Agent Rogue: Espionage

Chapter 8

          He twirled the laptop around and opened it back up again, typing faster than I had ever seen him do before. The sunken purple rims under his eyes made me worry.

          I set the empty gun on the counter. "How are you feeling about tomorrow?"
He did not take his eyes off the screen. "Nervous. We're prepared but... I guess the pessimist in me just knows how quickly things can turn sour."
With a pursed lip, I examined the mask. "We've worked hard," I said. "You, in particular, have put in the hours."
He shrugged. "We all have."
"I've seen you staying back every night. And don't act like you haven't been working from home, either."
He flipped hair that wasn't there. "I don't want to brag about it, but I have managed to find a way to trip one of the trickiest security systems the Service has ever seen."
"You don't want to brag?"
"No, not about the four hours it took, or the fact that I calculated the average time it takes for security to arrive at any security breach." He took a heaving breath. "I could, but I won't."
"How humble of you."
"The humblest."

          He looked down with a chuckle and continued to type.
"Barnes seems to be doing a lot better."
I nodded. "Having proper training again is helping. He says it feels like he never took time off but—" He took more water breaks. He couldn't match his personal best on the treadmill no matter how hard he tried. His strength remained intact, at least, and he shamefully managed to beat me twice. He would be fine with Veronica, but I worried about him.
"He'll be fine," Scotty promised. "He's an idiot, yes, but not a suicidal one. I'm pretty sure he's more scared of how you'll react if he pushes himself too far."
"Damn right he should be."
"Same goes for you and me. Now if you don't go home and get some rest, I'm gonna blow a fuse."
"Says the person still tinkering with his little tools."
"My little tools don't take up vital energy."
I raised my brows. "Bet you've heard that one before."
He scowled. "I'm done now, anyway." The laptop clicked shut. "I'll take this up to Collins, then I need to have a word before we go tomorrow."
"Want me to wait?"
"No, you go ahead. I promise: I'll be an hour tops."
I studied his features for a lie but did not find one as he walked by me, putting his toolbox away. "Okay. Then I'll see you—"

          Rose gold pinged against the floor. Scotty froze a few steps away, realising what he had dropped.

          Carefully, I picked up the bracelet for him, and handed it over without judgement. "We'll find her."
He swallowed. "Again, the pessimist in me disagrees." A rumble cleared his throat. "See you in the morning."

          He closed his fist around the chain and piled up his laptop, the briefcase, and the collection of masks, and headed for the elevator, face lacking colour.

          I was not an optimist, but I had hope for Gabby and Jade. Cruelly, I knew Marcus's mind, and he would not allow them to be disposed of when they were so useful as assets and hostages. They were alive. Whether they were themselves again, that was unclear.

***

I returned home to a warm cloud of garlic and paprika blanketing the flat, saucepans bubbling and stoves hissing. The lock turned behind me, but Derek did not hear it click nor the keys jangle as I hung them up, his attention fixated solely on the food. The files he brought home had been left atop my bookshelf by the front door.

          "Some agent you are," I tutted.
He jumped – jumped – at the sound of my voice. Then the shock wore off into a wry smile. "Did I not manage to sneak in undetected the other week?"
I shrugged off my jacket. "I was asleep."
"Hostiles don't care if you're asleep, I'm afraid, so it still counts."
I rolled my eyes.

          "Let's see... chilli, chilli, chilli—ah!" He snatched the chilli from the near-bare spice rack and eyeballed the amount. "I have to say, you still have a poor selection of spices."
"Here's an idea: go food shopping yourself then you know what to get."
He drew breath and pointed a wooden spoon at me, ready to dish out an argument he did not have. "...No."
"Lazy arse."
"How am I lazy when I have just concocted this masterpiece?"