Page 33

One week later

Honestly, I’d forgotten about my original deal with the CIA. You know, back when they’d broken into my apartment and told me they’d give me whatever I wanted if I agreed to work with them? Totally had slipped my mind.

But not Chan’s.

He’d held them to their end of the bargain, and he’d made sure it happened fast. I’d almost been ashamed to tell him I wanted legal, official paperwork separating me from Holt that hadn’t been forged. But he’d only looked at me like it was a perfectly respectable ask.

I’d always thought the government took months to complete things like passports and Social Security cards. Apparently not when you’d helped put an international arms dealer behind bars. I had a brand-new identity in three days. My first name was still the same. My mother had given it to me when she’d started her life away from Holt, and I wanted to honor that legacy. But it was only after I got the paperwork back that I realized I hadn’t told them what I wanted my last name to be—only that I didn’t want it to be Holt.

Turned out the CIA had a sense of humor.

I took the ID out now, the card still shiny and new. So far, no one had carded me, even here at this restaurant slash bar that probably should have before letting me order a drink. They seemed a little lax on the rules. It was a fun restaurant though, and I vowed to come again now that I’d be moving to DC. Even with Holt going to prison and me changing my last name, the CIA didn’t want me returning to my old job. Of course, because Holt had escaped from prison once before, they were putting him in solitary confinement and changing a bunch of things about his prison conditions. I couldn’t say I was upset to hear it.

I’d accepted a new job with the CIA. They wanted to limit the number of people who knew about the kill pill, but needed scientists to study the new threat and how to counter it. They thought they’d caught everyone who’d worked on it, but with things like this, it was better to be safe than sorry. I’d be splitting my time between their explosives and bioterrorism units, based out of Langley, where I’d spent the past week in debriefings informing them of everything that had transpired in the catacombs.

This restaurant was our first night away, and we were celebrating Chan’s return to active fieldwork. The CIA had finally realized what an asset he could be, especially with Bluetooth hearing aids that doubled as easily dismissible comms. Took them long enough. We were also celebrating my new phase of life. New job, state-issued ID, passport, birth certificate, and everything I needed to no longer be connected to Holt in any way.

I’d learned that the French politicians who’d harbored Holt would be paying for their crimes, and that Agent Mendez had uncovered the location of Holt’s larger lab along with the names of everyone running it. Xander had been the one to lead the CIA there, and now that he was rotting in prison too, I could finally sleep at night. It was only a matter of time before it was all wrapped up for good and I could get to work making sure Holt’s pill could never hurt another person again.

Now that I knew a short-term aerosolized antidote had worked on Chan and me in the lab, I planned on helping the CIA’s scientists make a long-term vaccine. It wasn’t my specialty, but the CIA had offered to pay for night classes, and I was going to take them up on it. Chan had tried to explain the CIA payment structure and how each tier paid more for education, but that meant nothing to me as long as I could undo everything my father had done.

I’d be able to choose whether I wanted to stay in bioterrorism or explosives once the kill pill project was finished, but given the stress of bioterrorism and my natural knack for blowing stuff up, I had a sneaking suspicion I’d end up in explosives no matter how many night classes I took. Let’s face it, blowing stuff up was more fun anyway.

I hardly got to see Chan or Mila during the past week at CIA headquarters, except for small bits and glimpses here and there. Mila had been accepted back into her culinary school, so once she was done answering questions about her time in the catacombs she’d been on the first flight back to Paris. I was simply glad I got to say goodbye before she left.

I placed the ID into my wallet and pulled out my credit card. It had my new name on it too. The CIA could pull strings even at Visa, apparently.

“You know I’m not going to let you pay.” Chan placed his hand over mine.

“Please?” I asked. “I haven’t gotten to use it yet. Or try my new signature.”

I’d been practicing. How awkward would that be if I signed the wrong name on the bill?

Chan leaned over and kissed the spot on my neck just below my ear, sending shivers down my spine. One of his hands landed on my thigh and was inching dangerously higher the longer we talked.

I knew this short skirt had been a good decision. Plus the booth in the back of the restaurant, away from prying eyes. Oh yes, past Andee, who’d made the reservations, had made some very good decisions.

“If I let you pay,” Chan said, “you’d better have some other way of letting me pay you back tonight.”

“I can think of several ways.” My voice had gotten decidedly husky, but I didn’t bother to hide it, and Chan didn’t seem to mind. In fact, quite the opposite. He made a noise in the back of his throat, and I nearly melted into a puddle.

“I suppose we do need a poker rematch.” Chan’s breath was hot on my ear, and I leaned into him.

“I’m not wearing many layers,” I whispered. “And I’m planning on letting you win.”

“I only win if we’re both naked in the end.” He pushed my hair over my shoulder, exposing my neck.

“Exactly.” I laughed, and Chan smiled.

“There’s that laugh I love.” His kisses went lower while his hand went higher. I closed my eyes and momentarily forgot the world.

Until someone cleared their throat.

“Will you be having any dessert tonight?” our server asked.

Most definitely.

But not here.

I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

“Then I’ll be your cashier when you’re ready to pay.” He placed the bill on the table and started to leave, clearly uncomfortable. I grabbed my credit card from where I’d unknowingly dropped it on the table earlier when Chan had started kissing me, and placed it on top of the receipt.

“We’re ready to leave now,” I said.

Definitely ready. Well past ready. I could see Chan on his phone texting the driver, asking him to pull around front. The CIA had given us a car from Langley headquarters and instructed the driver to take us wherever we wanted for the evening. It was their way of saying thank you for answering all their questions, but more so, it was probably because I didn’t live in the city yet and I’d told them I needed transportation. I was hoping there’d only be one stop left in our evening’s plans.

Our server picked up my card, glancing at it briefly before doing a double take.

“Your name is Andee Huxley-Beck? Like the famous actor? Are you related to him?”

I smiled.

Yes, the CIA had a sense of humor, all right. Once they figured out that Holt never learned of my mother’s lie, they’d been quick to pounce. How they’d gotten Keith Huxley-Beck to agree…well, I had no idea. I just knew my part of the deal was that I couldn’t do any interviews. Ever.

But I couldn’t explain to this server that no, I wasn’t really related to the famous actor. Not when this was the cover story the CIA had picked out for me as the reason for me staying out of the public eye. And I didn’t really know how to navigate this conversation yet.

“Having a famous father isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I said coyly. I would know. Holt had nearly destroyed my life, all because we shared the same blood.

The server must have heard the sincerity in my tone, because his eyes widened and he scuttled off.

When he returned, he handed me back my card, but no pen for me to sign the receipt.

“Your meals are on the house. Thank you for visiting Brock’s tonight, Ms. Huxley-Beck.”

I almost snort-laughed and held up my hand to protest, but Chan stopped me. Maybe he figured that after everything I’d been through in the past month, it was okay to let this one slide. Or maybe he just wanted to get out of this restaurant and get on with our evening. Probably the latter. By the time I’d turned back around, our server was gone.

Well, I’d have to find a better way to handle that in the future.

“Let’s go,” Chan said, placing a cash tip large enough to cover the price of our entire meal and then some on the table. Who carried cash anymore? Maybe I’d have to start if this dinner was any indication of how things were going to be from here on out. Before I could give it another thought, Chan kissed my worries away.

At this rate, we’d never make it out of the restaurant. Everyone here would get a show.

Chan had more self-control than I did though, because after a minute he pulled away, grabbing my hand and leading me from the booth.

Our car was already waiting out front, our driver holding the back door open like maybe we really were celebrities.

Or related to one.

“Whose place?” I asked Chan.

“Mine.” He nodded to the driver.

Oh, right. I wasn’t thinking clearly. We were still closer to Langley. Of course we’d be closer to his place. I blamed his kissing skills for scrambling my brains and making me completely forget all sense of time and place.

We tumbled breathlessly into the back seat of the car. Chan gave his address to the driver and slid up the partition, his hands and mouth picking up where he’d left off in the restaurant.

Still, I caught hold on the way he’d said mine . The way it made something inside me glow. I realized I liked that word better than any other word I knew, in English or sign language.

Mine .

I was his.

And he was mine.