Chapter 2: Linear Dependence

The assignment brief is thorough and clear. We need to get to Gas Works Park tomorrow, where we'll execute the new bee sting changeup hit Aro invented. I memorize the positions and triangulations. The target is the lynchpin in a human trafficking operation; taking him out before he reaches the docks will bring higher-ups out of the woodwork, and the feds will sweep in. By then, we'll be long gone.

Edward goes through the protocol of testing his darts and my syringe in a BioSafe canister before resealing the items in fresh Mylar packs, one for each of us. He pinches and holds his right earlobe, activating his direct SatCom line to Aro. "Big reporting. Equipment tested and secured. Over."

I chime in on my own right earlobe, just so my voice stamp and code name are on record. My left earlobe is my line to Edward—just as his is to me. It all goes through the Volturi computers, of course.

Our target for tomorrow is male, Caucasian, fifty-six. He looks to be much older than that in the profile shots. The bags under his eyes tug the skin away from his bored-looking, bloodshot eyeballs. Aro thought to include other photographs in the brief: bodies crowded into a shipping container. Girls, mostly. Edward won't look directly at them. He looks at my expression instead, and I think he can see everything he needs to know there. Whatever he sees, it makes him crack his knuckles. I power up the shredder.

A moment later, Esme's head appears in the doorway. She nods toward the laundry room. "Dryer is all yours, kid." She looks at the growing pile of paper shreds filling the transparent receptacle.

Edward's eyes soften as he smiles at her. "Science assignment. Recycling. Too noisy?"

"Uh-uh. Carry on. Bella, you're welcome to stay for dinner, if you'd like."

"Oh, thanks, but I need to get home and feed the dog."

She nods and leaves us to it.

I tilt my head, looking at Edward. "You do your own laundry, huh?"

He shrugs. "I'm particular." Then, "Miss Violet?"

I sigh. "Still puking up half her meals. She's lost, like a pound."

"You'll get her turned around. I know you will." He looks up from his task of emptying the shredder into a large plastic Ziploc bag. These new eyebrows of his are star performers; the slightest crinkle delivers a heavy dose of sympathy. "I'll run you home."

+x+x+x+x+x+

In the car, I shuffle my two cans of dog food back and forth in my hands. My brain races through volume and density calculations, doubling and dividing. I wonder if I can ask Edward to take me to the store for heavy groceries. Maybe Sunday. I mean, now that we're acting like a couple. I turn and watch the way the streetlights cast a glow on his face as we drive. Am I supposed to be believable as his girlfriend?

"So…big boobs, huh? That's what does it for you?"

"I'm seventeen, Bella. It doesn't take much." He's scowling, eyes focused on the road ahead. "Why do you care?"

That's a good question. "I'm just thinking about Monday at school. Whether we'll be convincing."

"Hmm. It's high school. Nobody asks questions about that kind of thing. What motivation would we have to fake it?"

He's right, of course. The harder thing would be getting people to believe the truth. I think we're done talking about it—until I hear him clear his throat. I realize the engine is quiet. We're parked in front of my darkened house. He's twisted in his seat to face me when I turn to look at him.

"I'm glad it's you I'm paired up with. I mean, Leah is fine, but I think she works better with Jake. And I never liked the idea of you with him."

It's not that he dislikes Jake; there's no room for distrust in our operation. But Jake has always been vocal about wanting to be career Volturi, and Edward can't relate to that. Jake has a tendency to fall in line with groups instead of relying on his own objective faculties, Edward thinks.

"I'm glad, too." I cover his hand with mine on the console between us. "Hey, thank you for being the one to move. I know it wasn't easy for you leaving Chicago."

He frowns. "I don't mind. You have your relationships here. The girls. Charlie. It's different for me."

He's been with Carlisle and Esme for three years, and it's his longest placement. He makes friends from time to time but pulls away when they start to ask questions about his moods. He likes that he never has to lie with me, he says.

I pull his hand in between mine, kneading the thick muscle at the base of his thumb. I don't remember how I know he carries stress here. I just do.

He smiles and squeezes back.

Every once in a while, it's possible to set aside my conditioning and see past the colleague to the friend underneath. This is one of those times. His eyes are pleading with me, whether he realizes it or not. He catches my eye before scanning the interior of the car, reminding me wordlessly that Aro has ears everywhere. For your own protection, Aro would say.

I turn the radio on for ambient noise and move into Edward's arms, holding him close. To a passerby we'll look like a frisky couple, I guess, but the point is to get my lips close to his ear. It's the only way we can be sure of having a private conversation.

"Talk to me." My voice is lower than a whisper.

I feel his rib cage expand and contract before his breath tickles my skin. "Do you ever find yourself wishing Charlie knew? Someone who would stick up for you and help you sort out right from wrong?"

I have to stifle a gasp. This kind of talk would get us both called to headquarters. Right and wrong isn't supposed to occur to us. This is the kink they haven't worked out in their genius program: We develop consciences. I can't even answer. I just shake my head no.

He shudders and sinks in my arms, letting me hold him. "I just don't know how much longer I can do this without losing…you know." I do know. All semblance of humanity is the thing he means. He thinks about it a lot.

"You're eighteen soon, and then it's just one more year." Feeble, I know.

He sighs. It's hot on my neck. That sigh says a year is forever.

I can't have him breaking down on me. "Shh. You're a good person, Edward. The best I know. You've never made anyone suffer—not on purpose, not on accident. Listen to me. And none of them were innocent. They died for a reason."

"That's not true." He tenses slightly, and his words sound pinched.

I shake my head, knowing what he's thinking of. Two years ago, he was working with Sam when a hit went awry. The target had an allergic reaction to a toxin, making him seize six hours earlier than expected—when he was behind the wheel. It wouldn't have mattered, except the target took another car down a cliff with him.

"And anyways, I don't care," he says. "We're playing God; it shouldn't be up to me or you. Or—ah, fuck—that girl."

"I know." I just keep stroking his back. He can't even say her name. Those people who died had a kid who survived, and Aro had her brought into the program. Bree. She'll be one of us when Emily retires in a few months. "I know."

I hold him like this until I feel his agitated heart slow down. There's nothing I can say, because neither of us has a choice. None of us do. Aro has dossiers on us that would put us away for life. We must all protect ourselves, mustn't we? he says. Don't give me a reason not to vouch for you, and we'll be fine. We're supposed to be allowed to walk away when we turn nineteen—the zero year—but there's no escaping the feeling that somehow it's impossible to just shed this existence like a snakeskin. To just leave it behind.

Edward starts to straighten up, speaking normally now. "Um. By the way…it's not so much big boobs, just so you know. More like…sensitive."

I let go, barking laughter. "Dude. Just because you can tell me anything doesn't mean you need to."

"Too much?" Tears are shining in his eyes, but he has a smile plastered across his face.

"Just—see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Bella."

He waits until I'm safely inside my house before he turns the engine on and drives away.

+x+x+x+x+x+

Everything goes smoothly at Gas Works Park. Edward gets positioned up on a hill with his dart gun, which is camouflaged to look like a pair of binoculars. I'm flying a kite, blending in with the crowds and reading the angles of wind gusts so I can engineer a believable collision with my target. When I get the visual confirmation this is him, I give the signal and then let the wind take me into his path where we collide. Just as the man untangles himself from my kite string, he slaps a hand to his neck. A bee—or what looks like a bee to him—falls to the concrete path.

"Motherfucker! Oh, uh. Pardon my language."

I left my hair unwashed today, so it looks stringy, and I'm wearing ill-fitting overalls and chunky glasses. Edward's suggestion. I must pass for fifteen at the most.

"S'okay. He got you good." Edward's dart will have left behind real bee venom, a synthetic slow-acting poison, and a microscopic tracking device. The man's neck is already swelling up.

"I'm stung? You can see it?"

"Looks pretty bad. You're allergic?" A crowd has started to gather. Strangers begin shouting out advice.

"I'm all right," he says to no one in particular. "I have my EpiPen." He draws it out of his jacket pocket.

My EpiPen is what he has, which means he has a second type of poison. Aro is nothing if not thorough. The serial number will trace back to a bad batch, which will give local authorities a story to tell any of these spectators who might get curious. I pretend to be distracted by a problem with my kite and walk away, winding the string as I go. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him stab the EpiPen into his fleshy thigh. He sinks to his knees. Edward's voice on the SatCom calls it. And we're done.

A little girl wearing a tulle ballerina skirt on top of fleece pants stands stock still on the path, clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest. Her eyes are riveted to the scene I'm walking away from.

+x+x+x+x+x+

We watch the six o'clock news in Edward's den, alone. There's no mention of a deadly bee sting in Gas Works Park. But we do see coverage of the trafficking ring bust. Twelve high-ranking bosses from three crime families are in cuffs, and area hospitals are treating almost two hundred underage girls and a few dozen boys for dehydration.

"That needed to be done today," I say. It's not a question, but I look to Edward for his agreement.

He scrubs his face with his palms and looks at me. I can't read the expression on his face.

"I'll take you home," he says. "We both need to decompress."

+x+x+x+x+x+

On Saturdays, Charlie only has four hours between his day shift as a guard at the Museum and his night shift riding ambulances as an EMT. I've made a habit of being home during that time, so I feel terrible when I walk in to find him microwaving a Lean Cuisine.

"Dad. I was planning to make you steak. What are you eating?"

He looks back and forth between me and the cardboard packaging in the trash. "Orange chicken. Had it before. It's not bad. Look, it's…'heart healthy.'"

"Well, at least get off your feet for a while. Let me do this." I stir-fry some extra vegetables to add to his meal and make a salad we can both eat. I can tell he isn't sure how to interpret my fussiness. I don't often dote on him, so he gets nervous when I do.

"We can have steak tomorrow. Settle down. It'll keep one more day. What's going on, kid?"

I glance up from my plate and see him eyeing the mound of lettuce leaves that I've been pushing around. I can't exactly tell him what's on my mind, but it occurs to me to share a bit of news. "Oh. I, um…I met this new guy at school this week. Edward Cullen."

"And now you're not eating? What, did he say something to make you feel self-conscious? You're a perfectly healthy weight!"

"What? No. I just…we went to the movies today. I ate a lot of popcorn."

He scowls. I know he can't stand it that I'm growing up without a mother. He brings home pamphlets from the women's clinic at the hospital and studies them like they're ancient runes. Sometimes I come across him muttering at the framed photo of my mother I keep on my dresser; she died in a fire the summer before I turned six, so I have only faint memories of her.

When he sees me begin to eat more of my dinner, he huffs.

We eat in silence for a few moments. I glance up again when I sense him looking at me. He's giving me the side eye. "Is that what you wore for your date?"

Crap. I'm still in my overalls. "I—well, it wasn't planned like that. I thought we were just going to work on a messy science project. For extra credit. Now who's making me feel self-conscious?" I hate attacking his weak spot, especially when his weak spot is his belief in himself as a parent. He does a fine job. Tears prick my eyes.

"Okay, jeez. I was just going to say there's some cash in my top drawer if you need…things. A new outfit."

I roll my eyes in what I think is an expected manner. "I should be fine. But thanks."

"Pick up some mousetraps if you go to the store tomorrow, hey? Miss Violet won't leave the cellar alone. I think that street project the other night sent some critters scrambling for cover."

"Mousetraps? Just what kind of store do you think I'm shopping for clothes at? I'm burning these overalls."

"You know what I mean. While you're out and about." He's smiling again.

"Okay, Dad."

"And bring this Edward over to the house. I want to meet him."

+x+x+x+x+x+

That night I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding. I freeze but keep my eyes peeled wide, casting about the room for something, anything to distract myself from the images in my mind.

I startle when I hear Edward's voice in my left ear, gravelly and slurred, but with a sharp edge. "What happened? Are you all right?" I hear knocking and fumbling noises coming from his end.

Sure enough, my shaking fingers are wedged around my left earlobe. I must have pinched it in my half-conscious alarm. I answer him, sobs bubbling up. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to...I'm okay. Ten twenty-two, disregard." I'm alert enough to remember my ten-codes, at least.

"You don't sound okay."

"Just a dream."

"I'm coming."

Fifteen minutes later, he creeps up the fire escape and in through my window. Without a word, he climbs into bed and wraps himself around me like a human straight jacket. His clothes feel cool from the night air. Edward strokes my forehead, moving the hair out of my wet face.

"What is it? Can you talk about it?"

"Mmm—Miss Violet."

"Shit. What happened? Is she worse?"

"My dream. I dreamed she died. And I just stood…I stood there watching her. I didn't feel a thing. I didn't even try to comfort her while...you know, while…"

"Shhh. That wouldn't happen. You love her. I know you do." He tightens his hold on me. The protocol for this type of thing says he should file an immediate report and have me debrief with a psych resource, but Aro isn't that strict about it. What Aro wants to learn, he finds out; what he doesn't care to know, he ignores.

The strange thing is that this reaction comes as a relief to me. I think it's a relief to Edward, too.

"Can you…I mean, do you need to get the car home so no one notices—"

"I rode my bike here. Just rest."

I fall back asleep with a vague awareness of his palm stroking up and down my back.

+x+x+x+x+x+

Sunday is better. I introduce Edward to Charlie after having made Charlie his special steak for lunch. Edward gets raked over the coals all the same. We spend some time hanging out with Miss Violet. She's a terrier mix with rusty, frizzy hair. Edward tries to toss a stick with her in the street but stops when we both notice the way she limps. She's content to just sit in his lap with her tongue hanging out. He seems content, too.

We do our homework at the kitchen table, much to Charlie's bemusement. I check over Edward's calculus problem sets and go over derivatives with him. He doesn't need the grade, but he wants to pass his AP test. Word problems are his Achilles heel. He keeps trying to visualize real-world scenarios that correspond with things like velocities (bullets) and trajectories (shrapnel) and how many thousands of people live within a one-mile radius of a certain point (a dirty bomb). He can't just work within the abstraction.

"If you have to think about something," I say, "think about baseball."

This makes him grin stupidly. "You give the same advice as Maxim."

"Dork. I think we're done here." I flip the textbook closed and leave him to gather the papers scattered by the puff of air.

He runs me to the grocery store and back. I have plans to go to some band's in-store appearance with Rose and Alice in Ballard later. My bonus money comes in dribs and drabs in order for me to stay inconspicuous, but I have enough to spring for Vietnamese food for the girls and myself after the show. Edward's situation is a bit different, because people perceive him to be from an affluent family, but most of his money is held in a trust like mine is.

He insists on buying—and paying for—the fancy, expensive dog food. He even thanks me for indulging him, as if he's the one benefitting.

He sits on the stoop and waits with me for the girls to come pick me up. Even after our nice day, he's beginning to brood. He knows as well as I do that this downtime after a big job doesn't last forever. And we still have yet to learn what our long job is—the reason he's been transferred here. He slots his hands into the gaping gashes in his jeans where his knees poke out.

"You're funny. Want me to patch those for you?"

"Hell no." He turns to squint at me, grinning. "I mean, where would I put my hands?"

I mimic his position, capping my knees with my palms, even though I don't have rips in my jeans. I feel like a miniature person next to him.

He laughs at me. "Now, see, you only wish you were a slob like me." He pulls my legs onto his lap, rotating me so I sit with my back to the hand railing.

"So…Girlfriend," he says. "Tomorrow at school."

"Yeah?"

"Did you want to do this pretty much by the book? PDA and everything?" I wish I could say he was joking. There's actually a manual on masquerading as a couple. Edward has had to carry out a sweetheart con before, back in Chicago; I asked him to spare me the details. He says our two-sided mock romance should be a million times easier.

"Oh. I guess." I glance down to where his hands are resting on my knees. "Is this the sort of thing you had in mind?"

His eyebrows shoot up. "Well." He meets my eye and presses his lips together for a moment. "There's familiar…"

I watch his Adam's apple retreat and reappear, just to have something to focus on. His hands are travelling higher up my thighs. Oh.

"And then there's familiar."

"Uh-huh." My voice squeaks, and his warm hands tighten into a grip that feels more playful than intimate. When I look at him again, he's blinking slowly.

"Okay, you. We'll stick with zones four and three. Better if I don't repel you."

I laugh weakly. "You don't repel me. You're just forgetting people know me at this school. I'm not really a touchy-feely sort of girl."

"Well, that's because you hadn't met me yet. As far as they know. I'm pretty sure you won't be able to keep your hands off the public-consumption version of me. I've been practicing being irresistible."

I shake my head. It's fascinating to watch him dial the charm up and down on demand. "I'm sure you have."

I'm about to say I think he might have a future in Hollywood when a pair of headlights blinds me. We both turn to see Rose and Alice pull up in Alice's battered black Beetle. He stands, helping me to my feet and giving my elbow one last squeeze before loping across the lawn to his car. He's wearing his dazzling all-audiences grin now. The girls watch him go.

This is good, I tell myself. I won't get a break from reciting the official story for the next few hours. The last thing I need is to be alone, pondering all the ways that conversation could have gone differently.

+x+x+x+x+x+

AN: Wow, you guys - I am blown away by the responses to chapter 1! Seriously amazed. Who knew there were so many fans of teen assassin intrigue out there? Thank you all SO much for reading! Thanks thanks thanks to beta and pre-readers happymelt, midsouthmama, and faireyfan for devoting precious weekend time to setting me straight.