Sark watched his daughter run around the Christmas tree lot, searching for the perfect tree. Ever since they had spent a Christmas in Maine, Hope had gotten addicted to setting up a massive pine tree in their living room and decorating it to her liking. For some reason, she wanted to put thousands of pieces of tinsel on it this year. That was something to look forward to.
In their four years of living in L.A. once more, Sark had to admit that things had quieted down to where putting tinsel on the tree was the most pressing thing he had to worry about. The developments in the prophecy plaguing the thoughts of Sydney and him were few and far between. They hadn't even spoken of it in over a month.
He broke away from his thoughts as his daughter yelled his name. She was standing in front of the scrawniest tree he had ever seen and pointing emphatically at it. "Is that the one you want?"
"Yeah, isn't it great?"
Sark couldn't believe that Hope had found the worst tree on the lot and fell in love with it. Trying to use his best happy voice, he replied, "It's fantastic."
His daughter collapsed into a fit of laughter immediately. He stared at her in confusion until she had calmed down five minutes later. "What's so funny?"
"I just wanted to see if I could get you to lie to me. That's the worst tree in the whole world, Dad."
He punched her gently on the arm. "You need to stop tormenting me, kid."
"Mom does it."
"Your mother is allowed to. I love her."
"And you don't love me?"
He looked at her seriously. "I tolerate you. There's a difference." Hope stuck out her bottom lip in a pout, and he couldn't help but laugh. Grabbing her, he pulled her in close to his side. "Now that pout you got from me. Let's find us the perfect Christmas tree."
Sydney paced back and forth before the front door of her house. Her father was supposed to call her. She had received an anonymous letter on the front porch about half an hour after Sark and Hope had left to go on the perfect Christmas tree hunt.
Someone was offering her information on her daughter's future for a million dollars.
Her cell phone began to rang, and she rushed into the dining room to pick it up. "Talk to me, Dad."
"The offer seems legitimate. The man said he was from a faction of the newly reformed K-Directorate. Our best guess, he's one of the underlings that doesn't like the fact that he won't be able to work his way up to a powerful position like he always wanted. Figures that the CIA might give him the money he needs to buy himself a place."
"Are you actually telling me that I should find a way to get the million dollars?"
"No. There's no way you should pay this guy that much. Whatever information he has, it can't be that hard to get. He's just an underling. Give me a few hours, and I'll figure out what he knows."
"Dad, I don't have a few hours. He said that he would send someone to get the money by six o'clock. It's already 4:52. I don't have the time to let you do some detective work."
"I'm still going to do it. Maybe it won't take as long as I think it will."
"This has set-up written all over it."
"I know that. But sometimes you have to take a leap of faith into a trap to get to the point you want to be at."
"You're philosophizing. It's quite annoying."
"Then call your mother and tell her your problems," Jack said before hanging up.
Sydney felt herself smile for the first time since she had gotten that anonymous note. Her father always got touchy whenever she mocked him. Sighing, she dialed her mother's number. Irina picked up on the second ring. "What's wrong, Sydney?"
"I don't only call you when something's wrong," she defended, making her way up the stairs and into her bedroom. She sat down into the comfy chair by the window with a plop.
"Yes, you do. I haven't sent you on a solid assignment for a year, Sydney, because you're so concerned for my granddaughter. The only time you call me is when you think Hope's in danger."
"What a lie," she said, rolling her eyes even though she knew that her mother was right.
"But it's the truth. What's wrong with Hope?"
"I got a letter this morning from a man claiming he had information on the Hope's prophecy. He demanded a million dollars in return for the info. I didn't know what to do and, since Sark is currently out with Hope, I didn't have anyone to ask."
"You called your father," Irina said, recognizing Sydney's failure to get to the point as the usual sign for when she went to her father for help before she called her mother.
"I figured with his obvious CIA resources he might be able to find the origin of the note. And before you say it, I know you have CIA resources, too. But they're all black ops-y and I don't really understand what you can and can't do with them."
"Point taken. So what did Jack have to say?"
"He said he thought it was an underling of K-Directorate trying to make a name for himself so that he can be promoted farther up. Told me that I shouldn't give him the money."
"How long do you have?"
"About one hour, then there is going to be an operative on my door demanding the million."
"I knew that bringing you three back to Los Angeles was the wrong decision."
"We haven't been targeted by one mercenary since we came here," Sydney pointed out.
"Mostly because I've had some of my agents protecting you."
"I told you not to do that, Mom."
"It was necessary."
Sydney growled to herself in frustration. It wasn't really that the idea of having her mother assign her protection that made her so angry. It was the fact that she was so caught up in her domestic bliss that she hadn't noticed these alleged agents' presence. There used to be a time when things like that didn't get by her.
"So you want my advice, right?" Irina asked after a moment of silence. "The situation sounds completely fishy. Shoot the agent when he shows up at your house."
"Just shoot him? No verbal exchange? No talk about what he knows?'
"Shoot him," Irina affirmed. "It will make things a lot easier on you. If he does have some information that is pertinent to your life, it's better you didn't know. You're happy right now, and you shouldn't mess with that. If the offer is a sham, then you just saved yourself a few minutes. And you'll have time to clean up before your family gets home."
Sydney heard a creak on the stairs leading up to the second floor. "What time is it?" she asked her mother.
"5:19. Why?"
She sat still and listened for a few minutes in silence.
"Sydney?" Irina prodded.
"Sorry. I thought I heard someone in the house, but it couldn't have been. Sark and Hope shouldn't be home for at least another two hours if I know the way my daughter picks out a Christmas tree. That agent with all the info shouldn't be here until six o'clock, so it's not them."
"You should run a perimeter check. Don't get sloppy."
"I know. I'll call you in the morning and let you know how everything went."
Sydney heard the floorboard creak beside her before she registered that a hand was covering her mouth. The phone hit the floor just about the time, she turned to get a look at her attacker.
"Sydney? Sydney? Are you there?" Irina's voice rang through the phone. "Damnit, Sydney. Answer me."
Sark pulled into the driveway and let out the breath he had been holding as he saw the porch light on. That was Sydney's code to him that everything was okay. If anything went wrong while he was out, the first thing she would do was hit the switch to turn the light off. It was the first thing they had done when they moved into the house. An electrician had been called, and he was quickly paid lots of money to install light switches in each room that controlled the porch light and not ask questions while he was doing it.
Hope slid out of the car once Sark had pulled it to a stop in front of the closed garage. "Dad?" she said hesitantly as they both began to untie the tree from the hood of the SUV.
"What's the problem, munchkin?" he said with a smile.
"I have a question for you." When her father continued to untie the tree without paying her much attention, she added, "About boys."
Sark felt his whole body stiffen, and his breath push out of his lungs. "You have a question about boys? Aren't you too young for that kind of thing?"
"I'm fourteen, Dad." She sighed. "I knew I should have just waited and asked Mom."
"Give me a moment," he said. Stopping he thought about his daughter. She seemed too innocent to be worrying about boys in any way. It was amazing how hard a life she had had so far, but she had still managed to turn out normal. Someday he was going to have to shatter that innocent world. But at least it wasn't today. He hefted the tree off the roof with help from Hope and finally turned to her. "I'm sorry, love. You took me by surprise there. What is it you want to know?"
"There's this boy in my Math class named Tyler."
Sark felt his body freeze up again even though there was no rationale to it. If his daughter happened to like a boy named Tyler in her Math class, that had no connection to Tyler Vaughn. Tyler Vaughn lived halfway around the world with his parents. Sark should know. He checked to make sure that fact hadn't changed nearly every day and every night.
"Dad, you're not breathing," Hope said, pushing his shoulder lightly. "If I had known this would be so traumatic for you, I definitely would have asked Mom."
"I'm fine," Sark said. "My mind just wandered off somewhere. So, you like a boy named Tyler, huh?"
"Yeah. Except he doesn't even talk to me. I keep asking him questions about our assignments, and all I get is one word answers."
"Does Tyler like Math class?"
"No. He absolutely hates Math."
"Well, there's your problem. You need to talk to him about something you both are interested in."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. You're the one that's in love with this Tyler character."
Hope shot her father a dirty look. "I never said it was love."
"It's always love at your age." Sark hooked his arm around his daughter's neck. "Tell you what. Let's go inside, tell your Mom about this Tyler character, and then we can get her opinion."
Hope shut the door behind them as they went inside the house. She felt her father tense up for the third time. "Is something wrong?" she whispered. She was used to either one of her parents getting nervous at any possible moment. There seemed to always be some sort of crisis on the horizon for them to worry about.
Her parents had told her about the prophecy involving her on her thirteenth birthday, so she was pretty sure most of the tensing up had to do with her somehow. Still, it made her get worried for her parents.
"No, nothing's wrong," Sark said, assuring her with a smile. "I just though it might be smart to put the tree in the garage. We probably won't get it up tonight, but it should be in the garage in case it snows. We don't want a wet tree in the morning. Go upstairs and get your Mom. We'll show her the tree once I get it inside the garage."
Hope nodded and, after watching her father walk back outside, she made her way upstairs. "Mom? Where are you?" When there was no answer, she rolled her eyes. Her mother was probably enthralled in some file folder that her grandma or grandpa sent over with one of her trillion aunts or uncles. It seemed like she had the largest, non-blood related family in the world. "Mom," she yelled again.
Pushing the door open, she saw the room in complete disarray. There were papers everywhere, and a steady buzzing coming from somewhere in the mess. On automatic, Hope stumbled into the room and tried to locate the buzzing. Kneeling down, she found her mother's cell phone under a pile of ripped up books. It looked like there had been a phone call in progress.
Hope looked around the room, searching for something. What exactly that was she didn't quite know. Her eyes rested on the light switch that matched the corresponding switches in every other room. There were claw marks all around it, as if someone was desperately trying to get the light to switch off.
Looking back on this moment, she would shudder at the memory of the shrill scream that erupted from her throat as she finally realized that her mother was gone.