Manipulative Attraction

24. ⚛️ Is All that We See or Seem

When a weighted breath broke from Jeannie's father on the other end of the line, a knitting needle stabbed at Jeannie's heart. She'd caused him to worry, and with his health problems, anxiety wasn't something she needed to add.

"Come home, Solnyshko (little sun). We can figure out your next move together."

Home.

Where Fifi's warm kisses, and the entrusted comfort of her father's arms, made Jeannie's decision easy. "I'll catch the next bus and be there before midnight."

Shon sat on the bed, legs spread. It had been a disappointing night. Jeannie had caught him out and Bekka had failed to please him. The harsh brightness of the overhead light she had insisted they leave on, didn't nothing for his ardor.

Before arriving at Bekka's apartment, he had called Jeannie every thirty minutes. She didn't answer.

I'll try one more time.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand and dialed Jeannie's number.

"Hey, Shon," Jeannie sniffed.

The tears in her voice made worry clench his middle. "Jeannie? Are you okay?" he asked, pushing Bekka's hands away.

"Yes." She sniffed again. "I'm glad you called."

Jeannie's voice, smooth like a cup of hot Dutch cocoa on a bitterly cold winter, had always made Shon feel warm and fuzzy. Not so now. She sounded upset. "Jeannie, tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing I can't handle... um, I won't be able to meet with my study group tomorrow. Would you ask Sarah to tell the others? I sent her text, but she hasn't replied. She must be busy with Theo."

"I will, Jeannie. But are you sure you're okay?" Bekka reached for him, and again, he pushed her hands away. She let out an audible huff.

"I'm fine, really. I have to go home for the weekend. I'll be back in time for the SCP meeting on Monday."

"Okay, Jeannie." Bekka sat back on her haunches, shooting daggers at his phone. Shon stared past her to a point in the wall. "Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Sure, I'd like that."

Jeannie's words gave him hope and he sprang to life, with a small grunt. Bekka grabbed him, cooing her happiness.

"Ah, hmm. Great Jeannie," he said, stumbling over his words.

Jeannie let out a small chuckle into the phone.

"And Shon?"

"Y-yes?"

"Tell Bekka, 'waddup.' "

Jeannie giggled into the receiver before she ended the call.

She took a quick shower, packed a few belongings, and was ready to leave thirty minutes later. Opening her door, she cautiously peeked out. All was quiet. When she was halfway down the hall, pulling her suitcase behind her, she heard a low moan coming from Thorne's apartment.

Was he hurting, like her?

Jeannie's mind begged her not to, but she turned, headed towards Thorne. She would offer him comfort and maybe they could--

The sound of someone being pressed against his door...well, that was all too familiar.

When the sound repeated with another moan to accompany it, Jeannie backed up, one hand clutching her throat. She willed it to open so she could breathe.

You gave him up. What did you expect to happen?

Jeannie's backside hit the outer-door knob. She yanked it open, and sprinted down the steps, her suitcase bouncing behind her. Taking her free hand, she wiped at her tears and ran for the car waiting in front of a van with tinted windows. Thumping music greeted her as she opened the passenger door and folded herself into the front seat.

Her driver, a beautiful Latina with long brown hair and protruding teeth, widen her eyes at Jeannie's appearance. She turned down the stereo so they could talk.

"Are you, okay?"

"I'm fine. Let's go."

The woman turned from Jeannie, shrugging her shoulders. She put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb, taillights winking in the dark.

Jeannie listened to the soft snores of the man sitting in the next seat and the quiet rustling of fast food wrappers. The aroma coming from her fellow passenger's dinners, permeated the bus in rolling waves. She turned her head from the window and the glare from the highway lights hurt her swollen eyes.

Jeannie moved her head further into the seat. She willed sleep to come and take her away on gentle wings. It was the only way to close her mind against the pain of Thorne's dismissal. Thorne hadn't given her departure a thought, and in the next moment, he was with someone else. She had to take him out of the equation. He was no longer relevant, and she'd waste no more time on him.

However, the heart never listens to what the mind wants, and Jeannie cursed the day she'd agreed to take on her assignment. She knew Thorne for what he was when he'd introduced himself and his team to her.

No one from the agency she worked for counted on The Source planting someone so her type right next door. If Thorne's directive had been to mess with her mind, he'd succeeded without hardly lifting a finger.

Jeannie had fallen—hard—the moment she laid eyes on him.

Men like Thorne—those trained in obtaining information from women through any means necessary—also existed in her agency. The summers she'd trained for her mission, one or two of those types had tried their charms on her. She'd laughed in their faces, but all Thorne had to do was smile, speak with his Southern accent, and she'd turned into a puddle of goo in his hands.

How weak was she not to have seen what was coming? A broken heart. Her body in pain. Her assignment in peril. She was crazy for jeopardizing her mission for someone who fooled women on a daily basis.

When she was first told of her assignment, Jeannie had been careful. She had scouted out the perfect place to live, a quiet place with long-term residents. All three tenants in her building had lived in the apartments for many years and they seemed to have no plans to move.

As soon as she'd chosen her dwelling, the student that used to live in 2A, Bret Farthing, suddenly got an "inheritance" from a long-lost uncle. Bret had spent his windfall on a more upscale place.

That was the cover anyway.

Jeannie had received dossiers on her neighbors, and all of Bret's known uncles were alive—a clear sign that another agency was after her or the mark she was tasked to deliver.

Jeannie's agency had discovered 2A's new lease was held by a dummy corporation. It paid the monthly rent from an account in the Bahamas, making everything untraceable.

A shrewd move should anyone start looking.

With all the roadblocks, her agency couldn't gather the information on the next tenant until he or she moved in.

Once Thorne did, Jeannie instructed her agency to dig.

While Thorne was "busy getting ready" for their non-date at El Chico's, Jeannie had received his details. She scoured them, converting them to memory to prepare herself to escape whatever agenda The Source had planned for her.

Jeannie learned Thorne Gable was an orphan, five years her senior. He liked all women, but shy introverts the best as he saw them as a challenge. He also hated for anyone outside his immediate circle to call him Thorne. It was on record he'd nearly killed a trainer for calling him Thorney.

Jeannie had known calling him 'Thorne' was a trigger, yet she had done so.

And to what end?

She was worse off than when she started. They were no longer even friends.

But maybe that was for the best.

Thorne had never desired her. At least not in the way she wanted him to. And as much as she would like to pretend she didn't want him, she couldn't.

But she had to. She had to accept that he, as an enemy agent, was off limits.

All she could hope for now is to complete her assignment of introducing Shon Westwood to the источник (Istochnik)—her country's equivalent of The Source.