.” The skin around his eyes crinkled. He had a kind face. “Your mom must get the best flowers from you.”
“Sadly, I don’t see her enough.”
“Maybe you should get her some of these carnations, too?”
“Maybe I will.” Carol could always do with a drive over to Mom’s.
“Is there anyone who gives you pretty flowers, Carol?”
She stood rooted to the spot.
He was flirting.
She swallowed, but it was hard given how tight the muscles in her throat were. Despite the chill of the day, it was suddenly too warm under the puffy coat.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, no one gives me flowers.” She shook her head.
“Well.” Mark took a step back, his gaze honed in on her to the point that the rest of the world seemed to fall away. It was the kind of stare that left her a little light-headed. “I think… This one.”
He plucked a fiery red-and-orange tulip out of a nearby bin and held it out to her. The blossom was still tightly closed, not yet open, perfect. She smiled despite knowing he’d picked it at random.
The language of flowers wasn’t just about the color or type, it was also the stage at which it was given.
A bud, like what he’d just handed her, was a beginning. Something that would grow to be more. It was significant. And yet, it couldn’t be. He was a random guy she’d met walking in the park.
“I’ve got to go, but…if I wanted to make sure that flower gets a friend or two, think I could get your phone number?” Mark asked. He tucked the bundle of carnations they’d picked out under his arm and fished out his phone.
She blinked at the shiny black device.
“Uh…” Carol’s throat tightened even more.
She was a CIA employee embroiled in what might be the biggest breach of national security in history. But she was still a woman and life went on. Her father, may his soul rest in peace, had come home to Carol and her mother time and time again. He’d said they were his anchor, reminding him why he did what he did. Carol didn’t have that. Maybe it was time she did.
“Too strong?” He sighed.
“No, just… Here. I’ll key it in for you.”
“Make sure to call your phone. That way you know who to pick up for.”
Carol could feel the heat in her cheeks. She was willing to bet she was blushing like a schoolgirl. But this? It was good. She’d needed to remember there was a life beyond work, outside of the cloak-and-dagger routine. And maybe Mark could remind her of that.
…
Monday, somewhere below DC
Andy sat in front of the monitors, his eyes glued to the video feed of the woman in the kitchen.
The seconds ticked by.
He could feel them like the beat of a metronome.
Five…
Four…
Three…
Two…
One…
The phone on the counter next to her flashed, but he could not hear the alarm. He’d drawn the line at microphones.
The woman snatched up the phone, her cooking forgotten as she tapped on the phone screen.
Andy reached for his phone, swiping his thumb over the dark screen.
She set her phone down.
His vibrated.
Five minutes. He texted, she read it, set a timer, and didn’t respond for a set amount of time. It was always different. Three minutes. Five. Eleven. She had a system down he hadn’t cracked yet. What was the purpose? To make it seem like she wasn’t interested in him?
The fake him, of course.
Because Andy wasn’t Mark, but to Carol he was.
He unlocked his phone and tapped the message.
Going out with a coworker tonight. Cocktails. Nothing exciting. You?
Andy would never understand these flirtatious games.
Carol wasn’t going out, she was staying home. As she had for the last few days since their soft meet. Was it out of some need to appear aloof? Busy? Was it too much to ask to be honest?
Then again, who was he to throw stones over honesty?
She didn’t know his real name, what he was or who was watching her.
Hanging with Mom tonight. Watching TV. She still talks about the flowers. Thanks again.
Did he send it now, or should he wait?
This was getting unnecessarily complicated. And yet, here he was, leashed to his phone and unable to look away from the monitors. It was like living a sitcom. He didn’t like it.
He hit send and focused on her, his insides twisted up with anticipation.
This was, without a doubt, the best part.
He leaned forward and held his breath.
Her phone flashed.
She set the spoon down and picked up the phone, leaning her hip against the counter.
There it was.
Andy sighed and relaxed back in his chair.
Her smile. It was perfection. She only got that look when he texted, which was why he hadn’t yet stopped. The meet was done, he could stop, yet he was addicted to her now.
Moments like these, Andy wished he could be normal. That he could be Mark. That this wasn’t a lie.
…
Wednesday, DC
Carol didn’t make it a habit to come home for lunch, but she’d left her phone on the charger after passing out with it pressed to her cheek.
Mark had to think she was a complete fruit loop.
She’d fallen asleep while he talked. How rude was that? And then she’d overslept. In her rush to make it to work on time, she’d forgotten the darn phone. Everything was out of synch, but mostly her.
She couldn’t concentrate, nothing held her attention, because what if Mark replied to her text? What if he was angry with her?
In her pursuit of a distraction, she’d gone off the deep end.
Carol dashed through the front door, barely pausing to flip the deadbolt, before she charged upstairs.
Her phone was where she’d left it, on the charger.
She picked it up and plugged in the password.
Two missed texts.
Don’t worry about it. You sounded stressed and likely needed the sleep.
You promised me dinner though.
She laid her fingers across her lips.
Had she?
She bit her lip.
This was so not the time to flirt with a romantic relationship. She was under a lot of stress. It was bad timing, and yet… Having someone to listen to, to talk to like an average person, without the guilt or connections to work… It was a relief.
With Mark she was a normal girl.
Granted, she’d been coy when he asked her what she did for a living. She’d have to figure out what to tell him, how to paint her job as the boring, paper-pushing, data-crunching occupation it was supposed to be.
She should do it.
Go out with him.
For herself.
Because she required it.
She needed to be human, she needed to see fewer shadows where there were none, she needed to remember why she did what she did. Maybe Mark could be that for her. Her anchor.
Carol would have to run a background check on him. She had to know more about him before she took that leap. Life would never be simple for her. That was her reality, but she could still be happy.
She hit dial on Mark’s number.
An apology like this couldn’t be a text.
The call rang to voicemail. Right. He had that meeting today.
“Hey, Mark. It’s Carol. I wanted to apologize again for last night. I think dinner would be a great solution.” She swallowed. A date. When was the last time she’d gone on a date? “Anyway, hope you’re having a great day. I’ll check in later. Bye.”
She blew out a breath and hung up, swiping her fingers over the screen.
There was no point in checking into him before dinner. Texts and phone calls didn’t tell her the measure of a man. Only a face-to-face date would. If she still liked him after they shared a meal, then she’d make the call. She’d see just whom she was dealing with. But first, she wanted the butterflies. They made her remember why she did this job, so that people were safe to go about their everyday lives.
Carol stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror.
Was this how her parents met? A chance, happy meeting?
Did her father come home after a stressful mission and decide he needed someone? Carol had been young when her father was killed, but she still remembered him as the man who smiled, made her laugh. People at work still remembered him, his old partner and friends checked in on her regularly. Watching them and going through what she was experiencing now, it made her wonder about who her father had been behind it all.
Her phone vibrated.
A text, not a call.
Mark’s name made her smile regardless.
Meeting blows. Stuff is happening at work. Might have to rain check on dinner, or push it out. :(
Carol sighed and tapped out a quick message. She, more than anyone else, knew how work could blow up. Only in her case, it was quite a literal risk.
Maybe it was wrong of her to not tell Mark, but for all she knew, he could be a security risk.
She flopped back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.
Nothing was ever easy.
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