Page 17

"Thank you." It comes out quiet and sincere. I'm not faking.

In the bright sun of the morning, facing this day as the me from yesterday, with all of last night as a dream, is better than facing it as a killer.

"I guess I'll have a lot of free time," I say.

“Nah.” Temperance shakes his head.Will I be working for him right away?“The production will continue with a new director. You're going to be fine, Angela."

I search my reflection in his sunglasses, wishing I could see his eyes. His voice is assured, though. He is not worried about me. But maybe that's because he does not care about me. Maybe it's because I am just a weapon to him—a piece of equipment to be used and discarded like any other.An asset.

"That's good news, I guess," I say about the new director.

He nods. "I told you I'd take care of you." Temperance tips his head. "Call me if you need me."

My brows raise. “I don’t have your number.”

“It’s in your phone.”

Of course it is.“Will you call me?"I sound like a lovesick teenager. What the hell?

He smiles, slow and seductive—I’m a mouse, and he is a teasing cat. "When I need you. But you can call me anytime. I want to help you. The American government is now invested in your success. You need anything, just let me know. Even if you don't think I can help."

Archie pulls on his leash, and I follow him, Temperance trailing behind me. "Really? So, I just keep living my life."

"That's right."

“Where is the catch?”

Temperance laughs and shakes his head. "You want to help your country, and we want to help you. It's all working out just the way it should."

"Okay." I say it slowly, doubt clear.

"Don't worry," he says. "Just concentrate on today, on each step. They will have a new director by the end of the week, and filming will continue. Work with your trainer and memorize your lines."

He's my acting coach now?

"Okay," I say again, glancing down at my watch.

"You need to go," Temperance says, reaching into his pockets and pulling out my car fob.

I stare at it for a moment, and he shakes the chain, stirring me to take it. "Thanks," I say again.

He sips his coffee and nods. "See you soon, and remember, call me if you need me."

I nod, and he turns, walking away from me, back across the pet relief area, into the shadow of the apartment complex and disappearing around the corner.

My phone beeps—my alarm telling me I need to leave.

Scooping up Archie, I head to the garage. My car is in my spot, the dim, florescent lights overhead exposing scratches and an ugly dent in the back bumper.

I open the passenger door and place Archie’s bag on the seat. He pops his head out, but doesn't try to escape—he likes it in there. Feels safe, probably.

I go around and get behind the wheel of my fancy sports car. Pushing the button to start the engine, I take a deep breath.Here we go.

It was all a dream.

As I pull out of the garage into the bright LA day, that line becomes easier to believe. My entire life feels like a dream—and has for some time. Starring role in a movie, fancy car, plush apartment. Now add in dead director, secret agent…what's real about any of this?

My grandmother's voice resounds in my head. "They will come for you. They always come for us."