Page 4
Story: Mr. Nice Spy
After Agent Mendez gave me a number to call, Chan turned to me.
“I have something I’d like to discuss with Andee.” His brown eyes focused on me with an intensity that took my breath away. Agent Mendez sat back down like he was going to stick around, but then Chan said, “Alone,” in such a tone of voice that whether Agent Mendez was his superior or not, he and the two people stationed outside my apartment left without another word.
Now Chan and I stared at each other from our chairs that were side by side and way too close, neither of us willing to be the first to break the silence. Maybe it would have been less awkward if he was sitting across from me, but with him beside me, it was like we were teenagers on a date in a restaurant booth, trying to pretend this wasn’t weird.
His chest rose and fell for an uncomfortable stretch of time before he turned his gaze on me. “You okay?” he asked.
It was the same thing he’d asked me outside the bar, and I shot him an incredulous glance. “No, I’m obviously not okay.”
I turned so I was facing him and pushed a finger into his chest, which was so muscled it didn’t give at all. Figured.
“Why would you flirt with me?” I demanded. “Fine, you work for the government. But you could have retrieved me without making me think you were interested. Why embarrass me like that?”
He threw his hands up. “Because I wanted to.”
I coughed. Well, I’d wanted honesty.
Chan saw my expression and shook his head. “No, wait. That came out wrong. I mean, I wanted to flirt with you. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
His gaze held mine without any hint of deceit, and I found myself wondering if that was part of the CIA’s training.
“I acted like I was interested because I was. Am.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out.
I adjusted my hips so I was facing forward again, but his knee bumped into mine. Intentionally?
He smiled, and those crinkles around his eyes made another appearance, causing my heartbeat to stutter.
I couldn’t focus on something like my emotions right now though. Because that would mean I had to face them. So instead, I adjusted my legs and asked another question.
“How did you even know where to find me? I’ve only been to that bar a handful of times, and I should have still been at work.”
I twisted my upper body so I could watch his expression better. But that brought our legs into direct contact, my thigh flush with his. My throat went dry, and it was increasingly hard to breathe. Should I pull back? Too late. We were touching now. If I adjusted, he’d know it was because of him. Because of the way I could feel the muscles of his thigh even under his jeans.
I’d often heard people say attraction could be like an explosion, but I’d never felt anything like that before. At least, not this much, this soon. Those kinds of sparks were reserved for literal fireworks, where there were combustible chemicals involved. This kind of thing didn’t make any kind of sense. But I felt like if I didn’t move my leg soon, something inside me was going to burst.
“We tracked the GPS on your phone,” Chan said.
It took me a second to remember I’d asked him how they’d known where to find me. That was how distracted I was.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised they’d tracked me. Should I have been upset?
On one hand, it led to me learning the true identity of my father, which was some truly scary stuff.
On the other hand, it led to me meeting Chan, which was a different kind of fear. The kind that electrified my skin with every brush of contact and made me want to memorize his scent. Kind of a woodsy pine thing going on. I really was hopeless, wasn’t I?
“Speaking of phones.” I shook my head to force some clarity to my thoughts. “Did you even give me your real number? If I had called you, would I have been routed to some secret CIA database because you’d used a burner phone at the bar?”
He still hadn’t moved. His leg was sandwiched against mine like spandex, while his arms were up on the table.
“Try it and see.” He raised his eyebrows in a challenge, pulling out his phone with his right hand and placing it on the table. By this point, I was guessing I didn’t need to prove him right. But I called his number anyway. More to give my hands something to do than anything else.
I pressed the call button, and Chan’s phone on the table lit up, ringing a second later. I expected him to reject the call like he had Agent Mendez’s, but he accepted it, holding the phone up to his mouth after pressing the speaker button. I heard his voice in stereo, both a foot away from me and slightly tinnier in my ear, delayed infinitesimally as he said, “Hello,” with that liquid-honey voice of his.
Of course, I’d already seen that he could text from that phone. But what I hadn’t seen was that it was the same phone his superior officer had used to contact him earlier. He hung up, then brought the phone out front to show me his call history. There at the top was my name. Directly below that it read Mendez. There wasn’t a first name or officer before it, which implied this wasn’t a work phone paid for by the company. Other contacts in his history were Dentist , Annoying Upstairs Neighbor , and Mom .
He gave me the same number his mom had.
True, it was also the same number he gave his annoying upstairs neighbor, but I still couldn’t help the warmth that spread from my core all the way to my fingertips, or the small smile that played on the corner of my lips.
Chan caught it, judging from the way he placed his phone back on the table and put his arm down at his side, making that another twelve or so inches of skin that were now connected between us. His bicep flexed just a little with the movement, and I found that I didn’t mind.
But I still had a lot of questions. Like, why would he give me his correct number if he was a spy sent to retrieve me, and what was his ulterior motive in that? Did he have one now?
Probably.
I needed to be smart about this. But it was hard to think straight when a guy like Chan was sitting this close. That’s all he was doing. Sitting there. But for some reason, it seemed a lot more risqué than that. More obscene. How dare he look that good and have his skin touch mine? Didn’t he know the effect he had on women?
Chan let out a breath, shaking his head so his hair fell across his eyes. If I were braver, I’d reach out and push it back. My fingers itched to do it, or twist the hair at the nape of his neck. Instead, I kept them curled against the edge of the table so they wouldn’t shake from the uncertain emotion swirling in my stomach.
“I’ll probably get reprimanded for telling you this,” Chan said, “but then again, Mendez has done a lot worse, and he got promoted to the head case officer on this project, so maybe not. He’s pretty chill with people going with their gut. It’s partly why we work so well together.” Chan cleared his throat. “But I don’t think you should do it. What Mendez is asking. This mission is risky, your father is quite frankly a madman, and if you stay, I could take you out on a date.” He flashed a grin. “Win-win.”
I chuckled. Until he nudged my arm playfully with his. Then I swallowed hard and felt my pulse beat faster at the base of my neck. We were connected from our shoulders all the way down to our knees, and though there were clothes between us, I could feel the heat from our skin like smoldering embers from a burned out firecracker.
I stood up and paced over to the kitchen island, more to put some space between us than because I needed anything over here. But leaving him back at the table while I was five feet away seemed like a good idea. The granite of the island felt cool beneath my fingertips, grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt for several hours at least. I was tempted to lay my head down on it. I would have, if Chan weren’t here, watching me with those piercing brown eyes.
His chair made a slight squeaking noise as he pushed back and came over to where I was standing.
So much for distance.
He seemed like he was going to say something, so put a finger to his lips. It was my turn to put someone else in the hot seat. Metaphorically, since he was now standing. Directly in front of me. Had he always been this tall? This broad?
I turned so my back was to the island, and he leaned one arm on the side of me, leaving less space between us than before. If I’d wanted distance, standing up was a bad idea.
“You’d really want to date the daughter of a known crime boss?” I asked. “Isn’t that against some rule in the CIA handbook?” My voice came out a little breathy, and I marveled at Chan’s ability to make me forget all the bad things currently happening in my life. Because right now, his offer of me staying put seemed like a good thing.
“Probably is.” He shrugged and leaned even closer. So close I could smell the mint on his breath.
“But you don’t even know me.” I laughed. It was a wispy thing, trailing off until I swallowed.
“At the risk of sounding super creepy,” he said, “you’d be surprised how much you can learn about someone from searching their apartment.”
I blinked. “You’re right. That’s creepy.”
He held up a hand to stall me. This time I hadn’t moved, but I did narrow my eyes.
“Would it make you feel better to know I only searched your living room?” Chan asked. “Mendez searched your bedroom. I know the same things anyone else would know from being in your living room and seeing your bookshelves. Your taste is stellar, by the way. A-plus mystery collection.”
I hummed while I digested this piece of news.
The thing I needed to remember was Chan was a spy.
He probably knew all kinds of ways to put someone at ease or make a person feel special. So I wasn’t sure what to think of anything that had happened in the past five minutes or so. On the other hand, I was feeling shaky about…well, everything to do with my job and my father. I especially didn’t want to think about that , so not thinking sounded pretty good right about now. If that meant not thinking about Chan’s ulterior motives and simply being in the moment, then so be it. I’d live with the consequences later.
“Do you want me to step away?” he asked, his gaze never leaving mine.
I took a moment to consider his question before deciding that no, no I did not. Was I sure that I could trust him? Definitely not. But did I think I’d enjoy kissing him if he were to close the final inches between us? Definitely yes.
Though I didn’t know what was going to happen next, every inch of my skin seemed hyperaware of his proximity. My neck was flushed, and my throat was dry. The room felt hot, but it could have just been that all of me was suddenly flooded with warmth.
I must have taken too long to respond, because Chan started to pull away, and I had to reach out a hand to grasp the front of his shirt, holding him where he was.
I cleared my throat and looked down, acutely aware that my actions made me look more desperate than was probably respectable. My fingers were clenched into claws around his shirt, and I forced them to relax, smoothing out the fabric with jittery fingertips.
Chan’s lips parted like he was going to say something, but there was a sound at my door. Not quite a knock. More like a scratch. Like someone was trying to be quiet but had given away the fact that they were waiting on the other side.
Chan chuckled. “Didn’t really think Mendez would be able to leave us alone for long.”
A mixture of relief and regret flooded my chest as Chan dropped his arm. I made my way to the door. The bundle of emotions raging inside made me reach for the handle without looking through the peephole, needing to put an end to this confusing moment so I wouldn’t have to acknowledge the fact that I didn’t know how to respond anymore.
I didn’t even twist the knob before it swung open. But it wasn’t Agent Mendez on the other side.
It was the man from the bar—the one with all the tattoos.
And he had a gun.
Everything happened so fast; I didn’t have time to process it before it was over. Without warning, he pointed the gun at Chan and shot him in the neck.
I screamed. Chan crumpled to the ground in a heap, and the man pushed his way inside my apartment.