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He sighed. "You're sure I shouldn't put someone else in as well?"
I knew what he was asking, but I kept my shit together. "I'm fine. I got this. I'm in. No problems. I'll have to stay on secondary per Montgomery’s orders. I'm being watched."
"Fine. If you can turn secondary, do it. We'll make her an asset. It'll make things easier."
My stomach flipped. "What? You're looking to make her an asset?"
Gabe sighed. "No, but if she can be one, then we'll make her one. She's not the target; he is. And we’ll use whatever means necessary to get to him."
Some days it was easy enough to pretend that the things I did were for the good of the world. I could feel that I was doing the right thing, making a difference. But at other times, when I could feel the manipulation from Gabe, I wondered how much of this was really making a difference.
"Whatever you think I'm going to do, I'm not. So get that idea out of your head."
"All I'm saying is if the girl is an asset, or can be, we need to utilize that. But don't get your knickers in a twist. You know the target. We'll make it work.”
"Is the team aware where I am now?"
Gabe chuckled. "Yeah. Saff isn't too pleased, but she knows how the game is played."
I’d heard that before. "Don't you ever get tired of saying that? Don't you ever get exhausted of having to come up with reasons for us do things that make us uncomfortable?"
"I do, but I know what the mission calls for. Check in again when you're with the girl. Igno's got a deal going in six weeks. We have that long to find out what it is, where it is, who the players are, and stop it. Get your shit together."
Was I up for this? I didn't really have a choice. Nissa Montgomery was going to make my life difficult. It didn't matter though. And Gabe knew I wouldn't back down from the mission. "I got it."
"Stay safe and stay careful."
"Roger that." And then I hung up with him, wondering how on earth I was going to get Nissa to comply.
Nissa
I hadn’t seen Westin since he announced his reentry back into my life. Maybe for once my father had listened to me. Unlikely, since I still had a guard, but at least it wasn’t the one I had vowed to kill.
After leaving Julian’s house, I spent the rest of the morning in the library. I had an economics project to do and a foreign policy test to study for. Every now and again I would look up and around half expecting to see Westin at the door.
But he wasn’t there. Just one of the hulking forms in suits. I think today’s was called Charlie? Whatever. I had to keep my eyes on the prize. My freedom loomed if I could just finish school and get a job far away from here.
When my eyes were starting to feel like I had sandpaper in them and my mind started to fog out, I decided it was time for a break. Glancing around the library, making sure nobody was watching me, I did what I always did after I finished studying. I used the time to dig into my research on my sister.
I looked for every variation I could think of on our last name. Lenora Crane, Lenora Crandall, Lenora Crain. I hunted LinkedIn and Instagram. Still, it came out blank. No social media. Nothing easily identifiable. Nowhere to be found.
I had tried all the avenues I could think of. When I was eighteen, I started going through the care system trying to see if I could find her. But she’d aged out and I had nothing to go on. And unless she'd put her DNA on one of those sites, I wasn't going to find her, not without help. Not to mention my father had taken great pains to keep us apart.
That was the thought that always haunted me. After, all these years where had she gone? It was like she was a literal ghost. It was entirely possible I’d never find her, but I couldn't stop trying.
I rooted one of the photos of us I always carried out of my bag. It was the two of us in matching princess flowery costumes. We looked so happy, as if right around the corner, someone hadn't been waiting to ruin everything. It was the last photo I had of the two of us together.
As I was packing my bag to head back home, my flat mate Jamila called. "Hey, Nissa, you might want to come back to the flat."
"I was just on my way. Why? What's up?"
"A bloke named Westin St. James is here. Claims he’s your bodyguard."
Oh hell no. The bloody audacity. I muttered under my breath, "Oh, for the love of fucking God."
I was home in less than fifteen minutes, barging through the door, ready to do battle. And sure enough, Westin was at the bloody stove, cooking something that smelled garlicky and divine. Jamila saw me and gave me a sheepish smile. "Well, he said he could cook. And it sounded appealing."
"Get out," I shouted.
