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Chapter Nine: Blank Space

"Maybe it's not about the length of time you've known someone; maybe it's about instant recognition on an unconscious level. Our souls know each other." S.E. Hall

EPOV

The van takes us to our final destination through the cobblestone streets of London. My body is numb to the motion after twenty-seven hours of constant travel. I've lost track of whether it's late or early, the overcast city doing nothing to help orient me. All I know is that my aching, jet-lagged body desperately needs rest. The interior of the van is silent, amplifying the sound of the hammering rain. The group is exhausted, our reserves depleted. We need time to recuperate and plan our next steps. By now, Jenks has either listed me as missing or AWOL depending upon the information he has received. Bella is certain that the CIA has been compromised but by who and at what level she didn't say.

I've been watching her closely, unable to stop myself, using any little nuance to add to my knowledge. I want answers. Yet, the picture of her lethargically leaning against the side of the van, her face pale and eyes closed, weakens my resolve to push her. She's proven herself fierce and independent, but right now, she looks so small. The desire for information and the desire to protect her are battling within my weary mind. I can't help but wonder whether she's ever allowed anyone to help carry her burdens and what it would take to become that person.

"Bella," Emmett calls from the driver's seat. "We're here."

Suddenly alert, she looks out of the window. "There's a garage on your left. It's easy to miss."

"What should I look for?"

"A blue door with a metal gate, right next to it is a gray wall, that's it."

"Got it." Cars honk as Emmett pulls in front of what looks like a stone wall, angry that we are blocking part of the already small street. "Umm, Bella."

"I'm on it." She jumps out of the back and runs to the wall, her arm trying to block the pelting rain. Sliding back a hidden panel, she punches in a code on a small keypad. I marvel as the door slides open. The design is impressive. To the naked eye, it's almost impossible to see, a nifty advantage to anyone trying to avoid detection.

Moving out of the way, she waves Emmett into a small garage. It's just big enough to fit the van with barely enough space to open the back doors. Bella quickly follows and punches in a code on another keypad, the door closing behind us. Simultaneously, a door opens on our left, a tall, athletic looking man emerging. He leans casually against the doorframe, his focus on Bella. Jumping out of the back, my hand automatically reaches for the gun at my side. Before I can question his presence, a wide smile adorns Bella's face as soon as she spots him.

"Embry."

Running into his open arms, he lifts her easily and whispers something in her ear. Who the fuck is this guy? Unbridled jealousy courses through my veins even though I have no right to that emotion when it comes to her.

Unwrapping her arms, she grabs his hand and pulls him over. I'm startled when he steps out of the shadows, the jagged scar marring the left side of his face is disturbing. It is an angry red and runs from his forehead to his chin. His left leg drags behind slightly, altering his walk. The stride looks awkward and painful.

"Embry, this is my new acquaintance, Edward. He helped get us out of Afghanistan," Bella says by way of an introduction. She stands beside him, holding his right arm.

Hesitantly, his left hand reaches out, his face full of concentration. Looking down, I notice a slight tremor. Undoubtedly, there is a story here. "Hi." Taking my hand, his hold is loose, not what I expected given the toned state of his body.

"Edward this is Embry. He watches the place for me when I'm not here."

"This is yours?" I'm surprised. I expected that she would take us to some sort of safe house, not somewhere tied directly to her.

"No one else knows about it. Not even Charlie," she states addressing my unspoken concerns.

"She's hardly ever here." Embry starts to take a step closer, then pauses, his face twisting with frustration. Movement appears difficult for him.

"What can I say, I'm busy." She focuses on Embry, evaluating him. "You look good, better." My curiosity about the nature of that scar increases tenfold. "Emmett, stop hiding and come out here. Embry is not a threat."

Ambling out of the shadows, he scrutinizes Embry. "I'm Emmett." He grasps his hand roughly causing Embry to cringe. Bella glares but doesn't interfere, almost as if she wants to see how Embry will respond.

Embry doesn't back down, trying to squeeze harder, the action obviously difficult. "Embry," he pauses, taking a breath.

"It's okay. You're doing great," Bella encourages, rubbing his arm.

He flashes a thin smile before addressing Emmett. "She talks about you a lot."

"Really?" Emmett's eyebrow lifts with interest, his lips curled into a smirk.

"Shut it. I haven't shared your dirty secrets yet, but that could easily change if you make a big deal about this." Emmett laughs holding his hands up in submission.

Embry attempts to walk closer to the van but stops after his footing falters. Bella frowns, silently challenging him to keep going. He chooses to remain. "How is Tyler?" Bella made a call at Doc's before we left, apparently it was to him.

"He's holding his own," Bella answers, still frowning at his lack of movement.

"I'm sure it's bugging the shit out of him not knowing exactly what's going on out here," Embry smirks, a sarcastic spark in his eye.

"He's still asleep."

He shoots Bella a concerned look. "Isn't that a bad sign?"

"It's Tyler's fault," Emmett explains. "He wouldn't listen about taking it easy, so Bella knocked his ass out. It was well deserved."

Embry laughs. "I'm sure," he jests mimicking a punch to his face.

"Hey, I used medication." Embry raises his eyebrows in disbelief. Bella snickers. "Fine, I admit it was a toss-up."

Embry nods knowingly, pulling her into a sideways hug. They seem to have an easy and comfortable friendship. "Oh, I'm sure he deserved it. Once an ass, always an ass."

Bella laughs again, only this time it sounds forced, the fear of losing Tyler still too raw to joke about his character. "True, Tyler doesn't change, but you and I both know that his heart is in the right place."

Embry glances at Bella, an unspoken understanding passing between them. "I'm glad you made it."

"Me too." She pats his arm and then walks around to the back of the van, placing her hands on her hips. "How much work will it take to get the downstairs ready?"

"Not much. We can make up the sofa bed. He should be comfortable there until he's able to navigate the stairs."

"Good. Let's get him out, and into the house. Embry, will you help us?" Bella asks pointedly.

Emmett appraises Embry, who is glaring at Bella. "I got it," he maintains stepping forward, probably concerned with Embry's ability to assist.

"No, he can help." Turning, she addresses Embry. "You need to keep using your arm and leg, or else you're going to lose the use of them all together."

He leans over until they are face to face. "I am. Stop pushing me."

Not intimidated, she leans in further. "Don't try to shine me on, Embry. I get the bills for your physical therapy. Remember? You missed the last three appointments."

His head drops, knowing he lost the argument. "Fine," he mutters, walking slowly to the back of the van. "It will probably take all of us to get the gurney out."

Emmett and I share an awkward glance, both of us absorbing the conversation until a look from Bella gets us moving as well. With a bit of a struggle, we are able to maneuver Tyler out of the back, careful not to trap ourselves between the walls and van. Once freed, Embry and Emmett wheel him through the door, leaving Bella and me alone in the garage. For a moment, we stand quietly, the frenzied feeling of the last few days dissipating.

"You and Embry seem close."

She smiles. "Yeah. He's a good friend, almost like a brother, I guess."

"What happened to him? If you don't mind me asking."

Sadness washes over her. "About a six months ago..." Her hands twist until they are red. "He was never the best a fighter, he didn't stand a chance. The attack was brutal. The trauma caused nerve damage. For a while, it was difficult for him to move at all."

"During a job?" I clarify.

Expelling a breath, she hesitates. "Yes."

The relative ease at which she answered, gives me hope that we are finally moving past her just shutting me out. "Is it still painful for him?"

"At times. More than anything else, he gets frustrated and embarrassed. Giving up has become his safety net." I can see that his decision bothers her, and it makes me curious as to why she takes it so personally.

"Will he ever get back to 100 percent?"

She shrugs, staring at her feet. "They don't know, but regardless he shouldn't be embarrassed. I hate when he feels less than he is."

"You helped him recover." The intensity at which she pushes him makes more sense, she feels responsible for him. "Were you with him when it happened?"

"No. But someone shouldn't be thrown away just because other people see them as useless. Besides, I know he would do the same for me."

I tilt my head contemplating her explanation. "Who was going to 'throw him away'?"

Her eyes darken, struggling to figure out exactly what to say. "Charlie. His standards are high." She quickly looks up as if realizing what she said. "I mean he wasn't wrong. There was no way Embry could stay in the field. It was just…well, I didn't think…"

Although she clearly disagreed with Charlie, she also wants to protect him, justifying his actions for my benefit. "I get it. Charlie did his job, but you didn't think that Embry's injury made him worthless."

Her eyes catch mine, seemingly surprised and relieved that I understand. "I couldn't let him go off alone. He had nowhere to go. "

"I take it that since he's here, Charlie doesn't know."

"He knows I helped him. He doesn't know the specifics. He didn't want to."

"And Tyler?"

"He doesn't know he's here either, but he'll follow my lead. We have an understanding about what he reports to Charlie. It's how our partnership works."

I mull over the word "partnership" dissecting its meaning, the desire to know how close Tyler and Bella are burns. "Isn't it hard to live your life so compartmentalized?"

"It comes with the territory. Isn't it the same for you?"

"In some ways, but at the end of the day, it's still a job. It's important to me to have separation." Her face scrunches in confusion. "Isn't there someone who knows all your secrets, Mira?"

She looks lost. "Tyler and Charlie know me best. They have always been there. It's what I remember most."

Her word choice piques my investigative interest. "Remember?"

"Umm…"

"Bella." Emmett steps out onto the stoop. "We have Tyler set up in the room, but I need help making sure we have everything hooked up correctly."

"Yeah, okay. I'll be right there." Before the disappointment of interruption hits me, Bella lightly touches my arm. "Wait here. I owe you some explanations."

"Okay." The tingling of anticipation runs through my body. "Hurry back."

"It shouldn't take long. In the meantime, could you make sure that everything is out of the van? I'm going to have Emmett get rid of it later."

"Sure thing." The distraction is welcome.

Emptying the van goes quick, my actions automatic as my mind spins with questions. Although I don't want to overwhelm Bella, I intend to get as much out of her as I can. I want to help, but I can't do that without knowing what we are facing.

Double-checking the back one last time, I hear the door open. Hopping out, I watch as Bella closes the door and sits on the stoop, patting the spot next to her. Without any hesitation, I take the invitation, my leg brushing against hers in the small space. Pulling a hand out from behind her back, she hands me one of the two beer bottles she is holding.

The glass feels cold against my skin. "Beer?"

"It's got to be five o'clock somewhere. Besides, I think we more than deserve it." She leans her head against the door, the tension draining from her body as she takes a deep breath.

The sight makes me smile. "Truer words have never been spoken."

She holds her bottle up. "To narrow escapes."

"To narrow escapes." I tap my bottle to hers, both of us taking a long swig. "So, are you ready to tell me exactly what is going on here?"

Her head drops, the bottle dangling from her hands in-between her knees. "It was supposed to be a long-term mission," she murmurs.

"Laurent?"

Turning, she looks at me through her lashes. "Yes. He was my target."

"I was told that you were an asset for the CIA, 'mission' sounds like you are more."

She laughs. "The CIA and their terms." Lifting her head, she angles her body towards mine. "I'm more than an asset, but you won't find my name on any official list of agents either."

Fuck. The beer in my mouth suddenly tastes sour. We're in deeper shit than I imagined. "Black ops."

She nods, affirming my assumption. "The mission should have been easy." Continuing her story, she avoids any questions on her specific role with the CIA. "He's known as a trader of goods and secrets to the highest bidder. He's not a decision maker for any one organization, but he's smart enough to know how to make profitable deals with several of them. I've got to give him credit though, he's built himself quite the little niche."

"In what way?" The guy seems like a typical scammer, which is low hanging fruit for a black ops assignment.

"Because he's connected to several top criminal organizations, his name is widely known. He tends to leverage that notoriety to get what he wants. It's why he uses that calling card. He's a legend in his own mind, but to his credit, the card does incite fear, especially because no one wants to piss off the larger organizations."

"Sounds slimy."

"Oh, he plays mobster politics with the best of them, and I wouldn't trust him any further than I can throw him. However, many organizations see him as useful. I assume that's why they turn a blind eye to him evoking their power for his own gain. Regardless, it makes him a threat on many levels."

"Laurent has some major balls that's for sure." He is playing a deadly game, and it's only a matter time before it catches up to him. "So, what was the job?"

"It was a pretty standard set up. Get close to him and into his business. We received intel that he was hired by the Denali cartel for a big job. The specifics were unknown, but the CIA saw it as an opportunity to not only get close to him, but also get into the Denali's inner circle."

The assignment is starting to make more sense. I've heard of the Denali cartel. They are deadly and have been steadily climbing up the ladder of world power over the last several years. "What went wrong?"

She pulls at the label on her bottle. "Things were going according to plan. It took several months, but Laurent was finally starting to trust me." She shakes her head. "His operation was bigger than expected."

"What do you mean?"

"We thought he was more of a snake oil salesman, slimy but not much of a criminal mastermind. We also thought that he was a one-man show with only a few regular employees to help run the business end of things. In fact, that was my in. I was introduced by an acquaintance as a genius at 'creative' bookkeeping."

"That wasn't the case?"

"No. Things ran neater than I expected. He also recently hired a deadly and well-trained team of mercenaries and a few hackers. Most were rejects from various intelligence agencies. Given their behavior, especially by the mercenaries, I'm assuming that they were excluded for being psychologically unstable. The scary thing is I never did get a handle on exactly why he needed them."

The description triggers the memory of a comment she made when we first met. "The A team?"

"Exactly."

"Fuck." Grounding myself in her russet warmth, I try to stop ruminating on how bad it could have been if we had been there when they arrived. Thank God for secret tunnels.

"Early on, Tyler and I suspected that he had someone working inside of the CIA, but we could never get enough details to confirm it."

"That wasn't enough to make them pull you?"

She shakes her head. "Finding out information on me would be almost impossible, and it was hard to believe that he would have that kind of pull." Her finger rhythmically taps her bottle.

"Now you're not so sure."

"Charlie is behind the codes you were given, of that, I have no doubt. The last one," she takes a shuddering breath, "something is wrong. It's hard for me to fathom, but it sounds like it's possible that Laurent knows about the operation."

"What caused you to run?"

"I could tell that something went wrong. He's not good at disguising his feelings. One day he started acting differently towards me. I couldn't pinpoint why and he never said anything specific. One night he called and wanted to meet alone. I knew if I showed up something bad was going to happen. Tyler decided it wasn't worth the risk, so we left. Shortly after, we got word that Laurent put a price on our return."

"Okay. Let's say for a moment that Laurent does have intelligence on you. Why would he want you alive? He must believe that you can give him something."

She shrugs. "I'm nothing special. I don't know why he thinks I have something beneficial to him."

I bite my tongue from saying just how special she is. "There has to be some reason he's so interested in you. Maybe that's where we start. If we figure that out, we can figure out what to do next."

Taking another sip, she ponders the possibility. "You're right, that's possibly our best route."

"That's twice now." I joke, reminding her that it's the second time she acknowledged that I was right about something.

She laughs. "Don't get used to it, pretty boy. Even a broken clock is right twice a day."

I mockingly place my hand over my heart. "Ouch." Bumping her with my knee, I delve back into serious topics, not wanting this opportunity to slip away without trying to find out as much as possible. "What about Charlie?"

She looks up, surprised. "What about him?"

"You seem very close to him. How does he fit into this whole thing?"

She pauses, calculating. "He's my boss."

"Just your boss?"

A wistful look crosses her face. "He knows me better than anyone, but technically, yes, he's just my boss."

"He's CIA."

"Yes."

"What division?"

She raises her eyebrow. "You can't guess?"

"I need to hear it from you." I'm not stupid, but black ops could mean a whole mess of things. I need to hear it from her.

"He's in charge of special projects."

"I assume that he's pretty high up the chain."

"You assume correctly," she acknowledges simply. Apparently, information on Charlie will be more difficult to get.

"What about Tyler?"

"Tyler has always been with me."

My stomach clenches, the phrase bothersome. "What exactly does that mean?"

"He comes with me on every job."

"He's your partner."

"Umm, kind of. I'm the one charged with completing the mission. Tyler makes sure that I come back alive. Even though he does help me during missions, he's more of a bodyguard than a traditional partner."

I roll the information around, processing it. Personally, her description eases my earlier concerns about the status of their relationship. Professionally, I'm fascinated. What she's describing is not typically for CIA agents or assets. There is more to this triad than meets the eye.

"Not that I think you're expendable, but that seems different than the rules for most black ops agents. I've seen you in action, Mira, it's not like you can't take care of yourself. Why would they send you with a bodyguard?"

She looks at me oddly. "I don't know." I frown incredulously, frustrated by her lie. Seeing my face, she quickly clarifies. "Honestly, I don't know."

"I find that hard to believe."

Setting the bottle down on the stoop roughly, she slides up the sleeve on her left arm, pointing to a faded scar on her forearm. Pushing her hair back, she exposes another faded scar on the back of her neck. "There was an accident. It fucked with my memory." Flustered, she picks up her bottle for another long drink.

"I'm sorry." The topic obviously bothers her, but I'm not following how it connects. "But I don't understand. What does that have to do with your role and relationships in the CIA?"

Frustrated, she leans backs against the door, her head banging against it when she looks up at the ceiling. "My memory of how I got into the CIA and why I chose it are lost to me. It's as if I walked into the middle of a movie, where relationships are already defined. Charlie told me that I have always worked this way with Tyler. The dynamic was set up from the beginning. They have more than proved themselves to me, so who am I to question it?"

"I'm sorry," I say again, only this time I feel the words much deeper. I don't have a context to understanding the trauma of living through that type of situation. Her strength and determination had to be unyielding to survive it.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault. Besides, it happened a long time ago."

"How long ago?"

"About seven years."

"I can't imagine what that must be like." Charlie's explanation about their history is gnawing at me. I want to know more and I'm surprised that she doesn't. "You've never questioned it? I mean I've watched you, Bella. Your training…well, it's exceptional. You've never been curious about it?"

"Yes, but what's the point? It wouldn't change anything. The past is the past." Sitting back up, she turns on me accusingly. "I would never leave them."

"Why." I refuse to change course this time. Her devotion to them is obviously strong, but my heart pounds thinking about the dynamics of how they keep her close.

"You don't understand. The accident wiped me of all of my memories. Everything from my childhood on is gone."

"Jesus."

"All I can remember is working for Charlie and Tyler being with me. They are all I know. So yes, technically we just work together, but considering they are the only thing in my life I remember…well, they mean more to me. I feel like I wouldn't be a person without them."

Her words hit me hard. "I don't know what to say." The desire to fix it for her courses through my body and knowing that I can't do anything leaves me feeling useless.

She looks at me sadly. "There's really nothing to say. I live with it. What else can I do?" She pauses, her eyes blankly looking across the garage.

"But don't you want to know more about your past?"

"Why? The past is the past." Her words sound emotionless, robotic. It chills me.

Asking her directly about why she doesn't want to remember is getting me nowhere; maybe the indirect route is best. "Okay, I get that your memory is gone, yet your mind is incredibly sharp, like scary sharp. Is retrograde amnesia the only long term effect of your accident?"

She evaluates me, seemingly surprised that I changed directions. "Yes, from what I can tell. It's weird, my memory is broken when it comes to those memories, but it's exceptional in other ways, to the point of being photographic really."

"In what way?" I nudge, glad that she didn't completely shut down.

"When I try to remember those remote memories, they are blank or distorted. Yet, when it comes to jobs after the accident, I remember everything. Every nuance and smell. And then there are my skills."

"What do you mean?" It's interesting to me that she admits to trying to remember her past, but when directly questioned on it, she shuts down. Biting my tongue, I know it is best not to confront the discrepancy, especially if I want her to continue.

"Like fighting. I'm really good, in several disciplines even. I can beat the best of them with clinical precision, but I have no memory of learning how to do it. It's just natural for me, instinctual." She laughs, but it sounds cold. "Sometimes I feel like a robot. Like programs have been downloaded into my brain."

"How about your family? Can't they fill in the blanks?"

"Charlie said my parents died in an automobile accident when I was in college. They were all I had. No siblings, uncles, or aunts, and both sets of grandparents are dead. It's just me. I guess that's why knowing that Charlie and Tyler remember me is so important. It's like as long as they remember me, it validates who I am." She stops, taking another drink, emptying the bottle.

My heart breaks, the loneliness around her evident. "You don't need validation to be someone, Mira. You are completely unforgettable."

Her hand reaches over and grabs mine, her touch sending electricity through my body. "Thank you." Her words sound choked, the emotion thick.

Flipping my hand, I grasp hers in return. "I've told you that I'm an adrenaline junkie, but what I didn't tell you is I don't give up either. I'm all in on this, Mira." Leaning over I catch her eyes, needing her belief in me. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She looks at our hands, shifting her fingers until they intertwine. The action seems to fascinate her. "Partners?" She reaffirms, her eyes are a mixture of hope and fear.

"Partners." My desire to assist her is stronger than ever, comprehending just how much help she needs.

Releasing my hand, she lays against the door once again, closing her eyes. Silence envelops us, it feels natural, the weight of the secrets between us lifted.

"Why do you call me Mira?" Her voice is soft, her eyes still closed.

"Umm." I didn't expect that question. "It's the name of my favorite star."

Rotating, her eyes search mine. "A star?"

"It makes so much more sense in my head," I laugh uncomfortably. Clearing my throat, I decide just to put it all out there. "It's your eyes. There is a warmth in them. Mira the Wonderful is one of the brightest stars in the sky when it shines. That's what you remind me of when your eyes light up."

Her evaluating silence is nerve-wracking. Finally, a beautiful smile breaks her concentration, allowing me to breathe again. "Definitely not what I expected."

"Do you want me to stop?"

Her head tilts, once again torturing me with her contemplative stare. "No," she says simply, suddenly standing. "I'm beat. We should get some sleep."

Following her lead, I stretch, my body reminding me of my exhaustion. "That's probably a good idea. We have lots of work to do."

"We can start after sleep. I can't think anymore. There are a couple of extra rooms upstairs, feel free use any of them."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to crash on the couch next to Tyler. I want to be close in case he needs anything."

Walking through the door, she points me to the stairs directly on my right. I can tell that there is more to the downstairs, but I'm too tired to ask for the tour. We stand awkwardly, both of us unsure of how to end things.

"Sleep well," I murmur deciding to just cut the cord.

"Good night." She smiles before walking further into the house.

Before I get too far up the steps, I turn. "Hey, Bella."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for talking to me. I want you to know that I don't take it lightly. You can trust me, I promise."

She smiles softly. "I really hope so."

Watching her walk away, the feelings she elicits are overwhelming. I'm happy that she shared part of her story, but I still need to know more. I believe that Bella is telling the truth, it's what is being hidden from her that is concerning. She clearly trusts Tyler and this Charlie, but something feels off about her accident and I intend to find out what it is.

I am traveling all next week for work, so the next post will probably be in two weeks depending upon how how things go.

Up next, we hear from Bella. Until then here is your weekly teaser:

"Morning, Sunshine." The sound of Tyler's voice chases away any lingering drowsiness.

"You're awake." The sight of him makes everything else fade away. Thankfully, his color is back and he is sitting against his pillows, a sign that his strength is returning. "You look much better." Moving to the bed, I check his IV and monitors.

"I feel better. I guess I should thank you for knocking my ass out," he smiles reaching out for my hand. "Thank you for saving me."

"I guess we're even now," I tease.

"Not even close, Swan," he jokes back. Taking a moment, he looks around. "We made it, huh."

"Yup."

"Is Edward here?"

"Don't start. He saved our lives and we wouldn't have made it without him."

"Doesn't mean that he's trustworthy."

"He's done nothing to show otherwise, and I don't get a double agent vibe from him. You've always said that you trust my judgment. I'm asking you to trust me now. We need his help." His pitched face is a telltale sign that he wants to argue, but he also knows me well enough to recognize when I'm past the point of changing my mind. As far as I'm concerned, Edward isn't going anywhere.