Page 8

“Well, I can see why people don’t like the guy.”

I waited to say it until Chan and I were alone, when we’d been escorted to our “room” and didn’t have any guns pointing in our direction for the first time in, well, hours, if not days, probably. I wasn’t sure, because I’d been drugged and passed out that whole time, but hey, who was keeping track?

The corner of Chan’s mouth lifted, and he pointed to the ceiling.

“You know there’s a video camera, right? They can see, and hear, everything we’re saying.”

I looked up. There, in the corner where he pointed, a camera faced our direction. And while it was nice of Chan to clue me in that this model recorded sound and video, I realized one very important fact.

“I don’t care if Holt hears me,” I told him. “I’m sure he knows he’s not exactly Mr. Popularity.”

Chan laughed and swung the bag from his shoulder onto the bed.

The only bed.

It made sense. Holt hadn’t been expecting to house multiple people, and he did think we were a couple, so why give us two rooms or multiple beds when one would do the trick?

Still, it felt all kinds of weird to be sharing a bed with someone I’d met only a day earlier.

The bag Chan put on the bed was one that Xander had shoved into his arms only a minute before, when he’d directed us to this hole-in-the-wall and closed the door. We stared at it now, curiosity warring with a healthy dose of skepticism that we might accidentally open it and blow something up. There was a bag for each of us, but Chan’s was larger. I placed mine next to his.

Part of me wished I could leave them there and explore the bunker instead.

I used the term bunker loosely, simply because that was what Holt had used. Tunnels was more like it. Even room was being generous to describe the place we now found ourselves in. The walls were natural stone bricks, probably limestone if I had to guess, with an old wooden door that had been retrofitted with a newer metal lock. (Only the best for our guests!) Holt had obviously taken the existing tunnels under the city we were in and bent them to his purpose. They were dark and confining, with dirt on every surface I touched. The bed was a mattress without a frame, placed directly on the stone floor and barely big enough to fit two people. The ceiling was only a foot above Chan’s head, with a single light bulb and enough water on every surface to make me anxious about an electrical hazard. There was a single rolling cabinet for clothes that looked like it had been purchased from Ikea twenty years ago and beaten with a stick every day since then for insubordination.

Still, despite the dark and wet, I itched to explore the tunnels. If this was Paris, we were probably somewhere in the catacombs where thousands of people were buried and the walls practically breathed history. But I knew there were people stationed right outside the room. People with guns and instructions to kill us if we stepped a foot outside.

Not that we could explore much anyway, even if we could have left the room. Most of the doors had locks on them, and those were the ones that held anything interesting, I was sure. We only passed two rooms that didn’t have any kind of security, and one of them was directly across the hall from ours. Probably another bedroom?

We might not have gotten locks, but we got stuck with twenty-four seven guards. Lucky us.

So instead of investigating, Chan and I glanced at the first bag, and then at each other, before finally looking at the camera in the corner of the ceiling, like somewhere in all that looking around we’d find the answer to life’s mysteries. Then Chan unzipped the bigger bag.

It was filled with clothes. Familiar clothes. Xander must have gone through my apartment after he’d knocked me out, and put together a travel bag.

That was weird, right? I mean, I was grateful I wouldn’t have to wear the combat gear everyone else here seemed to be sporting, don’t get me wrong, but the idea of him pawing through my things made me feel all kinds of creepy-crawly.

And that was before Chan started pulling out the men’s clothes.

Yep. Xander had found the stash of clothes that belonged to my ex who shall not be named that I kept in a drawer, and must have assumed they were Chan’s. So that was super awkward.

I had to give Chan credit though. He made it look effortlessly natural when he tucked a pair of pants under his arm and held on to the waist, letting the hem fall to the floor. The whole time he leaned forward like he was rooting through the bag and he just so happened to stand back at the right time to surreptitiously check if the length would fit him.

The pants looked like they’d be long enough, and while they might hang a little loose around the hips, at least it wouldn’t be obvious they’d originally been purchased for another man.

Now that I thought about it, my ex and Chan were similarly sized. I guess I had a type. How annoyingly helpful.

The shirts would probably be a bit snug around Chan’s arms—Chan was significantly more muscled than my ex—but I wasn’t going to complain about that.

Chan got to the bottom of the bag and held something up, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. Just enough that I would see but not enough that the camera would catch it.

Then I saw what he was holding.

Oh. Oh no .

He folded the boxer briefs up and put them back in the bottom of the bag.

I was not about to answer that unspoken question. Both because, hello, camera, and hello , talking to a hot covert operative about an ex was never a good idea. Especially when you couldn’t help but be interested in said hot covert operative.

He should just be grateful he had clean underwear.

I could have told Chan they were new. That I’d bought them as a gift for said ex but hadn’t had a chance to give them to him before he’d bailed and left me for greener pastures. But…camera.

Instead, I pulled over the second, smaller bag Xander had given to me, opening it with less fear now that the first had been so innocuous. Also, let’s be honest, even if it held a bomb, being blown up was preferable to silently wondering what Chan thought of my ex’s underwear.

They’re new , I repeated silently to myself.

Then I remembered Chan could sign. Would Holt hire a sign language interpreter to view the video feed? Probably not if I hid my actions and kept the signing to a minimum so Holt wouldn’t have a reason to invite another person to his little dungeon of despair. Plus, I could probably say it in a way that wouldn’t raise much suspicion even if someone else here knew ASL. So I did it.

Those are new briefs, I signed, keeping my motions small and fast before returning my attention to the bag in front of me. But I saw it when Chan’s shoulders relaxed, and I hid a smile. I should have made him sweat a little longer.

My bag held items from my bathroom. My electric toothbrush with two brush heads. Somehow my being an obsessive planner with a backup made me look like a person with a serious boyfriend. Even the fact that I couldn’t decide between shampoo brands meant that Xander had packed everything, likely thinking multiple people shared my bathroom. I would have laughed, except there was nothing funny about this situation. Well, I did wonder if there would be an electrical outlet for me to use the toothbrush as intended. We were in underground tunnels, after all. But I didn’t find that humorous either.

I dumped it all out, intending to move it over to the “bathroom” that connected to the room—really it was the same room separated by a makeshift curtain that didn’t even reach the ceiling—but dread filled my stomach, and I sat down on the edge of the bed instead.

Holt really did intend for me to stay here forever. He didn’t do this to be nice. He did it so he could learn my habits. So he wouldn’t have to hear me complain.

Tears pricked my vision. Chan was folding the clothes into the small rolling cabinet, but stopped when he saw my expression. I ducked my head and stared at the stone wall.

There wasn’t much to see there. The floors were stone. The walls were too, though they were constructed of bricks and gave me some confidence that we weren’t about to be swallowed whole if there was a cave-in. Everywhere I looked there was dirt and old wood mixed with new technology. Most of the locks opened with a key fob, and I wondered what they were hiding. At several doors there were men with guns, and the closer you got to the surface, the more guns there were. Stone, and guns, and more stone. But still, I stared at the walls, like they weren’t plain, like maybe a window to the Arc de Triomphe or Notre-Dame might magically open up. All because I didn’t want Chan to see me cry.

Pointless, really. He was a spy. Ten to one he could figure it out.

Chan set down the shirt in his hands and crouched in front of where I sat on the bed on the floor, placing a hand on my knee.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, eyes boring into mine. “I’ll keep you safe.”

I stood up and paced away. I couldn’t go far. The room was only big enough for the bed, the cabinet for our clothes, and the divider that hid the bathroom. I didn’t even want to know what they considered a bathroom here. It might just be a chamber pot.

That thought, combined with the camera that watched my every move, made me feel like the air was being sucked out of the room.

“You didn’t exactly step in to protect me when Holt manhandled me back there.” Bitterness dripped from my voice, and I hated myself for it. What did I expect? Logically, I knew exactly why Chan hadn’t done anything. So why was I acting like this? Too many things had happened lately, and I couldn’t get a grip.

Chan’s eyes burned as he stepped closer, refusing to let me run away from this argument I’d created for no good reason.

“I wanted to rip his throat out.” Chan held me with his gaze, and I found I was just as helpless as before, when we were back at my apartment. The same sparks were there, despite this being the absolute worst timing known to man.

Chan lowered his voice and took another step. “But sometimes the best way to protect the people you care about is to know when to back down.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but pursed his lips instead. Eventually he wiped a hand down his face.

“What good would it have done if I’d gotten myself killed standing up for your honor?”

I deflated.

Of course I knew all that. I knew the only way to stop Holt was to bring the CIA here. The safest way out would be to wait for reinforcements. They would come. They had to come.

“Sorry. I know why you acted that way, and I’m not even upset.” I tried to smile so he could see I was being sincere. “Really, I’m not. I don’t know why I’m acting like this now.”

He put his hands on my arms, pulling me in. “Because you’re stressed and you’re lashing out at the safest thing, which just so happens to be me.”

My cheek was cradled into his chest with his arms wrapped around me. My words came out sounding muffled.

“Well aren’t you just…emotionally mature.”

I sniffed into his shoulder, leaving a slightly damp patch where my eyes were leaking onto his shirt. How flattering. Just the image I wanted him to have of me. Chan’s laugh felt like a rumble under my cheek and actually made me feel better about things. A feat, really.

Then I remembered Chan was acting for the camera, and the feeling vanished. He had to keep up appearances and I couldn’t fault him for it. He had his part to play of the dutiful boyfriend comforting his upset girlfriend. But that didn’t mean I didn’t feel betrayed in that moment. Just a little bit.

I wanted to believe it was real. Earlier, Chan had said he’d been interested, but that had been before I’d dragged him into my mess. Now I was pretty sure he wanted nothing to do with me. He’d expressly said he didn’t want me to get involved with Holt, and now, here we were.

He was literally doing his job. His fake boyfriend job at the bar had spilled over to here, and in the chaos of everything, I was perfectly poised to believe it.

I stepped out of Chan’s arms, leaving my own to hang awkwardly at my sides.

“I’ll put the bathroom stuff away,” I mumbled, wiping the wetness from my face.

“I’ll help,” he said, missing the point entirely that I kind of wanted to be alone right now. Away from him and this tangle of emotions. But it was nice of him to offer, so I let him scoop a bunch of toiletries into his arms and follow me into the bathroom with the supplies.

Once we were there, he didn’t help though. He dumped everything into the metal sink that was attached to the wall and immediately started turning around in a small circle, analyzing the space and everything in it.

“Wha—” I started to ask, but Chan shook his head to stop me from speaking.

Okay then.

He motioned for me to keep going with the unpacking while he looked around the tiny “bathroom,” his fingers inspecting the faucet handle, shower spout, towel hook, and anything that looked like it wasn’t a part of the existing stone wall. That’s when I finally understood he was looking for recording devices here in this area of the room as well. The camera in the bedroom was obvious, but here, not so much.

Luckily there did seem to be running water. The pipes were exposed, moving along the walls to a single showerhead without a curtain. The whole setup looked like it might produce the barest trickle of water pressure that would last all of two minutes before giving up. There was also a metal sink that jutted out from the wall and was attached by rickety screws. If I were being generous, I’d call it industrial chic. If I were being honest, I’d say it was a biohazard.

A toilet that had definitely seen better days sat in the middle of the space, with enough mold surrounding it to make a garden. Another light bulb hung from this part of the ceiling in the bathroom, not that it illuminated much. Everything had obviously been added well after the tunnels had been constructed, and I wondered how Holt had managed it without drawing attention to his enterprise. But I doubted there was anyone who’d answer my questions.

I proceeded to put the items wherever I could fit them in the traveling shower cabinet while I watched Chan from the corner of my eye. The idea of a camera or bug being in the bathroom was way worse, somehow, than the bedroom.

I finished putting everything away before Chan completed his inspection. When he was done, he turned on the water at the sink, and came to stand next to me. Really, all that entailed was taking a single step, since there wasn’t a whole lot of room in here to begin with. Chan placed one hand on my arm, bringing his face close to mine and his mouth close to my ear.

“There aren’t any bugs in the bathroom,” he whispered. “So if we keep our voices low, we can talk in here. We just need to be careful not to let the camera from the bedroom pick up anything, which is why it’d be good to have water running or some other source of noise.” He motioned to the sink with his head.

I nodded, intensely aware of how close our bodies were in this tight space.

“But,” he added, “I sometimes have a hard time hearing when there’s water running, even with my hearing aids. So if you’re telling me something important, either speak directly into my ear—preferably my right one—or sign it. And you’ll want to do it out of sight of the mirror.”

I looked at the mirror he was referring to and suppressed a shudder. I’d heard of two-way mirrors, of course. But I wouldn’t have thought to look for one, which was just another testament to how out of my element I was. The stone walls were thick, but now that I was looking carefully, they looked different around the mirror. Like maybe Holt had done some renovations of his own and there might not be a wall behind it after all.

“Sign in the shower,” I whispered back, careful to keep my lips from moving too much since I was the one facing the mirror in question. “Got it.”

He pulled back just enough so I could see the grin that took up half his face.

“Sort of like singing in the shower,” he said. “But you’d have an audience, because I’d be in there with you.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Well, okay then.”

He grinned wickedly, and I decided right then and there that I liked this side of Chan.

“I should teach you how to recognize a two-way mirror in case there are more in this place.”

I shook my head. “I know how to tell if it’s a two-way mirror,” I whispered, momentarily losing myself in the feel of Chan’s forearm muscles now under my fingertips. He stepped back while he waited for me to prove it. I swallowed, then made my way to the mirror, pressing my nail to the glass. I returned a second later, and he smiled.

“Yep. It’s a two-way mirror all right,” I said, hoping against all odds that Chan would replace his arms again, bringing back some comfort now that all my privacy had gone out the nonexistent window. Everything down here was cold, and I wanted to feel the warmth of his arms around me, even if it was all pretend. So sue me.

Chan looked impressed despite himself and replaced his hands on my arms. Inwardly, I smiled. Outwardly, I kept my cool. Ten points to Andee.

“How’d you learn that?” he asked. Once again, he was speaking into my ear like we were sharing an intimate moment, rather than trying to escape detection from an unhinged convict who just so happened to be my father. But I’d take it. Especially if it meant I got to feel his skin against mine where his thumb pressed against the back of my arm. I knew it was fake, but I was such a glutton for punishment.

“I saw a TikTok that talked about things to look for whenever you checked into a sketchy Airbnb. Like cameras in bathrooms and two-way mirrors. It said that regular mirrors had a slight gap between your nail and its reflection, but with a two-way mirror, your nail touches itself.”

I didn’t think there was much that could surprise CIA agents, but apparently I was wrong. Because the smile that stretched across Chan’s face was clearly one of delighted shock.

“Who knew TikTok was good for more than mediocre dancing and wannabe influencers?” he said, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.

I chuckled under my breath, careful to keep my voice down. “Tell me you’re not on TikTok without telling me you’re not on TikTok,” I replied. It was something my friends always said to me, because I didn’t have my own social media accounts and they always had to share things with me in person. I was simply regurgitating what I’d been told like a robot because I couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore. Yep, I was calm and collected. The hair touch didn’t faze me. Not one bit.

Chan busted out in laughter, surprising me when he didn’t bother to lower his volume.

When I stared at him with wide eyes, he brought his lips back to my ear. “If we hide everything from them, they’ll try harder to figure out what we’re not telling them. It’s okay to let them hear the things that are innocent. Like a laugh.” He might as well have been kissing my cheek for how close his lips were. I tried not to focus on it. Tried, and failed.

“Lesson number one in being a spy,” he said. “Give them a little so they don’t go digging for more. You’ll catch on soon enough.”

I liked the sound of that, even though I really, really shouldn’t have. But there was a teamwork aspect to it that made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like Chan trusted me and didn’t think of me as deadweight.

“How’re you so chill about all this?” I asked. “We’ve been kidnapped by an international arms dealer, and you’re acting like it’s just another day in the office.”

He smiled. “Because it is just another day in the office for me.”

I opened my mouth to respond and then shut it.

“Listen, Andee.” He moved his hands to my shoulders. “It’s been a while since I’ve been a field agent, but I know what I’m doing. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. It’s literally my job. I’m trained to stay grounded especially during high-stress situations. When people are anxious, they don’t think clearly. When you feel yourself spiraling, try to remember that your father wants you alive. We need to think clearly to get to the bottom of things down here.”

“I thought we were sitting ducks until someone followed our trail,” I whispered. “Now you’re telling me there’s more we can be doing?”

Chan leaned down so his eyes were level with mine. “Oh, we’re doing something,” he said, voice husky and low. I could imagine him saying all kinds of dirty things, and I bit my lip, focusing on the here and now.

“First we need to get a good look around these tunnels. Find some more places we can talk freely and see what Holt is up to here. Wherever ‘here’ is. But what we’re really looking for is a way to communicate with the outside world. Once we have that, I’m counting on you to distract Holt and whoever is in the room while I get a signal to our friends. Think you can do that?”

Odds weren’t good. But if it meant a hope for escape, I would certainly try.

He pulled back to search my face, and I did my best to appear calm and confident.

I nodded, and Chan smiled.

He brought his mouth close to my ear again, sending delicious tingles across my skin.

“Buckle up, buttercup. We’ve got some spying to do.”