AllFreeNovel
Share Us
There is an elite group within the CIA that handles covert operations. Those operations are more of the in-and-out variety, and all highly confidential. From what I understand, they’re the kinds of ops that our government will always deny. But you can’t apply to be in that group. They come to you. They’re the equivalent of the SEALs in the Navy, or the Green Berets in the Army.
The streetlights diminish as I turn onto the 101. It’s late, and traffic is light. Sophia’s auburn hair sets off her milky white skin. If she hadn’t dyed her hair for this assignment, if she’d kept it blonde, would I have been able to cross that line? Would the attraction have been the same? Did my mind require the physical change for attraction to take root?
With her blonde hair, there’s so much I remember from seven years of overseeing her personal security detail. But with her crimson mane, she transformed from young woman to temptress.
Temptress? I wish I could lay the blame at her feet. I’m a dirty fucking old man in his forties who has no business being with her, and if her father, Ryan, or Trevor find out, I’ll be dead to them all.
The closer I get to Santa Barbara and to Arrow’s home base, the more sobering my thoughts become. How ironic is it that the safe house the CIA assigned to use for our cover story is near Santa Barbara? I understand the logic. Neither Sophia nor I have ever lived in this town, but we’ve been here enough that we know it well. We could carry on conversations about our home city if asked.
We hit Montecito before Santa Barbara. I double-check the address. The winding road leading us to our temporary home snakes up slowly. All the homes lining the road face west, across the valley to the ocean. The yards appear to be mostly pebbles with scant vegetation. The higher we climb in elevation, the yards increase in size. My headlights flicker on the occasional fruit or olive tree in tamped dirt yards.
At the end of a steep climb, we arrive at a gate. The paperwork didn’t give me a code. There’s a keypad surrounded by a slightly rusted beige metal box. Instructions above the box state to enter the four-digit code followed by pound. I enter the personal code assigned to me by the CIA, and the gate swings wide, opening into a wide swath of dusty pavers.
Two wooden garage doors are on the side, but I pull up to the front of the house, framed by mahogany wood columns. Lights flicker below us, ceasing in the distance before a sheen of black. My guess is the view in the morning will be mostly valley, a mix of houses, shrubbery and winding roads, with the ocean far on the horizon.
Given this house is in Montecito, and not Santa Barbara, there’s a good chance we can avoid running into our friends in the area. As I approach the front door, I scan the area. As the highest house on the street, there are no neighbors above us, or beside us. The gate provides additional protection. But, if someone wanted to approach by land, there’s no barrier. No fence.
The prime security of the location is in that it’s not easily observed. I pop the trunk and open the case with my Glock, check to ensure it’s loaded, then approach the front door. The passenger car door opens, and Sophia calls, “Wait. I’ll clear it with you.”
“Stay here. Watch the back.”
Motion flood lights flick on when I’m three feet from the front door. A little delayed for my taste, but they flood the carport area in light, as well as the garage side of the house and a portion of the back yard. The windows near the front door open into an expansive interior with windows on the back wall.
Once inside, I flick on the lights beside the door, Glock raised, on the ready. One living area with an exit to the back door, one kitchen with an exit by a laundry room and a side door, a hallway with three bedrooms. Only the master bathroom has an exit door. The kitchen has one window with cranks to open it, but all other windows are stationary.
“This place is nice,” she says from behind me. “Does the CIA always put us up in places this nice?”
“No. But they have a fair amount of real estate, and the locations typically match the cover profile. My guess is this isn’t CIA owned. Maybe FBI. CIA rarely places officers in the US. This is an exception.” She nods, and I point down the hall. “Three bedrooms. They use one as an office.”
The wheels of Sophia’s suitcase whir over the tile floor. The sound lessens when the floor transitions to wood. I follow Sophia, my breath light, as faint as if aiming for silence in the dark of night.
She flicks on the light to the master bedroom. Light wood planks cover the ceiling, and the walls are painted white. In the bathroom, there’s a white marble shower. A glass door opens onto a private walled area with an outdoor soaking tub. There are three wooden interior doors. One to a toilet room, the other two are closets.
Sophia tilts her head, examining the outdoor soaking tub. With her gaze fixed outside, she says, “Pick a closet.”
As I unpack my clothes in the smaller closet, it’s clear I’ll need to go shopping. I packed for a vacation to Whistler, and now I’ll have a prolonged stay in Southern California. I sense Sophia in the doorway.
“You need more clothes,” she says.
“Was just thinking that,” I admit.
“I’m going to go home tomorrow.” Her statement grabs my attention. “I cleared it with Aunt Rita. I’ll drive out of here in the car that’s in the garage for me to use. She gave me an address of a parking garage where I can switch cars, and I’ll leave as myself. Blonde wig.” She points to her auburn strands. “And I’ll be back sometime tomorrow. Maybe late.”
“That’s a pretty long drive,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Not that bad. I thought about asking Ryan to fly me down but decided against it.”
“What’re you going down for?”
“Clothes.” She gestures to my mostly empty rack of hanging clothes. “I can see about getting you some clothes too. Dad’s about your size.”
“That’s okay.” I’m already with Jack’s daughter, I don’t need to ransack his closet too.
“Don’t like his style?”
“It’s not that—”
“Well, I need clothes, and I’ll take the time off to visit. If you have to explain my absence to anyone, tell them your wife went away to visit a friend.”
