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“What about my mom? Where is she?” A sudden spike of panic rolls over me. It’s unlike my mom not to be here if I’m hurt. I’ve been injured a couple of times on assignments, and every time, I woke up to her hovering over me like a mother hen, berating me for my choice of careers.
Lathan’s lips turn up in a slight smile at the worry in my tone. “Sadie was here, but I told her I would watch you so she could go home and get a shower and a nap. I promised I would call her if there were any complications.”
He calls my mom Sadie? Only our family calls her that. Most people call her Princess Sadeen. How well do these guys know my parents? I need to get to the bottom of this, because not knowing this information doesn’t sit well with me.
He chuckles at my frown, and it shakes me out of my funk. He’s cute when he smiles. “You look as confused about that as we are about you. We have so much to talk about. Your dad and my team will be here soon.”
At his mention of his team, I freeze. Fuck. His team, and if Dad gets his way, my new team. I think I just lost my ghost status. My stomach sinks in disappointment. I can’t believe they caught me.
“Don’t look so sad, Kensington, I’m sure everything will work out fine,” he says, trying to reassure me and losing a little of the standoffishness that he’s been portraying since I woke up. I think he is showing me a glimpse of his real self, and the robot from five minutes ago was an act that he just couldn’t keep up. I could use a dose of honesty right about now.
“Kenzie,” I mutter. “Only my grandfather calls me Kensington.”
“Right, your grandfather. Would that be the Jordanian king or the uber wealthy Lord Jonathon Watson? You certainly have an interesting family tree.”
I scrunch my nose up at his words. “The latter. The first one calls me by my middle name, which is Jordanian.”
“Ah yes, Princess Kensington Raina Watson. According to everything I could find on you, you are the quintessential bored royal socialite. You flit from continent to continent spending your family’s money and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, with a list of ex-boyfriends a mile long.” He pauses for a moment, waiting to see how I’d react to the little tidbits of information he’s dropping.
I arch an eyebrow, curious to see how much more he discovered.
“The only people seen with you on a semi-regular basis are your cousins, Katherine Watson, known as Katie to her friends, and Keely Simpson, also known as Kiki, and to round out your quartet is Flynn Johnson III. Speculation is rife as to which of you girls is sleeping with him. Now, what’s funny is that Miller recognized Katie from a class he took at the academy a few years ago, but not one of us remembers you from any of our classes here, nor do we remember you attending any functions with your parents.”
He spouts off the profile I have carefully crafted over the years, but I’m surprised that Miller recognized Katie. We were both very careful not to make friends when we attended school, and we also look very different than we did when we attended them for a reason.
I’m known as Phantom, Katie is Reaper, and Kiki is Specter. We call Flynn JB. He hates it, but we couldn’t resist, what with the English accent and everything. He’s a James Bond cliché, but he’s known as Wraith. We are all ghosts for our respective branches of MITHOS—Katie’s being the European branch, and mine the US. Kiki and JB go wherever they are needed, but quite often, they are based somewhere in Asia.
Miller would recognize her because we swapped and trained in the opposite academy so we would have anonymity. We lived on campus and didn’t make friends with anyone in our year, and we also trained separately from them, with an occasional theory class on our schedule. That must be where Miller remembers her from. He must have a photographic memory or something, because we did our best to blend in. We also used pseudonyms, no one knew us as Lady Katherine Watson or Princess Kensington Watson. No, we saved them for real life, and they make such great covers, even though there is a level of truth to them. Nobody would ever glance at us in regard to the deaths of international criminals or crooked politicians, and it makes it easy for us to get into places we need to be.
“Well, what can I say? I’m good at my job.” I shrug my shoulders, wincing at the pain as the door opens and a nurse bustles in.
“Hi, Kensington, I’m Nurse Florence. How are you feeling today?” She has a soft smile on her face, and I instantly warm up to her.
“Like I was tripped down a flight of stairs and punched in the face,” I tell her dryly. “Oh, wait, I was.”
She tuts at my sarcasm and unhooks the empty bag, replacing it with a new one. I see Lathan cringe out of the corner of my eye, along with the expression of guilt on his face. Good.
“Let me just swap this over for a fresh bag. How is the pain on a scale of one to ten?” she asks, and I shrug casually like how I’m feeling is no big deal.
“Maybe a five,” I answer. It’s bad, but I’ve felt worse. She frowns like she doesn’t believe me.
“Are you sure? You are quite beaten up. There are no broken bones with the exception of your nose or internal bleeding, but you’re bruised from head to toe.”
“What can I say? I have a high pain tolerance,” I reply and try to smile reassuringly, but it hurts my face, especially my throbbing nose.
“Hmm, I think I’m still going to put some painkillers in the next bag of fluids. The last one might still be working.” She rushes from the room, and I sigh.
All I really want to do is tear the port out of my arm and go home. Without waiting for her to return, I swing my legs to the side of the bed and pull at the tape holding the needle in my arm. Lathan notices and rushes over to stop me.
“What are you doing?” he demands, trapping my hand in his.
“Look, I just want to go home and rest in my own bed. I’ll be fine in a couple of days,” I tell him while pulling my hand back, but he shakes his head.
“Ah, no, you’re not leaving. Your dad will be here any moment, and he’ll be upset if he sees you out of bed.”
I roll my eyes at his attempt to guilt me into staying. “My dad will understand my need to go home. Do you know if anyone retrieved my bag and gun from the roof? It’s my favorite, and I want it back.”
He just shakes his head again and refuses to release my hand. Another heavy sigh leaves my lips. I’m too sore to fight him, but I will if he won’t get out of my way. Just as I’m about to open a can of whoop-ass on him, my door opens again. I’m expecting the nurse, but my dad strides in, stops, and frowns when he sees the position I’m in and Lathan’s hand on me.
