I burst into the hotel room, out of breath and still coughing up smoke. As soon as I set foot in the suite, Zach descended on me, grasping my shoulders. His worried face was inches from my own.
"Where were you?" he asked. With a sudden start, he finally realized what I looked like. His grip on my shoulders became tighter as his eyes widened. "What happened? Fred called hours ago saying that you were coming back!"
"I'll tell you. Give me a second!" I shook him away. "Look at this," I said quickly, just happy that we finally had a clue since our mistake earlier. "It's Christinne's necklace!"
"Why is this important?" he sneered and knocked it from my hand. It fell to the floor. "For the last time, where were you?"
By the hand, I led him to the couch and sat down. He took a seat next to me rather impatiently. "After I left the airport, I wanted to take a walk-"
"Who did this to you?" Zach interrupted, laying his hand on my bruised and burned face. I squirmed back in pain.
Aware that he had hurt me, he instantly pulled his hand away and folded it in his lap. "How did this happen?" he asked again slowly.
"This girl came out of the shadows and attacked me. She said I had been warned, that they had a soft spot for me."
"There is more than one suspect. Just as we believed," Zach said, making a mental note for our files.
"She carried me into the sewers and left me there. And there was a bomb!" My voice began to rise with excitement. The fact that the blast had left me somewhat deaf in my left ear didn't help that much either. Zach's eyes widened, as if he didn't believe me. I didn't need much proof, though, given my appearance.
"But you escaped," Zach said, repeating the obvious out loud, like he was reassuring himself.
His worry took me by surprise for a moment. "Yes," I affirmed softly, "I'm fine. And," I pointed to the gold necklace on the floor, "I found that where I was attacked. It's the same one Christinne wears."
I lifted myself from the sofa and ran to my luggage that was now sitting in the corner of the room. The fashion magazine was rolled up, placed snugly in the side pocket of my rolling suitcase. I pulled it from my bag. Frantically, I flipped to the page with Christinne's photo and showed Zach, holding my breath as he studied the image.
He looked suspicious, but he finally nodded his head. "You found something, even if it isn't Christinne's."
I was waiting for a compliment. Something like a "Good job." or "I'm impressed. You clearly can do this alone." But I didn't get any of that. All he did was get up and fumble in the kitchen area silently. From the freezer he grabbed a blue icepack. I watched as he took his seat next to me again and placed the cold icepack in my hands.
Finally: "I can't believe you did this," he said, the familiar, angry edge returning to his voice. "You could have been killed."
Was he kidding? He had to have been joking!
"Why do you care?" I threw down the icepack and stared at him. "First you make it known that you hate me and then you act like you care by trying to protect me. Which is it Zach?"
He looked taken aback. I hated how he didn't want anything to do with me, but now he wouldn't let me leave his side. What was his problem?
"I want the truth. Why do you hate me so much?" I crossed my arms and stared at him.
He shook his head adamantly, his jaw clenched tightly. "I don't hate you. I never hated you." He looked at me sincerely. "I just didn't want to like you."
"That doesn't make any sense," I said impatiently. Maybe I wouldn't have been so snappy if I had known what he was about to say.
"If I'd like you, it would only make it harder to handle loss. Especially when I'm responsible for you. I didn't want you to come because if you'd die, it would be my fault."
Dying? Was he serious? He sounded like a small child who had a nightmare, not a teenage boy.
"I'm not going to die," I said, half-amused. He turned his head away from me. Oh my God. He really meant it. He sighed deeply as his cheeks turned crimson.
"I'm not going to die," I said, more softly this time. Well, I hoped I wouldn't die. No one was invincible. My parents had taught me that.
He put his head in his hands. "I wouldn't be able to handle that again," he whispered.
My heart stopped as I realized that Zach had finally opened up to me. His wall fell down and I discovered, for the first time, he felt totally alone. Just like me.
I lifted his head gently. "Again?" I questioned. His parents...
He looked away. "When I was ten, I went on a mission with my parents." His voice was pained, his dejected tone making me uncomfortable. I would rather have had him yell at me, but I let him continue. Maybe if I knew his story, I'd know him better.
"It was my very first," he continued. "We were in the Florida Keys. There was this Cuban spy plotting to attack the president who was in town for a rally." Zach seemed like he was mentally traveling back in time. I could almost hear the distance in his voice. "My parents told me it was like a family vacation, only they were working. Not once did I ever think they would get killed."
I placed a hand warily on his back, expecting him to jump away. He didn't. "What happened?" I was there for him. I needed him to know that.
I felt him breathe, his back rising ever so slightly. "We came back from the beach. I remember how happy I was because I found this stupid starfish." He laughed a little, but stopped, not allowing himself that comfort.
"I was watching TV when the men came. My parents were working on papers at the table. They just stormed in." He shook his head. "It all happened so fast. I remember hiding under the bed, watching them. My mother was screaming. And then-" His voice broke off and he was silent.
I felt my eyes burn with tears. Zach was a ten-years-old, a child, and he had to watch this happen. I couldn't imagine watching my parents die, no matter how old I was, while at the same time wanting to do everything to help them, but being able to do absolutely nothing.
"The men left without noticing me. All I did," he said stiffly, "was hide like a coward. It's my fault." He turned to me, his eyes pleading as if he was confessing his mistakes while begging for forgiveness. "I could have helped them." He pulled away from me. "Ever since then, I never wanted partners. I couldn't even protect my own parents."
That was why he was so protective. "You're being too hard on yourself. You were only ten." He was the one who told me seventeen was too young. He was a child when all of this happened.
He continued with his story, his body a safe distance from mine. "I learned later that my parents didn't want me going, but the East Coast's director insisted. He said it would make my parents' occupation less suspicious." His voice was shaky. I didn't want to see him like this.
We were more alike than I first thought. We both were looked at as decoys in a much more dangerous game and we both lost our parents. Zach just had to grow up faster than I did. But we both still had the same guilt.
I knew how he felt. He probably felt like he would never smile again. He probably felt like a total loser who could never be counted on, someone who would probably fail. He probably felt like he would never know love or kindness, something only his parents had shown him.
"Why did you stay with the CIA?" How could you stay after something like that happened?
"What else was I supposed to do? Go to an orphanage? The CIA at least schooled me and paid me. I get to travel the world and I'm invisible." I begged to differ. The room froze when he walked in. He was the Clark Gable of the twenty-first century. "I like fending for myself."
He went on to explain where I stood. "I tried to get you to stay in America. Then everything would be up to me and no one else's life would be in jeopardy. When you agreed to come, I thought that making myself hate you would make me not care if something were to happen." He turned his face back to me, but looked down. "But the opposite happened."
I smiled. "We were doomed to be friends." I took his shaky hand into mine. I waited for him to pull it away. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had. What did surprise me, though, was when he wrapped his fingers around mine. I was struck silent for a moment as I stared at our hands, mine small and white against his tan skin.
"We need each other," I insisted finally. "It's so hard to stay sane in this job." Zach laughed knowingly. Every agent knew of at least one other agent who literally went insane due to the demanding job of working for the CIA. I laughed with him. "Don't you understand how nice it is to have someone to talk to who understands what it's like to work like this? This is the only time I ever had a conversation of more than ten words with someone my age. And," I smiled at the sudden thought, "I don't have to lie."
He laughed harder. "You're not very good at lying, anyway." He nudged me with his shoulder. "I am truly sorry for what I said. I tried so hard to say something that would hurt you so you would leave before something happened to you. I didn't know your parents were killed. I would never wish that on anybody."
My parents were killed. It seemed like yesterday we were in the kitchen making jokes and now they were gone. Zach saying it out loud made it all the more real and much more painful.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, but it wasn't awkward. We were both lost in thought. My mind flipped back and forth between my parents and Christinne. I had to do this for them. They'd be so proud of me. They wanted this for me, I knew they did. They worked so hard to give me the best, most exciting life possible.
I'd say the CIA fit those requirements.
Zach broke the silence. "We can't say Christinne did it just yet. I think we should wait until we find more clues. A day or two. I mean, there has to be more than one necklace with those two initials."
I nodded. He had a good point. We couldn't jump to conclusions. Besides, I wasn't one-hundred-percent sure. Whoever cornered me was strong. I had dark bruises on my arms from the confrontation. And I couldn't even check for fingerprints because she was wearing gloves. We had no substantial evidence except a necklace that was probably being worn by a thousand other girls in the city.
"You should get to bed. Today was...rough," Zach said. Rough didn't even begin to describe it. He pulled his hand away, but the warmth of his skin still lingered.
"Oh," he said as he lifted a letter off of the coffee table. "The agency is celebrating its first runway show of the season in two days. There is going to be this big dinner event." He handed me a fancy envelope, my name written in an old-fashioned script on the front. "I opened it. For precaution," he added quickly. "I hope you don't mind."
I found it the opportune moment to throw out a jibe about him reading Dylan's letter, but I kept quiet and pulled out the folded piece of parchment.
Dear Ms. Blake,
You are cordially invited to a dinner at the world renowned Moulin Rouge. The evening's activities will begin promptly at seven. Please dress formally and sit at your assigned table.
We look forward to having you.
Sincerely,
The Moulin Rouge
Zach was watching me read the letter. After scanning its words several times, I looked up at him and was met with a nervous expression that probably closely resembled my own countenance.
"As in the can-can?" I asked finally.
Zach swallowed hard. "Among other things."