Seven—Prey
"Spill." Fiona stared down at her, an amused expression on her face.
"What are you talking about?" Madison asked, stalling as she quickly minimized the window on her computer and locked it.
"You have been staring at the screen for the last hour, your hand gripping that mouse of yours—"
"So? I'm working," she retorted. "Remember? Web mistress?"
"Let me finish," Fiona shot back. "And now all of a sudden, you get this look on your face, lean towards the screen for about a minute, and then just sit back, still staring, but not so intently." She gave her a meaningful look. "Come on, Madison. You've been doing this every day for almost two weeks now. Are you positive there's nothing you'd like to tell me?"
Madison ducked her head, trying to keep the grin from splitting her face. It was just too easy. "I was waiting for an important e-mail, that's all," she said casually when she regained her composure.
"An important e-mail from . . ." she prompted.
"A friend."
Fiona snickered. "'A friend,'" she repeated, lifting her hands to gesture quotation marks. "Now there's a loaded word—are we talking about a friend, a friend friend, or more than a friend?"
"Just a friend. Although I'd love to hear about the difference between those three sometime," she said with a smile.
"Sure, I bet you would. But I'm not falling for that," Fiona said triumphantly. "Now really—who is this friend?"
"Nobody you know." At Fiona's hopeful expression, she finally decided to pacify her. "Yet."
Fiona squealed. "I knew it!"
"The whole office doesn't need to hear about it," Madison whispered as she shot a glance around the room.
"Fine. We're going to lunch, and you, my friend, are spilling your guts. Come on, get your coat." Fiona guided her down the hallway.
"So where do you want to go?"
"How about that sub shop you love?"
"Works for me."
*****
Irina looked at Jack intently through the glass of her cell. "I promise you, Jack, she knows nothing about us."
He glowered. "Us?"
"Grace knows I married a CIA agent, but I've never mentioned you in our discussions. She does most of the talking." She stared at him, noting his raised eyebrow. "She doesn't know I was under orders to marry you."
His expression returned to its usual mask. "I disagree."
"Naturally," she muttered, exasperated.
"The first day she was here . . . I think she figured it out," he finally admitted.
"Oh."
"But I believe you—that you didn't tell her," he said haltingly. Their eyes locked, and Irina opened her mouth to speak. Instead, Jack cut her off. "Women who are sent on these types of missions must have a sixth sense that allows them to identify their prey." Jack stalked away, clutching the intel he had gained during their meeting.
Irina watched him leave and then sat on the bed, finally leaning back and letting her head rest on the pillow. If she was supposed to be the hunter and him the prey in this game, why didn't it feel that way?
*****
"But that's a kid's book!" Christopher argued later that night.
Madison shook her head vigorously from her side of the booth. "No, it's a classic," she corrected as the waiter silently placed the check on the table.
"Isn't classic just another word for old?" he pointed out.
She shook her head dismissively. "No, it is not, and don't you dare mock my favorite book, Christopher Burke."
He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Uh-oh, first and last name." He pulled his wallet out and removed a credit card, handing it to the waiter when he returned to the table.
"Wait a sec—I thought it was my turn to pay," Madison rummaged through her purse.
"Too late," he grinned triumphantly.
She scowled. "You just love doing that, don't you," she muttered.
"I do, I really do," he agreed with a smirk. "And don't think that the evil eye's going to work on me."
"Really," she said menacingly.
He laughed in response. "Do you really think you could scare me?" She glared at him for a moment before a smile began to form. "You are many things, Madison, but scary is not one of them." He paused to add the tip and quickly signed the bill.
"How about this," she proposed. "I promise not to be too scary—" her eyes narrowed at his quickly smothered chuckle—"and you promise not to make fun of Little Women."
He held out his hand and wrapped it around her smaller hand, shaking it firmly. "Promise," he said solemnly.
"Good." The pair stood and exited the restaurant. Madison absent-mindedly hit the keyless entry button on her key ring as they walked into the parking lot.
"Well," Christopher began hesitantly, forcing himself to look into her eyes rather than the ground.
"I had a great time tonight," Madison jumped in.
"Me too." The couple quietly stood next to their cars, hesitant to cut the evening short.
"Why don't you follow me back to my apartment?" Madison offered. "That is, if you're not too tired," she hastily added.
Christopher smiled warmly. "And miss the opportunity to finally see where you live? Not a chance." He walked over and opened her car door for her. "I'll see you in a few minutes."
"In a few minutes," she agreed in a low voice as she inwardly rejoiced.
With any luck, they were well on their way to phase three.
*****
"This has come to our attention. I thought you would want to know." The man passed a piece of paper across the desk to the man seated in the leather chair.
He looked at the paper quickly, then placed it on the desk. "This agent has made contact with Burke?" he asked in a clipped tone.
"Yes."
"When?"
The man hesitated. "Three weeks ago," he admitted.
"And we're just discovering this now? Interesting. You can go."
The man quickly exited the room.
Sark leaned back in the chair and reexamined the communiqué. That he was just finding out about this Agent Thompson was unacceptable.
He picked up the phone and dialed. His agents needed to be taught a lesson.
"Yes, I'm ordering the assassination of one of our agents . . ."
*****
"Good night, Christopher." Smiling, Madison closed the door behind her. She slowly locked the front door of her apartment and sighed, leaning against it. It was tiring, taking on a new persona, but she was finally beginning to see signs that this op might work. Burke seemed to be interested in her—in Madison, she corrected herself—and had even casually made mention of his laboratory. Hopefully in the next week she would get to see that laboratory for herself.
She turned out the lights in the living room and kitchen; after grabbing her pajamas from the bed and a towel from the linen closet, she made her way to the bathroom. She stepped into the shower and closed her eyes, trying to focus her thoughts on something other than Christopher Burke and this complicated mission.
Several minutes later, Madison slowly stepped out of the shower and pulled her pajamas on. She used her towel to wipe off the steam that had collected on the mirror before wrapping it around her hair like a turban.
She stared at the image in front of her. This was one of the few times of the day when she could take a deep breath and be Grace again, even if it was for just a few minutes. With her hair covered up, it was easier to pretend that her blonde curls were hiding underneath the thick towel, that on the other side of her bathroom door was her old apartment, complete with bright colors, too much furniture, and an enormous collection of children's books. Not the sparsely furnished, mostly beige apartment the CIA had given her.
Every night, she watched herself, transfixed by the image, as she brushed her teeth, her hair still covered. She continued to stare as the towel came tumbling down her shoulders into a puddle on the floor, as she pulled her bright, shiny blue comb out of the top left drawer and ran it through her hair, as she grabbed the hair dryer that was too high-tech for her tastes—it was, after all, just a hair dryer—and slowly watched her hair fall into place in its new, short hair style, now in the dark hue she had always longed for as a child. The memory made her laugh sardonically now—she hadn't realized at the time what it would involve for her wish for dark hair to come true.
But tonight, seeing Grace in the mirror, even if for a few minutes, wasn't enough. Madison abruptly turned the hair dryer off and placed it on the counter. She stared in the mirror, willing herself to see the person that lurked beneath the shadows. It was getting harder with each passing day to find her.
"Grace. Grace Thompson," she murmured to herself. She felt a bit of relief in the pit of her stomach. She repeated her name and smiled.
She had to be Madison all day long, for the sake of her job. But perhaps, for a few minutes each night, she could be Grace again—at least, until she had to open the bathroom door.
tbc
