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Sofria Kirk Samantha Kline Stella Keen Sofria Kirk

Baltimore Maryland

After checking into the generic Inner Harbor hotel, Stella Keen changed into running clothes and tucked her hair into a baseball cap. She stood on the street near the building and stretched her quads.

“Sofria?”

Stella responded without missing a beat.

In her work, she prepared for the possibility of meeting someone who knew her as her undercover identity.

She glanced up and spotted the kindhearted mailroom clerk.

She wasn’t wearing the colored contacts, so even though the sun had sunk behind the buildings, she slipped on the sunglasses in her fanny pack.

Assuming the persona of the mousey Sofria Kirk, she replied, “Calvin? Hi!”

“I can’t believe it’s you. I thought you left for your embassy assignment.”

“I flew back for a few days to tie up some loose ends,” Stella lied smoothly.

“Oh, I see. I bet there’s a bunch of stuff to do. I can’t imagine moving across town, much less to another country.”

Stella didn’t want to dismiss him, but she didn’t want to prolong the conversation. “Great to see you, Calvin.”

“What brings you to Baltimore?” he asked.

She deftly avoided the question. “What about you? Do you live near here?”

“In Silver Spring. I come here sometimes. My favorite burger place is right around the corner. Have you eaten?”

Stella gestured awkwardly at her running clothes. “Oh shoot, any other time I would, but I’m about to go for a run, and I have an early train in the morning.”

“Sure, sure, I should get going too. I have your new email address at the embassy, so you can expect updates on all the office gossip.”

“Perfect.” She extended her hand for a fist bump, which Calvin returned with exploding fingers. “You’re awesome, Calvin. Don’t let those lifers in the mailroom bully you.”

He flexed his biceps with a grin. “No way.”

Stella waved and rounded the corner. She picked up her pace, satisfied that the encounter wasn’t a problem. The sweet mail guy was as harmless as they came, but Sofria Kirk was gone, and all of the relationships Sofria had formed were dead, too.

She was almost sad she’d never see Calvin again. The farewell brought to mind the email she sent Ren earlier that day. Slamming the door on all the what-ifs, Stella picked up her pace and ran like the hounds of hell were chasing her.

CALVIN BIGALOW

C alvin watched Sofria jog away and disappear around the side of the hotel.

What a wonderful start to his evening. He followed her path to the corner and pushed the button to cross in the opposite direction.

The blare of a car horn had him turning back.

A man stood in the middle of the flow of traffic, facing a sedan that was stopped a foot in front of him.

The pedestrian had his back to Calvin, but whatever look he was giving the driver had her holding up her hands in fearful apology.

Then the man set his to-go coffee cup on the hood of her car and crossed to Calvin’s side of the street.

The sun was disappearing behind the buildings to the west, and Calvin noticed the way the man stepped into the shadows.

Even with what looked like a brand new Orioles cap pulled low, the bully veered toward the darker part of the street.

The light changed, allowing Calvin to cross.

Instead, he hurried over to the still-stopped car, grabbed the cup the creep had left on the hood, and gave the woman a sympathetic wave.

Still shaken, the driver smiled her thanks.

Calvin returned to the sidewalk and read the printed Starbucks label as he pitched the cup.

“Coffee with five Splendas. Barf.” Now, back in front of Sofria’s hotel, Calvin looked through the glass front and spotted the man scrolling on his phone near the elevators, once again out of the bright light of the lobby chandeliers.

When a guest summoned the lift with her keycard, the man hurried to join her in the car.

Oh, hell no . Calvin had watched a surveillance video on YouTube in which the creator explained this method of accessing hotel guest rooms. He even went so far as to suggest thieves waited for a female to board the elevator because women tended to be less confrontational and more concerned with being polite.

Calvin took two steps toward the revolving door, then stopped.

He knew his fantasies tended to have a life of their own.

His dream of being James Bond or Jason Bourne often clouded reality.

The guy was probably just a jerk on vacation.

If Calvin wanted to work his way up the ladder at the CIA, he would have to be more circumspect and hone his instincts.

His chance to save the day would come, but Calvin needed to be patient.