Matt Archer: Blade's Edge (7 page)

“Can I hold it?” she asked.

I hesitated. I hadn’t ever let Mamie touch it. Given that the knife searched for power based on ancestry, I didn’t know if it would transfer from me to a family member or not. It had already left Mike for me. Nothing would hurt me worse than saddling my burden on anyone else. Especially my sister…or my mother.

The knife’s handle flickered blue.
I was looking for you. Only you.

That was unnerving, but I pushed the knife across the table to Mom anyway.

Her hand closed over the handle; thankfully nothing happened. She picked up the knife and laid the flat of the blade across her other palm. “It’s heavy.”

“Yeah,” I said.

She set it back down. Looking into my eyes, she said, “You may not believe me, but I do understand your situation. Your dad, Uncle Mike, all the men in my life have served the country in some way. Even my father, Matt. He was an engineer with the Skunk Works…he helped design stealth fighter planes.”

Grandpa designed jets? What would I find out next—that Grandma had invented long-range missiles? “How come you didn’t tell us that?”

“You came along after he retired. He was more interested in fishing then, and couldn’t talk about his job much anyway,” she said, laughing gently. “Too bad he and Mom died when you were so little. You’re a lot like Grandpa Milt, quiet and strong. But you resemble your father, more so than Brent or Mamie. Even if you all got his eyes, you have his darker hair, his jawline, his build. It’s like you were his parting gift to the family, to remind me of him.”

She picked up a photograph that had been resting face down in front of her and handed it to me. It was a picture of a man sitting astride a Harley, wearing a familiar cocky grin. Dark brown hair, strong chin, deep blue eyes—Archer blue. The man looked at ease in the photo, confident in his own skin.

Dad. And I looked just like him.

Mom sighed quietly, and her shoulders slumped. “I shouldn’t have lied. You kids should’ve known your dad was someone to be proud of. That he loved you enough to leave us for our own protection. And he does love you, Matt.”

“Not enough to hang around for me to be born,” I said, bitter. Maybe he was protecting me, but it didn’t mean he cared that much.

Mom shook her head. “He was there when you were born.” She slid another picture across the table. “The CIA gave him a furlough. My doctor induced labor so Erik could be there for the delivery.”

Dad, wearing a rumpled green sweatshirt, sat in one of those weird hospital chairs that fold out into a bed. He hadn’t shaved for a few days and had dark circles under his eyes. A red-faced, screaming baby with black fuzz on his head lay cradled in his arms. The baby had a hospital band on his ankle, and Dad had a matching one on his wrist. Dad was laughing in the picture, almost like my tantrum had amused him.

Dad knew me. I wasn’t an afterthought.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “Can I have this picture?”

“I’ll make you a copy,” Mom said. “Honey, Mike told me that he hid your job from me because he thought I’d put your welfare and safety ahead of the lives of thousands of people.” She gave me a hard stare. “Mike underestimates me. Always has. Other moms might disagree, but if the only person preventing an all-out war is my son, then you have to do this. I can’t say I don’t hate it, or that I sometimes don’t resent the sense of duty that runs so deep in my family, but I’ll be there to help in any way I can.”

The knife picked that moment to vibrate on the table. Mom jumped.

“Don’t worry, it’s just agreeing with you,” I said. “Do you really mean it? That you’re okay with all this?”

“No, I’m not okay with it in the least,” Mom said, sounding stern. She smiled, though. “But I know it’s a sacrifice we have to make. That’s the difference between acquiescence and bravery. One means you’re giving in. The other means you’re stepping up.”

“I’m really sorry we lied.” I stared at the table, unable to look her in the eye. “And I promise I’ll do everything I can to stay safe.”

She put her arm around me. “You better, otherwise you’re grounded.”

I finally found it safe to look up from the table. “Dad really had a Harley?” When she nodded, I asked, “Can I have one?”

“No.” Mom quirked a little smile. “Too dangerous.”

Chapter Seven

T
he next morning, I woke
up to the scents of home—fabric softener, a fog of Axe drifting from Brent’s room, all overlaid by the scent of cinnamon rolls baking downstairs. I only had two days of break left before I had to go back to school, and I hadn’t seen Will or Ella in a week. I needed to get out of the house to visit everyone, but I had a more pressing concern to attend to first—I was freaking starving. After throwing on some clothes, I hurried downstairs to stake my claim on breakfast.

I’d eaten four cinnamon rolls and washed them down with a gallon of milk by the time my phone rang at nine-thirty.
All You Need Is Love,
by The Beatles, played throughout the kitchen.

“Ella,” Mom and Mamie said in unison, and Brent choked back a laugh.

My face flushed sunburn-hot. Ella had asked me to download that song for her ringtone because it was “sweet.” I liked the song too, but now I wished I’d used Black Sabbath.

I ran upstairs to my room as I answered. “H’lo?”

“Hey, you sound out of breath,” Ella said, her smile audible. “I catch you at a bad time?”

“Nah, just running up the stairs.” I flopped on my bed. “Sorry I missed you last night.”

She laughed. “I’ve been wondering when you’d be awake enough to see me. That must’ve been some trip.”

“Yeah,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t ask me for details. She had a tendency to freak when I came home injured. “You doing anything later?”

“Going out with you.”

Just what I wanted to hear. “What time?”

“I’ll be over at five. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

The way she said “surprise” made me sit up straight with my mouth hanging open. “Uh, okay…”

Ella laughed again. “See you tonight.”

I tossed my phone on the bed. A surprise? What did that mean? My imagination was teeing up a few good scenarios when the doorbell rang. I heard Mom answer, then she came upstairs.

“It’s Will, honey. He seems really excited about something,” she said, cracking my door open. “He’s waiting on the porch.”

It was twenty-two degrees outside and he was waiting on the porch? “On my way.”

I grabbed my jacket and trotted downstairs to find my best friend bouncing on the doorstep, looking like he’d won the lottery. “Ho, ho, ho, dude! Come see what Santa brought me for my birthday.”

“I’m scared to ask,” I grumbled. “Last year, Santa delivered a golf cart with your name painted on it and this year you’ve already been on a ski trip to Aspen. So, let me guess—your other present was…a couple of Victoria’s Secret models?”

Will chuckled. “That would’ve rocked, but no, I got something a little better than that.”

He gestured for me to follow him down to the street. I threw up my hands. He’d parked a gleaming, midnight-blue BMW 335i sport coupe at the curb.

“You could’ve shoveled the driveway,” he said, smirking. “I hate that I had to park my lady on the road.”

“They gave you a brand new Beemer?” There were times when Will’s absentee parents went too far to buy his love, especially with his birthday so close to Christmas. “You asshat.”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? I’m appalled, Matthew.” Will leaned on the hood. “Besides, you could get a new car if you wanted. How much you got socked away in your military account?”

“Enough for a Porsche, but that’s college money,” I said, shaking my head in disgust. “I stand by what I said.”

“You ought to splurge on something every once in a while,” he argued. “I bet you Colonel Black makes good on his promise to get you into West Point on a full ride. You don’t have to save
all
your money.”

“You keep forgetting the army won’t release my account until I’m sixteen.” I sighed. “I still have two months before I see a dime.”

“Okay, how about this…when you’re sixteen, we’re going shopping,” Will said, punching me in the arm. “We’ll buy you a flat-screen TV for your room.”

Guys like Will, who always had plenty of cash, just didn’t get what things cost sometimes. “Look,” I said, “Mom’s had to raise three of us by herself. Brent got a football scholarship. Mamie will definitely get an academic scholarship. I don’t have a prayer of either, so if Colonel Black can’t get me into West Point, I want to pay my own way if I can, help Mom out some.”

The smile slid off Will’s face. “Yeah, I can see that.” Then he grinned again and the awkwardness passed. He dangled the keys from his right index finger. “Millicent was baking something when I left. If you quit calling me asshat, I’ll let you drive the Beemer back to my house.”

I grabbed the keys. “Oh, hell, yeah, best buddy o’mine.”

When I started the BMW up, the engine purred like a nursing kitten. But I didn’t drive the beauty right away. Oh, no, I just leaned back in the driver’s seat and breathed in the scent of new leather. It smelled rich and black—mark of quality when you could smell the
color
of the leather.

I was sorely tempted to call Will names again but he was letting me take his car for a spin, so no more of that.

“You sure you’re okay with me driving?” I asked. “Technically, I just have a student license.”

Will laughed. “Are you kidding? You drive better than anyone else I know. Master Sergeant Schmitz’s Driver’s Ed for Dummies was, what, ten times harder than the course here?”

“True story. Maybe fifteen times harder,” I said. Schmitz made me drive up an offset incline once. It felt like the Humvee was going to tip over at any moment and go rolling down the hillside. After that, regular street driving was nothing special.

I put the BMW in drive and the car barely bumped on the salt and snow as we pulled away from the curb.

“Well?” Will asked, waggling his eyebrows.

I shook my head. “It’s a total piece of crap. I can’t believe your parents are letting you drive this wreck around town.”

“That’s it,” Will said, reaching for the keys, “drive’s over.”

“Nope, you said I could drive it to your house,” I said, gripping the wheel harder. “I’m not giving this lady up yet.”

Will’s house was at the very back of a big cul-de-sac a few neighborhoods over. The Cruessan mansion—Will didn’t like that nickname—sat on six acres that backed up to the woods. I drove up the circular driveway, past the detached four-car garage, then past the attached three-car garage, to park by their front door. As soon as I went inside, the smell of cookies washed over me.

When I stood still to breathe in the awesomeness known as “Millicent’s baking,” Will punched my shoulder. “Told you. I’m sure she’ll let us know when whatever she’s making is ready. Now quit standing around in my entry, mouth-breathing like a creeper.”

We headed to his room and crashed on the sofa to play
Black Ops.
Will had an awesome setup. The soft brown leather couch felt like butter, the perfect place to hang out in front of his fifty-two-inch flat-screen TV. The sickening thing was his home theater area only took up a quarter of his room. As if it hadn’t been big enough before, his dad had hired contractors to knock out the wall between his room and the guest room next door over the summer, creating a four-hundred-square-foot fun zone complete with private bath and a walk-in closet the size of my entire bedroom. If Will wasn’t such a good friend, I’d hate him on principle.

“So, how’d the mission go?” Will asked. “I was pissed my parents wanted me to go skiing instead of the ‘field trip.’ Did I miss anything good?”

“Well, I nearly killed myself when my chute didn’t open,” I said. “But we got the Kalis, so it came out all right.”

“You forgot the flashlight, didn’t you,” he growled. “Good luck charms don’t work unless you have them on you.”

“Dude—I had it in my pocket the whole time.”

Will paused the game to glare at me, his dark eyes narrowed. “You had it with you? That’s it, you are not allowed to hunt without me ever again. Bad things happen when you do.”

He wasn’t kidding and I half-smirked. “Not like I don’t get hurt when you’re around though. I seem to recall pulling a dozen muscles in my back during the Australia Op after I fell down that rock face.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Injuries, dude, not near death experiences. I think the dark spirits are intimidated by me. Plus, I’d take a bullet for you without thinking twice about it. Monsters must know they have to come through me to get to you, so they don’t try the sneaky stuff when I’m around.”

At six-four and two-hundred-thirty pounds, with hair so black it looked blue in the sunlight, Will was scary enough that his theory held some water. One of a very few guys our age bigger than me, Will intimidated the heck out of all the quarterbacks he played against. He would burst through the other team’s offensive lines as if they were made of Jell-O to lay the ball-handler out flat. Just like his dad, an ex-New York Jets linebacker.

“That must be it, dude.”

“Australia.” Will chuckled. “Thought we were going to forget that little accident happened.”

“Okay, okay. We got the job done; that’s all that counts,” I said. “Hey, sounds like we might be spooling up for a new op in Afghanistan. You want to come along for spring break?”

“What’s the cover—the gifted and talented thing?” Will asked.

“For you. I don’t need a cover anymore.” I paused the game. “Mom knows about the team…she doesn’t know you’re part of it yet, but I’ve been outed.”

Mouth hanging open, Will said, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. It was bad…but she’s gonna let me stay on the team.”

Will stared at nothing for a moment. “Only a matter of time, I guess. My parents may be too busy to notice what I’m up to, but that won’t last forever.” He lowered his voice, even though the bedroom door was shut. “And Millicent has been getting more suspicious. Asking questions about our ‘field trips.’ She’ll figure it out even if my folks don’t.”

Right on cue, there was a knock. “Will, I have cookies downstairs.”

In addition to her snooping, Will’s housekeeper was always baking. That was probably how she made sure we weren’t doing drugs or hiding girls under the bed. It worked, too. What guy would turn down a freshly-baked cake?

“Okay, be there in a sec,” Will called. He leaned closer to me, whispering, “Radar. The woman has radar or sonar or some other ‘ar’ that tells her we’re up to something. She’s gonna figure it out, and we need to be ready.”