Making the Grade (The Model Spy #2)

Chapter 8 - Wheels Up

“Let me guess,” I started sarcastically, “she’s a prodigy.”

“Actually, she only interned at the CIA last year and was offered a full-time position. Her first mission overseas was…” His voice faltered.

I closed my eyes and sighed, knowing fully well what was coming. “Was last fall in London with Agent Zachary Freeman?”

Fred’s computer clicked shut, ending the mission.

“Wheels up bright and early tomorrow. Have you packed?” he asked.

I kicked the box of designer clothing with the tip of my foot. “All covered.”

Max was sitting in a plastic chair in the CIA’s private terminal at the airport. He waved as Fred and I neared him, pulling our bags behind us. A book was opened on his lap while a carrier with three large coffees sat on the chair next to him.

He stood and shook Fred’s hand. “I got you a coffee.” He lifted the Styrofoam cup. “Caramel, extra sugar, and one half-inch of whipped cream.”

Fred looked thoroughly impressed as he took the coffee and flipped the tab open. A puff of steam swirled into the air.

“And for Agent Porter.” Max lifted another cup. “You don’t strike me as a coffee person. You drink it, but only because other people think you like it and continue to buy it for you. As a result, you’ve developed the habit of ordering coffee, though you don’t particularly like the taste. You’d much rather have a hot chocolate.”

The corners of my mouth upturned into a smile. “With cinnamon?”

Max’s expression mirrored my own. He nodded. “And blended, not stirred.”

Was he a profiler or a mind reader? I took the cup and held it under my chin, soaking in its warmth. There was something about hot chocolate in the early morning, even in the heat of a Washington, D.C. June, that provided comfort.

Only my parents knew that I preferred hot chocolate over coffee, and even they forgot I preferred a dash of cinnamon. I studied Max’s kind face, bruised from his self-defense lesson. Underneath the painfully awkward demeanor, there was thoughtfulness about him not many boys his age knew how to exhibit.

“The BAU could really use you,” I joked.

He combed his fingers through his chestnut hair. “I joined them on an investigation last summer but-”

“Things went horribly wrong?” I asked, my smile understanding. Been there, done that. For people like Max and me, things were always destined to go wrong.

“I don’t even want to talk about it.”

“Things went more than horribly wrong.” I closed my eyes tightly, wishing the owner of the voice would dissipate into thin air. Lilly laughed. “Didn’t you crash their SUV?”

Agent Rosewood looked glamorous as she entered the terminal’s waiting room in a black cocktail dress. She looked like a movie star at an event. Trust me, growing up in Los Angeles I saw a lot of fabulous movie stars and Agent Lilly Rosewood could rival even the most beautiful. Even in my new, expensive outfit courtesy a French designer, I looked nowhere near as gorgeous as Lilly. I scuffed my flats against the linoleum tiles.

Zach stood next to her silently. He looked even more handsome standing so close to her, if that was even possible. The two of them were the Brangelina of the CIA. In Paris I had grown accustomed to his black, bodyguard attire. However, when he tried, Zach was as trendy as any male model. His green shirt was crisp and clean and tucked into his black dress pants.

It hurt seeing them together, mostly because when the two of them stood there in front of me I couldn’t help but see them…together, his hands entangled in her hair and her hands on his shapely chest.

I wanted to seriously ask myself what Zach saw in her, but he saw what I saw: a beautiful, smart girl with glossy hair and a great body who could tackle a terrorist without breaking a nail.

Zach handed a metal suitcase to Fred. “Just came into Langley this morning from Mr. C.”

“Thanks, my boy.” I could have imagined it, but Fred’s voice was stiffer than normal, as if he was slowly losing his trust in Zach’s character too. Ignoring Lilly completely and nodding his head ever-so-slightly towards Zach, Fred gathered his luggage under his arms and made his way towards the jet bridge.

“I’ll help you!” Max took one of Fred’s bags and followed him through the white tunnel, leaving Zach, Lilly, and me in a room full of empty plastic chairs. Outside the sun was rising, the clouds in the sky a fluffy pink. I studied the coffee cup in my hands.

“Zachary, we should go.” Lilly examined her nails. She turned to me and added with a smile, “Pillington wants us to attend a breakfast at the Pentagon.” She spoke to Zach again. “You don’t want to anger Pillington, do you Zachary? He wouldn’t be happy to know you are dallying.”

The muscle in Zach’s jaw tightened. “Give me minute Lilly.”

Over Zach’s shoulder I watched as Lilly sauntered away, hips swinging back and forth.

“Please be careful.” Zach’s voice pulled my attention away from Lilly’s fading figure and to his pleading face, his dark eyes wide. “The most important thing to remember is…” His eyes scanned the empty waiting room. His voice lowered until it was no more than a whisper. “Remember that help will be there.”  

He studied me for a moment, perhaps hoping that I would understand his riddle of words, his mixed signals. But I didn’t.

He stuffed his hands in his pocket. “Contrary to what you may think, things haven’t changed too much.” He backed away slowly, as if he was hoping I would understand before he left. “There are still people who care about you, enough to break the rules. You aren’t going into this alone.” Finally, he turned around and walked briskly after Lilly.

Even as I hurried through the jet bridge, clumsily dragging my suitcases with me, even as I set down next to Fred and closed my eyes as the jet raced forward, I didn’t understand.