The Sway (2 page)

Mikey stood staring at the door for a second, breathing in deep inhales.

“I know I should be excited. I shouldn't be pissed. I know that. But God, Julia. I'm going to miss you.”

His voice came out raspy and deep. His tongue licked across his teeth and his eyes weren't just looking at me, they were seeing every part of me. I almost turned away from the intensity of it.

He rushed over to me and scooped me up in his arms. I forgot how to breathe in that moment. I ran my fingers over his short hair and felt his breath against my neck, his grip on me unrelenting as his lips brushed my ear.

“What are you doing?”

“I don't know,” he said while looking at my lips, like they were his next meal.

Did he want to kiss me?
Is this what it's like?

I turned my cheek and slowly shook my head.

“Mikey, don't. Not like this. Come find me. When your mission is over, find me. Kiss me then. When I know how to feel…”

When I am whole again.
I'm so broken. Eisenhower broke me,
I wanted to say.

He placed a chaste kiss on my forehead.

“You bet your ass I'm coming back for you. I'll fix you,” he whispered against my ear.

Mikey leaned back and looked at me. He ran his fingers down my arms and linked his fingers with mine.

“I'll see you,” he added in his deep Boston accent as he let go of my hand and moved away.

“Yeah, I'll see you.”

He looked back once before closing the door behind him. It felt like a part of my actual soul ripped and walked out in his wake. It hurt, more than anything else my mind and heart knew. My throat clogged, and tears burned my eyes.

I would not cry. I didn't even remember the last time I'd cried.

My eyes glassed over, but no drops fell. I'd nipped that in the bud.

Bergeson's hand held open the door, and he came in with a manila file. I sat down in the metal chair, and he sat in the one that had been previously occupied by Mikey.

He slid the file across the table.

“This is high profile, Julia. I had to fight to get this for you. You saving everyone's ass down here is what really put you over the edge.” A hint of pride swelled in his voice.

I opened the file, tucking away all of my emotions for the boy who had been at my side for years. Forcing myself to swallow the emotion, actually, which was the equivalent of drinking mud. It wasn't like moving on; it was more like putting Mikey on his shelf, until he could come back. When he did, we could revisit the last five minutes, the last six years. Figure out the future.

The sight before my eyes jumped at me, to say the least. “So, tell me why I'm looking at a male model?”

Bergeson barked out a laugh. “That's not a model. Just a regular seventeen-year-old kid. He's our in. His dad's our target.”

I nodded and started reading over the notes.

Business as usual—I could do this. “When do we start?”

“
A
gent Caldwell
, are you in position?
”

I didn't reply to the CIA communications handler whose voice buzzed in my ear. Why did they even ask me that anymore? Of course I was in position. I had been in position every day for the last four months. Hell, I had reported in every day for the last four years.

“Julia Statton?”

Hearing my ‘teacher' call out my government alias, I raised my hand. When I met her eyes, I smiled. “Here.”

Hopefully, that conveyed a loud and clear to operations that I was in class sitting in front of my latest assignment.

“Cole Thomas?” The teacher continued with roll call.

He moved behind me—the shift in the air barely perceptible to regular people, but I'd been trained to pick it up—probably lifting his hand up in acknowledgment that he was sitting in our junior English class at eight o'clock on a Monday morning.

The worst part about this undercover assignment was having to go back to school. When I was recruited six years ago, I went through an insanely accelerated education process and came out last summer with my Bachelor's degree in Political Science. So real-life high school was easy in comparison—I didn't even actually have to do anything besides show up, able to easily maintain my cover as a straight-A, high-society girl without really having to pay attention.

But being in eleventh grade English again proved a cruel form of torture. I mean, all torture was cruel, and this was no waterboarding session. It still sucked, though. It must suck for every seventeen-year-old. I'd asked for it, begged for a chance to get a bigger assignment, and I'd landed it. My very own solo mission. I wanted the chance and, boy, did I ever get it.

The plastic point of a pen cap poked into my right shoulder just enough to feel uncomfortable.

Cue to move ahead now that he'd initiated contact. I turned to face Cole, plastering a phony ‘I'm into you' smile on my face. Seriously, how dumb must I really look right now? What wouldn't we do for our country, right?

He started talking before I even made eye contact with him. “Have you finished the report on
The Scarlet Letter
?”

Despite not allowing myself to see him as anything more than a target, I had to admit, he was handsome, his face angular and sharp, but with full lips and warm eyes, making everything harsh and soft balance out. His light blue irises sparkled at me. I shook my head slightly.
He's your mark, not your crush, Caldwell
.

“So, you didn't do it?” he asked, probably taking a cue from my shaking head that he misunderstood.

Would I even really do the report? Someone at the agency would give me one. I mean, maybe I did one once at Eisenhower at fourteen? But recent events didn't allow me time to do the actual homework. I was too busy playing babysitter to Cole.

“Yeah, no. Sorry. I finished it over the weekend.”

I stumbled over the lie, twirling a piece of long blonde hair around my finger and drawing his attention to my movement. I licked my lips to distract him further. Seventeen-year-old boys represented an easy target, like play dough, so easily pliable.

Cole rolled his eyes and then quirked a half smile at me. I could be watching worse things day in and day out. Pretending to have a crush like a regular teenager, and having it be sanctioned, was kind of nice. I was trained to make my emotions reflect each situation appropriately. Everything I did was calculated. It always had been. I thought back to when Bergeson and Swanson had knocked on my door, back when Utah had still been home. I'd been barely thirteen. Hell, Mother Nature had given me her first lovely gift only just the month before.

“Your daughter has shown unique ability in her testing,” they'd said to my parents, using the words “special” and “gifted,” making my parents beam with pride. They hadn't mentioned the unique ability I harbored or why the private academy was so special.

An invitation came addressed to my name with the seal of the United States on it, “Julia Caldwell” embossed on the envelope.

“If you have any questions for us, Julia, please don't hesitate to call.”

They'd handed me a business card and addressed me like an adult. Then the two men clad in pristine black suits had placed back their sunglasses at nearly the same time, like a well-choreographed dance. Inside the envelope had been a brochure to the Eisenhower school in Washington, D.C. It had also held three first-class plane tickets and an outline of a brief itinerary should we want to take a visit to the school.

We'd left that weekend for D.C., and by Sunday, my parents had signed the contract for me to be enrolled in a specialized government school, at the same time relinquishing my care to the United States Government.

“Julia? Julia!”

Cole, trying to whisper. I met his eyes. He tilted his head at me.

“Where'd you go?” he asked through a soft chuckle.

I shrugged and played the blonde ditz. “Daydreaming about the new spring fashion week designer lines,” I said through a perfectly fake smile.

Part of the reason I was on this assignment was because of my age and the ease with which I could blend in with everyone here. I was supposed to blush when Cole, the most popular boy at the school, gave me special attention. I'd been assigned to get close to him in hopes of getting intel on his father, a known dealer in all things that went boom.

Easy on paper, but not an easy feat when he was constantly surrounded by the elite of New York. I had been going to school with him for four months and the most he had acknowledged me had been when asking for a pen or poking one in my back.

I knew my assignment but the teenager in me wanted him to pursue me, like any boy goes after a girl. Call me crazy, but I was still a nineteen-year-old girl, regardless of being trained to shut down my emotions on command. Thankfully, the butterflies in my stomach didn't betray an emotion across my face. Despite my best avoidance efforts, I couldn't deny that Cole was hot.

He was
hot
hot. Mikey was sweet hot. But Cole was, yeah, melt-in-your-mouth hot.

“So, can you help me with it today?” he asked, looking slightly impatient.

The look in his eyes struck me as intense and pleading. How could any sane girl resist that? He was too handsome for his own good.

But back to business—this was the first time he had asked me for help, giving me an opening to acquire more information on him. I had to take it; it could be my big break. My chance to shove it in all the old geezers' faces. I belonged. I was strong, I was made for the secret agent life.

“I'm not going to write it for you, but I will help you outline it. Fair enough?” I said.

Cole squeezed my shoulder in thanks. The sparks shooting down my arm definitely weren't part of my training. The government may have trained me in control, but tiny parts of me still lived in the hidden corners of my soul.

“Meet me in the commons after school,” he said.

I nodded before turning back around, my blonde hair falling behind me. I'd had to dye my natural hair for the first time in my life when I came to New York. The agency had intel that Cole preferred blondes, so my warm, light brown hair had to be bleached. At least, he didn't have a thing for black hair and pixie cuts, because I would so draw the line. I was allowed to have a little vanity; I could wear a wig if they wanted me to have short hair.

I thought back through what I knew about Cole. This would be the first time I would be able to get him alone. My goal hinged on my ability to snag his interest and keep it. Cole was in a unique situation. His father happened to be one the wealthiest individuals in America; he also happened to have acquired that money illegally. Hank Thomas procured weapons. He refurbished them, changed them, and adapted them to become even more deadly than they'd been before. Mr. Thomas likely had enough holdings to effectively wipe out half of Europe, if he so chose. He refused to sign any sort of exclusivity agreement with the government. By playing his cards that way, he forced our hand. If he moved against the country via WMD sales, we would be forced to move on his family—the one thing he actually cared for, other than money.

The bell rang and I waited until Cole got up to follow him out into the hall.

“
Agent Caldwell, is the target secure?
” The comms agent's voice buzzed in my ear.

I had to hold my cell phone to my ear, even though there was no one actually on the other end. Weird enough for a student to actually make a phone call instead of texting—I couldn't very well be parading around the halls talking to comms like they were my invisible friend. Especially considering my current identity as New York's high-society's latest ‘it girl' would be at stake.

“Target is secure. I have eyes in all of his classrooms. The feeds should be going live any minute. The semester change of schedules really messed with things. Besides, where would he go in between eight this morning and fifty minutes later? You guys need to relax,” I said in a quiet huff. “Hey, there wasn't a way to get me physically in any more of his classes?”

I spoke quietly into my phone. To anyone watching, it would look like a heated conversation.

That would be a negative, Caldwell. We didn't want it to be obvious. He has other people watching him. Your fake internship should be cleared with the front office, making it so you can technically leave the campus this semester. Don't go too far from campus during the day. Does he know you live in his building yet?

Lord, if only I could still report to Bergeson. I swear we had the same conversation daily, twice. They were always short and abrupt when they talked on comms. I had the full report of my fake internship at the apartment. I got it a week ago. I had my story down, jeeze.

“Negative, but that will change tonight. He asked for help with an assignment. I'm going to suggest we go to my apartment so we can use the material I already have. I need an outline for
The Scarlet Letter
, something not plagiarized from Wikipedia,” I said with a cringe.

The comms agent laughed out loud.

“
Caldwell, I can't believe you have to do high school again.
”

He must've heard my groan. “Don't remind me. It's bad enough to be here six hours a day.”

Three distinctive clicks on the comms let me know the signal was dropping.

“
Check in tonight at 22:00,
” his voice buzzed.

The reception went scratchy. I couldn't really use the common protocol that we used in the field when dropping comms in the middle of the hallway.

“Sounds good. Talk to you soon.”

The agent laughed again and the buzz in my ear died.

At two-thirty, the bell rang, ending the school day. At the time, I was across the street in a safe house established for my use so I didn't have to take every class but could still be at the school at a moment's notice. My records were as fake as the buttery blonde highlighted hair I had. I had sat in the salon chair for hours. God, the amount of foil it took to pull off this look, you would think I was E.T. trying to phone home. The school wasn't aware I wasn't actually doing an internship in fashion. As far as anyone could see, from the designer bag I carried on my shoulder to the five-inch heels on my feet, I was from the wealth of the Upper East Side. A far cry from the way I used to live in the quiet suburbia of Utah.

I waited another minute and then made my way across the busy street and back into the school.

Cole sat on the benches that made up the commons, talking with some other guys but also scanning the cliques of students. When he noticed me, his face lit up. My cheeks burned slightly. For once, I didn't control an emotion, unable to help it. Besides, the agency had taught us that, on occasion, physical attraction could be hard to deny regardless of how much training we underwent.

Cole's eyes roamed over my body and a cocky smile played on his lips, apparently getting the reaction he had hoped from me. I scanned him, taking him in as every girl in the school saw him.

At six-foot-three, with light brown hair short on the sides but left a little longer on top, he could pass for a Hemsworth brother. Cole was made to row crew. His eyes reminded you that he wasn't innocent, but he had a baby face. He had a man's shape and was filling out his shirt in ways that made all red-blooded girls swoon and made him look older than the seventeen years he had lived. I didn't remember Mikey ever looking like this.

Why was I comparing Cole and Mikey, anyways? That should've been an academy class—how to deal with boys one-on-one.

Cole had on the standard boy's uniform of a light blue button-up shirt and a dark hunter green tie. He had opened his top button and released the knot of his tie. His gray flat trousers hung straight, custom cut. No way something off the rack would fit a body that well. All of my observations were from a simply tactical standpoint. It's not like I actually was checking him out. This was all for the mission, and if I kept telling myself that, I'd believe it.

“Julia, you ready?”

I glanced up into his green eyes and smiled. “Yeah, I have the stuff on my computer at home. We okay to go there?”

Cole nodded and put his arm around my shoulders. Some guys behind us catcalled and whistled. I looked up to Cole. His cheeks were turning red. Apparently, he really did have a thing for blondes.

He walked toward a black limo, and I had to hide my excitement. I had been in a limousine exactly once since coming on assignment in New York. I had been in every American-made SUV on the planet, specifically black SUVs with bulletproof glass, in my time with the government. Not a small luxury to me to see Cole with a driver and car whenever he needed. That stuff proved outrageously expensive, but this was his life. Also Julia Statton's life. The driver held the door open for us and nodded to me as I got in the car, followed by Cole.