Being parked in a thin alleyway behind a large, grandly-lit, glowing mansion felt like a strange illusion. It was like being part of a renowned once-a-year circus—all bright and cheery inside, but another dark, grungy world behind the circus walls.
"Don't look at me!" Ishaan said. "I'm only the computer guy."
"You might pass with a wig on."
"Flynn!"
It was the first that Genevieve had seen anyone unwillingly lose control, and not because of someone else, but themself. Losing control, clawing at your neck, ripping at your hair, screaming as if it was the last time you could ever use your voice was scary. It was shocking, a bit embarrassing, but most of all scary. Nicole Harvey, screaming at no one in particular, pulling at her red hair, tears rushing from her eyes as she slumped against the wall was scary.
Genevieve had never seen anything like it. There was nothing anyone could really do. Nicole had been acting a bit odd for a few days now, today she just looked anxious and sad; like there was no point in really being there. A few minutes into Flynn going over the plan for the fiftieth time, Nicole said she needed to sit down. Then she said, I can't breathe. Then she dropped to her knees and started crying. That was when Genevieve was told that what was happening was a panic attack. Nicole Harvey, the happiest person she had ever known; was having a panic attack.
Most things were chaotic after that. Kiara was on the search for meds. She had comprehensively searched every part of the van and Nicole's bag, even looking at Genevieve once as if she had taken it for some reason. That was when Genevieve remembered that she had an orange bottle of serotonin pills in her bag.
Almost everyone looked her way when she said "I have some. You can take mine"—the most confused and angry stare of all was Jackson's. Ha, she thought to herself. It wasn't a thing to laugh about, but she felt relaxed knowing Jackson and Blind Spot didn't know everything about her.
Soon, Nicole was being lulled into sleep after being calmed down several times.
"Well I can't go," Kiara said, wiping her hands with a paper towel when she finally got back. No one talked about Nicole after that. "I'm too old to look like your date or European. And, they'd probably recognize me."
"I really don't understand why Nevi can't—" Ishaan was cut off.
"No." Jackson said.
"Who else can you even send?"
Now, the discussion had moved onto the mission (which Nicole was a key part of). Anthony Willis, a friend and business partner of Emerson Rothstein, was hosting a party at his mansion, celebrating the long-return of his friend back to New York City. Which was strange. But she doubted he knew that Rothstein was in Buffalo some months ago. According to the original plan, Nicole and Flynn were meant to go in, while Jackson and Carlos were going to look for a briefcase. Nicole was meant to be the ambassador's forgotten stepdaughter.
Flynn was already wearing a tuxedo, with a black bow-tie laying untied around her, rubbing his forehead. In twenty minutes, they were meant to be inside that circus looking mansion. The long black dress lay still on the seat.
"I don't know!" Jackson's hands went flying. "But—"
"We'll give her a wig, Jackson," Kiara told him. "We'll put some makeup on and change everything about her. No one will ever know."
"We can't. She's not an agent and—"
"I don't mind," Genevieve said. It was one of the first things she had said since Nicole started her frantic pacing. Before this moment, she had faded away. Almost invisible. "Someone has to do it. And besides, we came all this way. He even rented a tux. I don't even have to do anything except smile and dance."
Flynn gave her a small reassuring nod. Jackson was a talented, very intelligent man. But forcing her to do something, or rather not do something (especially with the tattered state of their relationship) was out of question."
"You can't dance."
Genevieve shrugged. "Flynn will be there too. It can't be that hard." Flynn nodded again, his hands went flying as if she stole the words right out his throat. A smile was slowly lighting up his eyes. He truly hated failing. "Honestly, I don't know why you're so worried about me. You're the one who has to do all of the work. I'd be more concerned about you."
"It's not just that Genevieve," he tried again. "Anything could happen and Kiara won't be there and—"
Carlos stepped in, paving the way for her with his arm. "The lady has spoken," he announced. "And she wants to go to the party."
* * *
"So, I'm meant to be hopelessly in love with you?" A blonde haired Flynn nodded. "How is that supposed to make any sense? It doesn't really help with anything."
He handed her a flute of champagne he managed to grab from a rushing waiter. "Technically, you're meant to be rebelliously in love with me, but hopelessly works too." He took a sip from his glass. Genevieve followed, slightly wincing. This was her first time drinking champagne. "And you have to build characters when under cover. You're a brunette and I'm blonde now, doesn't make sense to be talking the same way."
At the mention of her new hair, the itchy wig acted up again. She hadn't tried scratching it, scared that it would fall down and her real hair under the bald cap would show. There was no question about the fact that she felt out of place. Why had she shut down her brother when he said this wasn't for? He was right. She wasn't an agent, she had no stakes in this (at least none she'd accept) and she was sure her being here would blow everyone's cover. Flynn had assured her that the latter wouldn't happen. I'll be right here. Next to you the whole time. But that only increased chances of him getting caught as well. She couldn't even walk in this dress and heels properly, another thing she was doing for the first time.
Her black dress was looser than it ought to have been. Kiara had made sure to comment on that. She had always been thin, but now each tendon was clearly visible every time her elbow bent. Dr. Zuri Obano had said that some of the medicine he gave her would act as an appetite suppressant. She had also got herself a job (a legal one) the first time in her life. You spent less on food when you knew how much you'd have left.
Jackson had given her a look when he noticed the carefully hidden pin against the sleeve of her—Nicole's dress. Now, she had a contagious smile on her face. It looked like one pill-popping housewives had at their worst moments. Genevieve never in her life had smiled this much. Nicole was always smiling. But instead of Nicole, today she was a Swedish ambassador's forgotten step-daughter: Linnéa Berg.
"Now that we got that out of the way," Flynn said, as soon as the couple talking to them left. His hand left the barely visible comms unit in his ear. "Would you care to dance?"
"Yes," she replied as she was supposed to. 'Words are code' he'd told her. "But I'll have to touch up quickly before that. Excuse me."
The lightest smile was on his face as she turned to find the bathroom in the back of the large ballroom. "Right there, Nevi. I see you. Stop," said her brother's voice through her bejewelled earpiece. Making sure there was no one near them, she flipped the latch and pushed open the glass window. Offering her hand to Jackson as he stepped in, her eyes swept the empty corridor again. Cool night wind brushed against her sweaty back-neck as she checked the halls again. Paranoia even made her check the walls and pillars for CCTV cameras.
"As-tu froid?" Jackson asked, fixing his shirt and closing the latch. "You sure you'll be fine? I'll find a way to get out. Don't worry about anything at all."
Her lips pursed. "We're meant to be lookouts. I'll be fine. You, be safe. Don't get caught or seen."
With a nod he left, and Genevieve was left to find the actual bathroom and pretend that was where she was actually coming from. The bathroom was lit red with a shiny, impeccable mirror for a wall and a crystal flush handle and doorknob. Several other parts of the room sparkled and glittered. Some just clean surfaces and steel; others, only forgotten gems and pendants laid out on the granite sink. Genevieve didn't want to see herself in the mirror and the bathroom was as large as her small rental in Maine, but she still managed to ignore her reflection. Her gaze and fingers focused solely on the sparkling pendant resting on the sink and where in this dress she could possibly hide it.
There was a moment's worth of hesitation before Genevieve decided she couldn't fix anything about herself without ruining everything. Adding a charm to a sleek bracelet, she reluctantly exited the quiet bathroom. Getting closer to the main party, she slowed down. She couldn't see Flynn waiting for her. That probably meant she wasn't needed urgently.
Anthony Willis was hosting this party for his friend, Emerson Rothstein, also known as Keith Redstone. And he was nowhere to be seen. They had been here for almost an hour now and Rothstein or the host were invisible. Mentally, she scoffed. Some high class they were. Impolite, and a waste of time.
Casting her eyes around the room, she failed to find Flynn. Her eyes had the spot they stood at earlier pinned. Obviously he had moved around. But where? Every male body was wearing a black tuxedo—save for the few fashion statements that wore white or glittery red and green jackets. Slowly she entered the ballroom full of people. Her eyes wandered everywhere. She knew she looked lost. She could try asking for help through her comms unit, but she didn't think she could do it without the whole party noticing her talking without someone in front of her. Everyone had their arms linked. Partners, groups, no individuals. No one alone. Without someone next to her—without Flynn, she looked a bit stupid.
Backtrack, she decided. She had to go back and look harder, maybe she missed him. Maybe he missed her; she didn't look like herself right now.
A group of people in a circle blocked her way. They stood there like a herd, tilting their heads back laughing so loudly everyone would wonder what was so funny. But parties like this valued etiquette and demureness. That thought was ignored when she saw Flynn in the circle. His back at least. Tapping him on the shoulder, she waited for him to turn around, but her mind realized slowly and stupidly that Flynn didn't have his natural dark hair today. Today he was blonde. The man she had tapped on the shoulder.
"I'm really sorry. I thought you were someone else..." she couldn't say anymore. The man was definitely not Flynn. He was the brother to this party's honoured guest. Brown hair slicked back, a silver plated watch on his wrist and a long scar from his eye to chin; for the first time in six years, Vincent Redstone was standing in front of her.
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