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“Yes…” I drew it out, wanting her to clarify. She darted her eyes away, and I pressed, wanting to know why she was so interested, “Why? Why is Iran significant to you?”
“Oh, it’s not.” She lied. It was my training to know when someone lied to me, and she definitely knew something. She was drunk, so it was even less hard to tell that she was lying.
“I just need to know you can stay put in the hotel, otherwise you could put yourself in more danger than you’d probably be in here.” I studied her. “You think you can do that?”
“You just want to keep me locked up all the time. I’m tired of being trapped, Mason.” Her eyes were getting heavier and heavier.
I shook my head. She was one hundred percent a flight risk. Over the last few days, she’d disappeared without telling me where she was going or when she would be back. Whether she stayed or came with me, I needed to know where she was at all times. I shook my head. I didn’t like it, but I was going to have to track her, and not just on her phone.
Emma got up and started dancing to the music again. She was getting her second wind. I got up and quickly went to the basement. I leaned against the drawer for a moment and groaned. It had to be done, though. I opened the drawer and grabbed a sedative and a tracking chip, and headed back upstairs.
While she was twirling in the living room, I grabbed her glass and dissolved the powdered sedative into her wine.
“I topped you off.” I called out to her, and she came back and slammed down the rest of the wine in one gulp. She grinned at me, and I shook my head. But this was good. She’d be out in no time, and she wouldn’t feel a thing.
After a few minutes, her eyes got heavier and heavier. I got up and came over to her in the living room. “You look tired. Why don’t you lie down on the couch?”
She started to stumble. The sedative was pulling her under and she was fighting it. “Dance with me, Mason.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me to her.
I pulled her tightly into my chest and wrapped my arms around her as we swayed in the living room, and then she finally went limp against me. I gently laid her on the couch, on her side, and injected the tracking chip into her shoulder. She murmured as it went in. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. I keep hurting you. I’m so sorry.” I looked at her somberly before I slid my arms under her and pulled her against my chest.
I slowly made my way up the stairs, and deposited her in the guest bed, and pulled the covers over her. I tucked her hair behind her ear and found myself leaning forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. It was the only stolen kiss I was going to take from her, ever. I took a deep breath in and sat there for a moment, watching her. Her mouth was slightly parted and a soft snore whispered out. I chuckled and gently rolled her over to her side, and the snoring subsided.
This was for the best. I needed her to stay close to me, and I needed to know under any circumstance that I could locate her.
Viktor said she was getting a second chance, but I didn’t fully trust him. Viktor was going to do whatever he thought was best for the agency, even if that meant cutting Emma loose or worse. I owed it to Emma’s dad to keep her safe. It had been me that got her recruited into this mess, even if it was her best option. I owed it to Emma to keep her safe, and that’s exactly what I intended to do.
If I could get in and out, extract the information I needed from the parties in Iran, and possibly eliminate any threats, it would slow down if not cripple the terrorist group that continued to steal the weapons we were tracking. It would remove the incidents Emma had been tracking, and maybe if it turned up to be a dead end, she would just leave it alone.
8
EMMA
I stood nervouslyin the line to go through the TSA check. I held a fake passport, and I wore the clothes that Mason had given me. They were functional, but neutral, so that I’d blend in when I got there. I tried to steady my breathing as I approached the agent. I looked at the photo again and wondered if they would know this was a fake ID.
I smiled as the agent gruffly waved me up and looked back and forth between me and my photo. I held my breath, and then he finally snapped it shut and handed it back.
“Have a good flight.”
“Thanks.” I said softly as I put my things on the conveyor belt to send them through the x-ray.
When Mason had told me to travel with a fake passport, it had seemed exciting. Now I felt like my insides were going to be on my outsides. Mason was bringing me on the down-low, and I suddenly started to feel nervous.
As we ascended into the air, I closed my eyes. I was grateful that Mason was keeping an eye on me. I appreciated being able to stay at his house after what had happened, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy staying there for other reasons. As the days had passed, I’d grown more and more attracted to him. I felt a small sting resurface as I recalled trying to kiss him last night, and the way he had pushed me away. At least I could blame it on the alcohol. I could certainly blame my boldness on it.
I felt my cheeks flush in embarrassment, and I tried to focus on other things, like how it was possible that the hacker I had tracked was in Iran, and that now Mason was going there on a mission. I didn’t know exactly what that entailed, but it couldn't be a coincidence. There was just no way.
By the time I was finally standing outside the airport with my bags in Iran, I was exhausted and stressed. A very salesy man who I couldn't understand flagged down a cab for me, and I showed him the address Mason had written down for me. Mason assured me he would be there already when I arrived, and I hoped that was true, because I had no idea where the hell I was or where we were going.
As the taxi edged out of the city and closer towards my destination, the buildings got sparser and sparser until we were driving down a dirt road. I glanced at the driver. For all I knew, he could be taking me in exactly the opposite direction I needed to go.
I cleared my throat. “Are we close?”
He nodded his head.
I had no idea if he spoke English or not, if he understood me, or if he had good or bad intentions. I sat back in my seat and fiddled with a hangnail on my thumb.
Finally, we approached a small town, and as we drove further in, I felt a bit of relief at seeing people walking around again. I texted Mason.
