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This is not good.
What else did Jarvis write in this disturbing memo to himself? Pulling out my phone, I check his status one last time. For once his lack of awareness for anyone but himself is a benefit to society.
“You coming?” Chad hisses from down the hall.
“Yeah,” I whisper, then snap a photo of the notebook.
9—DALLAS (RESTRICTED AREA)
VAL
“You wanna help me write the report?” Chad asks as we retreat from Jarvis’ dressing room.
My mind is reeling, my heart racing at what I just found. Those ominous notes could only be referring to one person and one relationship. I’m desperate to review the photo and learn more of Jarvis’ bid to hurt Larinda, but not until I’m alone. I can’t trust anyone, especially the world’s worst spy right here.
“It’s for the big boss,” Chad adds with a sly smile I’m in no mood to interpret.
What are we even talking about?
“Hey, I’m gonna head back to the bus,” I say.
His expression falls. “So you don’t want to write the report with me?”
“What report?”
“The report. For Mr. Sandeke.”
I’m so lost. Who the hell is Mr. Sandeke and why does he need a report?
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
Chad looks disappointed, but I don’t know how I’d be any help writing a report for someone I don’t know about things I also don’t know.
“Fine, then I’m not putting your name on it.”
“That’s fair. I’ll see you later.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just need to?—”
“Hey! You can’t be back here!”
We freeze at the hostile shout and twist back to find three large, disgruntled men stalking toward us.
Security. Crap.
“No, it’s fine. I’m with Larinda,” I say at the same time Chad says “I’m with Jarvis.”
Double crap.
The security guards must not be moved by our assurances when they form a human wall and motion us in the opposite direction.
“Seriously, guys. I’m Val Andrews, Larinda’s producer,” I say, stepping toward them. Frustrated, I reach for my all-access badge, and…
Oh shit. I left my pass in Jarvis’ dressing room!
“And I’m with Jarvis!” Chad repeats, adding a salute that doesn’t actually help.
