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915 Words
It didn’t matter. Logic didn’t seem to matter where she was concerned. I was pissed, and it brought on a renewed sense of purpose. I still had a job to do, and she was still my mark. It was time to get back to work. We had the drapes pulled shut across the small front window, but a halo of light broke through around the edges, giving the room a soft glow. I had yet to go through the bag she’d brought with her, but I was more interested in the grocery sack Reggie had given Emily. I set each item on the small dining table and sat down to examine them. The book was, by far, the most illogical item to have been included, so that’s where I started. One simple flip through the pages, though, and the book instantly revealed its secrets. A professionally made driver’s license and matching birth certificate for one Emily Rogers. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Possibly a gun or a plane ticket abroad but definitely not illegal documents. How the hell was she hooked up with people who could provide her with false identification? That wasn’t something ordinary people could pull out of their back pockets. I was f*****g sick of the games. Frustration and anger clawed greedily at my skin. She was either in a world of trouble, or she was even more of a professional con artist than I could have imagined. If that was the case, I was done being played. I stood so quickly that the metal chair legs scraped across the vinyl floor, nearly tipping it over. I paced for close to a half hour before I finally settled back into the chair facing the door and waited for my pretty little mark to return. By the time the lock clicked over and the door slowly swung open, I was tempered steel, cool and resolute. “Come inside. I think it’s time we talked.” Her eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the dim light of the room. “What’s going on?” She allowed the door to close behind her but kept her hand on the knob. I reached out and slid her documents forward an inch on the table. “This is what’s going on.” I tossed the photo of her and the two children on top of the documents. “You don’t want to tell me the truth, but I’m sick of the lies. Did you think I would buy your attempted cover-up and believe that Reggie had given you a bag of worthless crap?” “You dug through my stuff?” “Only because you gave me no choice. If you’d be f*****g honest with me, I wouldn’t have to.” “I didn’t see these, okay? How was I supposed to know?” Her voice rose as she regained her bearings. “There was no way you could have missed those. You’re f*****g lying, again.” My fingers twitched to wrap around the delicate column of her neck. It took all my control to keep my hands to myself. She abandoned her post at the door and came to the table, charging at me angrily. “Even if I am, don’t you think I have my reasons?” “What reasons? I’m the one trying to help you.” I lifted my arms in a gesture of surrender. “Do you see anyone else here doing that? How am I supposed to help you when you won’t even be honest with me?” “The truth changes nothing. I’m still in danger, and I’m still on the run.” Standing, I closed the distance between us, then traced my knuckles down her cheek and along her jawline. “The truth can be the difference between life and death.” My words were only a whisper, an admission of my own, though she’d never know it. This was why I’d never considered going into the security business. Other colleagues of mine had done so after leaving the service, but I hated the business. Protecting the client from themselves was just as difficult, if not more so, than from whatever outside threats existed. I wasn’t sure how I’d gone from seeing her as a mark to seeing her as someone to protect, but that was becoming more evident by the minute. I was starting to realize the best thing I could do for both of us was to let her go. She felt safer on her own, and I was only opening myself up to disappointment by sticking around. I walked away and lifted my duffel onto the bed with Emily at my back. Gathering the few items I’d left in the room, I stuffed them in the bag, totally distracted by my own dark thoughts when she began to speak. What she said stiffened my spine and reminded me why feeling anything for her was a horrible idea. “I’m in the witness protection program, WitSec.” She spoke in a low, sure tone, and all traces of alcohol were gone. “Stephanie isn’t my friend, not exactly. She’s my handler. She’s been helping me from a distance ever since I moved to New York. I haven’t told you because one of the conditions of the program is absolute secrecy. I’m not allowed to contact anyone from my old life, but I’m also not allowed to tell anyone from my new life about the program.”
- Writer
