Undercover Badge; Next Generation

Chapter thirty three

CHAPTER 33

The night didn't end well. After Matthew told me we'd meet the team at three that afternoon to gather our intelligence and get our uniforms, he told me, in no uncertain terms, that I would sleep on his bed and not on his couch.

A heated argument followed in which I informed him it was where I was comfortable and I'd already made up my bed and I was not moving. He'd roared up and down the apartment, calling me stubborn and annoying. I'd let him rant, he'd run out of steam eventually.

When he finally did, I simply raised a brow. Which set him off again.

When his second rant calmed down, eyes sparking like a pile of unground cinnamon wood chunks on fire, large barrel chest expanding and deflating with his breath and looking like a Greek titan looming over me, I simply turned around, snuggled into my bed, and pretended to go to sleep, dismissing and ignoring him in one. He began to roar his displeasure again before he cut himself off mid-sentence with a yell of "Fine! Sleep out here! Deny yourself lumbar support! I hope you get a stiff neck!" and stomped to his bedroom like a petulant child. In my head I cackled with maniacal laughter. Matthew's hundred-point lead on me shrunk by one, but at least I'd finally won one battle.

In spite of the time nearing the hours surrounding sunrise, I was still wired. It didn't take me long to figure out why.

I'd meet my parents tomorrow. Kat and James. I wondered what our surname was. Matt never told me, though apparently mine was Nexcov. Katherine Nexcov. Katherine Elvira Nexcov. Katherine Valeria Elvira Lazura Nexcov. So many as in my name. Matthew assured me it was a Russian thing. Were we Russian. Veynox was Kat's surname. That sounded Russian, didn't it. We both had X's in our names. No one had told me James' surname. Was it Nexcov? Were both my parents Russian? Was I a pureblood Russian? How cool would that be? That I not only have parents that didn't leave me because they didn't care – they left me because they DID- and that I inherit an entire culture, a bloodline. No wonder I'd always loved Russian words, why I remembered the name of the Russian semi-automatic weapon. Probably one my father liked. I couldn't believe it.

Would they recognise me right away? Would Kat accidentally catch my eyes and smile beatifically when she saw her daughter and grab me up in a mom-hug? Obviously not, but a girl could dream, paint her castles in the sky.

What uniforms were we wearing? Probably something stiff and gross looking- we were security, after all. I pictured black wool slacks- the itchy kind, and a canvasy button down blue shirt with a tacky, mustard stained tie and a thick belt into which the shirt was tucked with a flashlight holster and cheesy black orthopaedic loafers. Yep. That was it. Eugh.

I turned around on the couch. The leather creaked comfortingly around me, but loudly in the echoey, silent apartment.

Matthew said he would tell me the plan of action tomorrow- what exactly it was we would do. But as far as I could tell, we were simply to be security, to keep an eye on Kat and hope she recognised me. It was when that failed, which Matthew was certain it would, that we would follow plan B, figure it out from there.

How well would this go? Or worse, how badly?

My mind was still running odds. Best and worse-case scenarios when the door to Matthew's bedroom flew open and rebounded off the wall with a bang. I sat up immediately, alert and awake. Matthew strode out with hell fury in his eyes and marched toward me, wearing long blue flannel Pyjama bottoms and a black wife beater. A part of me, a small, sad, pathetic part, hoped the storm in his eyes was love and adoration for me and that I was about to be kissed to within an inch of my life. The rest of me knew better.