Annum Guard: Blackout Part 13

I laugh. And not just a polite laugh, but a full laugh that makes my stomach hurt. The kind of laugh normally reserved for adventure bodywash, which makes me stop.

"So, are you any good at bowling?" I ask.

"Nope. You?"

"Nope."

Paige takes the seat at the computer and starts typing in our names. "Are we playing or what?"

Violet comes back with the shoes and gravitates toward Paige. It's part of our game plan. We each get one of the interns alone and try to see what we can find out. Mike is my a.s.signment, but it's not like I can just come out and ask him if he's disclosing our secrets to anyone, so I figure natural conversation is the best bet. Still, I have to keep reminding myself I'm here to do a job. Talking with Mike is just so . . . easy. So natural.

"Good one," he says after I make my seventh gutter ball in a row. He jostles my shoulder with his, like Abe would do.

The mole, I repeat in my head. You're here to find out if he's supplying information to his defense secretary grandfather.

"So tell me a little bit about your family," I blurt, then cringe. Smooth.

Mike sits down next to me. Paige and Violet are lined up at the ball return. "Well," he says, "you know who my grandfather is, and I'm pretty sure you know I have two moms." I nod. "And my resume told you I grew up in Manhattan, so what else do you want to know?"

I shrug and tell myself to play it cool. "I just like getting to know the people I work with. So tell me something I don't know."

He leans back. "Something you don't know . . . Hmm. Do you know why my last name is Baxter?"

I nod. "After one of your moms. The one who works in finance." Layla Baxter, the one Bonner referred to as a renowned venture capitalist. I looked her up after Bonner told me that. Turns out she's one of the only high-powered, female venture capitalists in the world. She's worth more than a billion dollars, 99 percent of which she's already pledged to charity. His other mother works for a nonprofit that provides vaccines in third-world countries.

"After both of my moms, actually," Mike says. "Back when they had a commitment ceremony-almost thirty years ago-they decided that they both would change their name. Partly because they wanted the same name and neither of them wanted to hyphenate, and partly for professional reasons. My mom Victoria is the pacifist, hippie type, and the Howe name doesn't get you far in that crowd. My other mom, Layla?" He pauses. "When she was just starting out in the financial world, things were different. Women in general had a hard time breaking in, but a woman with an ethnic last name like Teremun? Forget it. So they picked a new name."

"Like . . . out of the phone book?"

A grin spreads across his face. "Nope. It was the name of a shelter dog they'd adopted and recently lost to cancer. A mutt who was already named Baxter when they got him."

"Huh" is all I can think of to say. None of this was in the article I read.

Mike laughs. "Yep, I'm named after a dog. Bet that's something you didn't know. I don't think that story's common knowledge because, you know, it's a little weird."

"I think it's sweet," I say. And that's the truth. It's a sweet story, and it's making me feel a little weird because I doubt it's the kind of story Mike tells a lot of people. It feels personal. Intimate.

"What about you? Any pets?" he asks.

"Yeah, one. A dog. Dos."

"Dose? Like medicine?"

"No, dos, like the number two in Spanish. It's . . ." I'm not sure how much to disclose. "The dog's name is actually Malarkey the Second, hence the dos."

"What happened to Malarkey the First?"

"Malarkey was my dad's dog," I say before I can stop myself. "He died a few years after my dad died, and my mom rushed out the very next day and went to, like, four different shelters until she found a dog that looked exactly like Malarkey. Then she brought him home and gave him the same name." And then I do stop myself. I don't have a memory of this-I was too young-but it's still bringing back feelings I don't want right now. Sadness and bitterness, and a whole bunch of things I'd like to avoid. Besides, these days, the dog lives with our neighbor, Mrs. McNamara, most of the time.

Mike's leg brushes mine. I look down. He's moved closer to me. "I didn't know your dad died. When?"

"I was a baby." My stomach tightens.

"What-"

"He was a Navy SEAL." The lie slips off my tongue. "Working overseas. I don't have too many details. It's pretty cla.s.sified."

Mike's knee inches closer, and his hand grazes my wrist, and this is wrong. All wrong. I look up and catch Yellow's eye at the bar. Her eyebrows have shot to the sky, and she jerks her head toward the restroom.

I spring up. "I'll be right back." Then I look over at Violet. "Bathroom?"

She drops her purple ball onto the rack. "Definitely."

When we're firmly entrenched inside the ladies' room, Yellow grabs onto my arm. "Sorry, are we interrupting your date?"

"My . . . what?"

"Oh, come on, I've watched you flirt with him for the past twenty minutes."

I cross my arms over my chest. "I was not flirting with him. I was getting to know him, which, you know, is the whole point of this thing."

Violet smooths a few strands of hair while looking in the mirror. "Oh, please. I was standing right there. You were absolutely flirting with him."

"I have a boyfriend. I was not flirting. And besides"-I shoot a glance in Yellow's direction-"pot calling the kettle black, much?"

Yellow pulls out a tube of lipstick and dabs light pink on her lips. "Oh, I definitely was flirting with Colton. The difference is, I was doing it intentionally and with zero feeling behind it."

"There's no feeling behind what I was doing either!" As I say it, I know that's not the hundred percent truth, and I don't know how I feel about that. Guilty? Not guilty? Somewhere in between?

"So you admit you were flirting then? Finally," Yellow says with a smirk, and Violet shakes her head with a telling smile on her face.

I grab both of their arms and guide them toward the door. "Can we focus, please? XP. Chances are, one of the three people out there is related to someone who knows more than they're letting on. So let's focus."

"I'm not the one who's lacking focus," Yellow says. "But I think it's a good idea for us to switch targets. I'll take Paige."

Violet nods. "I guess I'm with Mike, then."

Ugh. Colton.

When we return, Mike is still down at the lane, but Paige has joined Colton at the table. I take a breath and slide in next to Colton while Yellow scoots next to Paige. Colton doesn't take his eyes off Yellow.

"So tell me something, Colton. How is it that you haven't wound up on the front page of the newspapers yet?"

Colton's head snaps to me. "Huh?"

I plant the biggest smile I can muster on my face as I tilt my head toward the Heineken bottle he's holding. "Vice President's Son Arrested for Underage Drinking at Local Bar."

He laughs, even though it wasn't really a joke. "Yeah, well, last I checked, you had to be eighteen to get in here, so looks like I'm not the only one with a fake ID in this place."

I make myself keep smiling. "The only difference is, the government issued mine."

"Can I see it?"

"Not a chance."

And then neither of us say anything. Yellow and Paige are talking about the University of Pennsylvania for some reason, and I'm trying to think of how to ply Colton for information. He's not even looking at me. He's scanning the bar behind us, staring at all the pretty girls and winking at them. Really. Actually winking at them.

"Look, I know you don't like me, so I'm not even sure why you're over here."

I sit up straight. "Excuse me?" I have to shout to be heard over the music.

Colton turns to me. He really is attractive, which annoys me to no end. He has a strong jawline and chiseled cheekbones, and honey-brown eyes that twinkle. But it's also obvious that he knows just how attractive he is.

"I said, I know you don't like me. So tell me, what did I ever do to you?" The soft Texas drawl comes out.

"Honestly?" I glance at Yellow across the table, and she slowly shakes her head. "It's not that I don't like you, Colton. It's that you're not exactly taking your job seriously this summer, so I'm not quite sure what to think of you."

"Taking my job seriously? For real? It's a BS job. I thought you would understand that." He huffs. "Look, I know that my mom got me the interns.h.i.+p as a resume builder, and I know that the entire organization is annoyed that we're there. h.e.l.l, you probably think we're spying on you or something."

The comment knocks me over like a rogue wave, but I don't change my expression.

"But really, I don't want to have anything to do with politics. I grew up in politics. I know it's not for me. I don't want any of this on my resume. Just like I know you don't want any of us there this summer. I figured I'd just stay out of your way, and when the summer is over, we'll never have to see each other again."

I'm silent for a moment, and the sound of pins knocking against wooden lanes fills my ears. What Colton said actually makes sense, and I hate to admit it. "So what do you want to do, then, if not politics?"

He shrugs. "I really like music, so I figured maybe I'd get a job at Rolling Stone."

"Yeah, and I really like photography, so I figured I'd go get a job at National Geographic."

Yellow snorts across the table, but Colton misses it. "Ah, cool, you like photography? I have a Mark III my dad got me last Christmas that I have no idea how to use, so maybe you could show me-"

I hold up a hand. "I don't know anything about photography. It was a joke. You're just . . . the most ent.i.tled person I've ever met, and I don't think you even realize it. You just a.s.sume that because you like music you could get a job at the most influential music magazine in the world?"

Colton shrugs and stretches his arm up over the back of the booth, over my shoulders. I think he does it to make me feel small. "You're probably right. I am ent.i.tled. But I'm also extremely well connected."

Yellow kicks me under the table. XP, she mouths.

"Speaking of being well connected," I say, knocking Colton's arm off the booth, "let's talk about your mom a little bit."

"Ugh. Let's not." Colton picks up the beer bottle and swigs the last sip, then sets it down with a clunk. He pushes me out of the booth as he slides past me. "I'm tired." He nods to the Secret Service agent, still lingering at the bar, who nods back. "See you in the morning. Paige, you hanging around?"

Paige sets down the water she's sipping. "No. I have so much reading to do." Yellow stands up to let her by and then looks at me with a frown.

"Baxter!" Colton shouts over the music. "Let's bounce!"

Yellow and I scoot out of the booth, and in a few seconds, Mike is at my side. He starts to lean down, like he's going to hug me, so I step back and shoot my arm forward. He stops, a horrified look on his face. "Oh, um, sorry. Yeah. Good night." Then he shakes my hand and follows Colton and Paige out the door.

I drop down into the booth. Yellow and Violet follow suit. "So, anyone know who XP is now?" I ask.

"Nope," Violet says. "I got nothing. Only that Paige is from outside Philadelphia, went to some ritzy private school, and wants to be the president someday. And that Baxter likes a good T. rex joke."

There's that weird feeling again. I ignore it.

"I got that Colton is a pretentious jacka.s.s and Mike is, well, kinda normal," I say.

Yellow groans. "So I guess it's safe to call Phase One a wash at this point?"

I sigh. Let's just hope Phase Two is more successful.

CHAPTER 12.

At the briefing the next morning, Bonner's voice sounds a little more monotonous than usual. Or maybe it's just my foggy head. My head keeps bobbing forward and my eyes keep closing. I couldn't sleep last night.

Abe waited up for me-just to say a quick "good night"-which made me feel worse, and I don't know why. It's not like Mike and I ever crossed any sort of line. When I tried to fall asleep, I kept seeing an image of Dos running to greet me, which made me think of my mom, and as much as I tried to block her out, I couldn't.

The image of my mom cracking the canvas over her knee in Dr. Netsky's office flooded my mind. Like when a football player blows out his ACL in a game, and the network loops the footage over and over and over again. Crack. My mom still hasn't returned my calls. Crack. I bet anything she's back in Vermont, going about her life like nothing happened. Crack. I mean, she changed her voice mail greeting yesterday, so at least I know she's alive. Crack.

Screw her.

Or pity her. I don't know.

My head falls to my chest one more time, and I snap it back up. The Narc's looking right at me, but she doesn't stop talking. She's speaking about the corporate tax records of Iberia Holdings, the company my dad met about at McSorley's in 1939. Shocker, it doesn't seem to have anything to do with Eagle. I stifle a yawn, then reach for my now-cold Styrofoam cup of cinnamon cookieflavored coffee. I gag as I swallow it. Who in their right mind wants to drink a cookie? Just say to h.e.l.l with the calories and eat the real thing if you want it.

Bonner smiles. "So on to the next one?" No one responds. "Yellow, Green, Blue, and Violet, you'll join me in the library after this. A new s.h.i.+pment of boxes is due to arrive later this morning, and we'll need all the help we can get to go through them."

No one groans, but Violet rolls her eyes, while Green slouches in his seat. Yellow, being Yellow, sits up straight and smiles back at Bonner. Abe doesn't flinch. It's almost as if he isn't listening. He's seated on the other side of the room. We're continuing to dance around our relations.h.i.+p. Doing the ch.o.r.eography but not really feeling the beat.

I force myself to look away from him and shoot my hand into the air. I don't wait to get called on. "And what will the interns and I be doing today?"

Bonner gathers the papers on her lectern into a neat pile. "The interns will be a.s.sisting me this morning. Indigo and Iris, you're with Red. He'll help you with historical prep."

Indigo and I exchange a glance, then we both look back at Bonner.

Indigo half raises his hand. "But we only do historical prep when-"

"When you're about to go on a mission, yes." Bonner places both hands on the lectern. "I've authorized a list of acceptable missions, and Red has selected two of them. You will meet with him after this briefing."

I lean back in my seat and look at Red. He has to feel my gaze lingering on him, but he doesn't turn to me. This is really happening! We're going to track down XP. A million questions fly through my mind. Did the DoD tell Bonner what the XP missions are? Did Red break into her office and track them down? Am I going on one of those missions? Will I be able to crack this thing today?

Also: No more paperwork today!

After the briefing, Indigo and I follow Red up to his office. It's like being in a ghost town. Zeta's old office is across the hall, and the door is shut and locked. The plaque with his name on it has been pulled from the wall. We pa.s.s Bonner's office. The code Alpha used to lock it pops right back into my head-940211-and I wince.