The Professional Alibi

Chapter 13: Welcome To Your New Home

Wade dons a pair of dark sunglasses that make him look dark and mysterious, especially with the dark stubble on his face and his black clothing. He puts his SUV into gear and we're off.

Several hours later, I wake up to swaths of light traveling through the cab of Wade's dark car. We pass under street lights, and slow to a stop in front of a tiny house at the end of a gravel road. "With all the guys coming and going, the agency thought it would be prudent to have you stay someplace where neighbors wouldn't wonder about the traffic or get nosy about all the guys coming and going."

"Yeah," I say with a yawn. "We wouldn't want anyone thinking I was into prostitution or drug dealing."

"Little do you know," he mumbles, then gets out before I can ask him to clarify.

He hands me the key and I open the door and turn on the light. Wade drops his suitcases on the ground next to the front door. "It's not much. One bedroom and one bath to the right," he says, pointing to a tiny hallway off to the side. "We're standing in the living room, obviously. Kitchen, and dining." He points to a table and a wide spot that barely qualifies as a kitchen with a small island separating the kitchen and dining areas. "I think an elderly man lived here last," he says.

I stare at the green shag carpet. Ugly as sin, but looks fairly clean. The house is fully furnished, with new furniture that looks like it was purchased from IKEA. I run a finger over the smooth, cool surface of a 1970s-style Formica table and two metal chairs sit on the yellow linoleum near the back door. The kitchen has an olive green fridge and oven that look to be about a thousand years old, and no dishwasher. Again, new silverware and dishes, but nothing fancy. No pictures on the plain white walls. I breathe in the musty scent of the apartment. At least the old guy didn't smoke like a smoke stack.

I wander to the bathroom. It's basically empty except for a white shower curtain and a four-pack of toilet paper sitting next to the toilet.

In the bedroom, there's more ugly shag carpeting. There's a king-size bed on top of an IKEA bedframe, matching end tables, and a dresser off to the corner.

I nod decisively and turn back to Wade, who's been trailing behind me as I check the place out. "Aside from no roommate, it looks like a starving college student's place."

He nods. "Anything nicer would've attracted attention. Actually, in this town, you're doing pretty good for a college student. It was either this or a single-wide trailer with half its roof missing. The housing in this town is insane." Wade says as he leans against a wall, his arms crossed. "It's nicer than my first place."

"These shag carpets would've been new in your first place," I mumble.

His eyes widen. "I am not that old!"

I shrug and walk past him, returning to the living room with a smirk on my face. "I wouldn't know."

He pushes off the wall as I pass him, and follows again, but passes me to pick up a manilla envelope I assumed had lease paperwork in it. He jerks his chin toward the living room wall. "Come. Sit. We have a little more homework to do before I leave you to your own, sassy devices."

"Okay, old man," I say, smirking when he shoots daggers at me through his eyes. "Just don't break a hip when you sit."

"You can talk, little girl," he mutters.

"I turn eighteen in two weeks," I say. "Even in the eyes of the government, I'll be a full-fledged adult. You are well on your way to retirement."

Wade's lips press thin, drawing my attention to them. He raises an eyebrow. "You're not goading me into telling you personal information." He sits on one side of the sectional couch and pats the cushion next to him. "C'mon. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can start unpacking."

Sighing, I sink into the couch next to him. It's softer than I expect and my body descends into the cushion until our legs touch from knee to hip. Heat radiates off his muscled thigh against mine.

He doesn't seem to notice though, just pulls a file folder out of the envelope and flips it open. "Remember him?"

I nod, recognizing Cosmo's face, and recite what Wade's already told me about the guy.

"Excellent. Okay. What you need to know is that Cosmo is trying to infiltrate an organization that traffics drugs, and distributes them to high schools. If he introduces you to any of his friends, it's likely they're part of that organization. This goes without saying, but since this is your first mission I'm going to tell you anyway: Don't take any drugs from them."

My eyes dart heavenward. "You're kidding me, right? Of course I won't be doing drugs."

"Not on purpose," he says, cocking a brow. "Also, don't accept food from them--especially baked goods, suckers, or drinks unless it's a can of soda that hasn't been opened. Anything that's already been opened, or is in a glass is absolutely off-limits. Got it?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure," I say. Something inside me shifts, as if wary and uncomfortable. I suspect there's more to this story, but he isn't sharing.

"When do I meet Cosmo?" I ask.

"You'll meet him tomorrow. We're staging a meeting at a Starbucks. All you have to do is be interested and give him your number. The rest will unfold organically."

"That's it?"

He nods. "There's no formula to this. No script to follow. You've been taught how to get out of bad situations. You have your rules and your objectives. We do lots of improvisation and split-second decision-making." He holds up his finger. "Oh, and a few more things." He turns the page over. Behind it is a birth certificate, a driver's license, and a credit card. He points to the birth certificate.

"I doubt you'll need the birth certificate, but it's here just in case. Your new license with your new name. From here on out, you'll answer to Evie Malone. Practice your signature. This is the name the other guys know you by, so learn to answer to it."

He hands me the license, then the credit card. "Your fridge is stocked, but a stipend will be put into your account for food, clothing, and incidentals. If that isn't enough, let me know and we'll work something out. There isn't enough for you to be extravagant--you're a starving college student--but we don't want you starving either. This month you'll have extra to offset anything special you need to stock your closets and build out your costumes. The account info for your bank is in this folder."

Wade reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys, handing them to me. There's a key fob, a motorcycle key, two house keys, and a key ring that says Billy Bob's Used Car Sales.

He stands and gestures to the front door. "Lemme show you your new rides."

"Rides, as in plural?" I say, raising my brows and following him out the door. It's pitch dark outside now, and the temperature feels like it's dropped twenty degrees, making the heat manageable. Our feet crunch on the gravel as he follows a path to the side of the house where there's a covered carport.

Wade presses the key fob and the lights to a five-year-old Toyota Forerunner flash.

"That's mine?" I ask, my eyes bulging. It's a whole lot nicer than the old Toyota sedan I'd been driving because we were told to be inconspicuous. I mean, the Forerunner doesn't scream, "LOOK AT ME!" but it isn't a beater either.

I open the door and get behind the driver's seat, running my hands down the sides of the steering wheel. "I could get used to this."

Wade grins and rocks his brows up and down. "I have one more surprise for you." Stepping to the side, he waves his arm in a flourish in front of a matte black motorcycle.

"For you."

"Oh my." My mouth gapes. "For me?"

"Mhm." Wade grins.

"Can't say that I have," I say, my pulse racing at the idea. "I've never even ridden on one."

"Well, we can remedy one of those problems right now," He says, grabbing one of the helmets hanging from the handlebar and tossing it to me. "Let's go for a ride."