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“That’s not a feeling.”
She ignored me and nodded at my head. “I see you've dyed your hair back."
I sighed, running my fingers through the waist-length strands.
“My last legend was a stripper, so Wilks had me go peroxide blonde. Blue contacts, too. I ran color corrector through my hair as soon as I was done. Threw away those damn contacts and burned the trash bag for good measure.”
Every legend came with a new appearance. Truthfully, I was addicted to this. I was addicted to the adrenaline and thrill that came with becoming a new person.
And it wasn’t because I had Daddy issues or hated who I was, though the first was arguably true. It was because I loved the idea that I had the power to be whomever I wanted.
But lately, I had forgotten who I truly was. Sometimes, I forgot what I really looked like—exotic blue-green eyes; cascading, wavy hair that wasn’t quite brown or blonde; and a tall, hourglass body, courtesy of the hand-to-hand training my combat instructor had me doing.
I fidgeted with my hands. “What do you know about my current legend?”
“Not much. I’ll be briefed later this week. Being your handler…” She crossed her legs and made a circular gesture between us. “This was all very last minute.”
I nodded, expecting as much.
I considered addressing my concerns on why this legend felt more last minute than the rest but dismissed them as paranoia and, unfortunately, inexperience.
Just because I’d never been on such a rushed assignment didn’t mean it never happened. Wilks sheltered me. An unfortunate fact. I wanted the kiddie gloves off, so I couldn’t complain when it happened.
“The assignment began.” I ran a finger through my hair and averted my eyes. “I went au naturel.”
I kept out the part about using my name. She’d learn soon enough, and I didn’t want to be there for her pity when she did.
“That’s dangerous.”
My eyes darted to hers. I studied her body language and stiffened at what I found.
“You know,” I accused. “How?”
Only Wilks and the first shrink the FBI had appointed me knew what my last name meant.
She met my eyes, unfazed. “Wilks briefed me on your last name when you first started working here.”
My nails dug into my palms.
Who else had he told?
“And you’ve kept this secret from me for six years?”
“As have you.”
She leaned forward and slanted her chin on her delicate fist. A pen rested in her other hand, poised readily over her navy-blue spiral notebook, though I had never once seen her write in it.
I suspected she was about to shrink me, so I spoke before she could, “It’s not exactly something I’d shout across the rooftops, especially given where I work.”
“Fair enough.” She tilted her head and did a thorough job of scrutinizing me. “So, how do you feel, keeping all of these secrets?”
“Like it’s my job.” I turned the tables. “It’s your job, too.”
“Are you reminding me to keep your secret?”
“No. I’m reminding you of who we are.”
“And who are you, Ariana De Luca?”
