Desert Dark (15 page)

“Most of them. Holidays are the best, when my brothers are home from college and we can all hang out. I miss my siblings.”

“That's awesome. I wish I had a sister or brother.”

“Yeah, but in this business it can be a liability,” he answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know.” He shot her a quick look. “It's easier to risk your life for your country if you aren't worried about loved ones grieving when you die. But I love the work. Everything about it.”
Especially catching traitors
.

“You don't mind lying to your family about what you're learning?”

It's better than lying to my country
. “The way I see it, I'm protecting my family. The less they know, the safer they'll be.”

“Do you see both your parents a lot?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Sorry.” She smiled. “I dominated the conversation at dinner; I don't know anything about you.”

“I live with my mom. My dad works like crazy. They had an ugly breakup. I still see him, but, as you guessed, we're not close.” They pulled onto the dirt road leading to school. At the gate, Jack signed in with the guard. “Thanks, Jeff,” he said, as they were waved through.

“Why don't they scan the students?” Nadia asked, pointing to her eyes.

“I dunno. They only do employees.” Jack pulled into the lot behind Hopi Hall. “I'll walk you home.”

Jack took her hand and didn't let go as they walked along the path to the girls' dorm. He hated himself for it, but he liked her touch.

She turned to him. “Thanks again.” Nadia glanced at his face, then down at the ground.

She wants me to kiss her. And so I won't
. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. The color in her cheeks deepened and his breath quickened.
Oh my God. I want to kiss her too
.

He leaned toward her as her eyes closed. His mouth lingered near hers, then he lifted his chin and touched his lips to her forehead. Her body moved into his. She took a deep breath. Jack closed his eyes—it took every ounce of strength not to press her against the wall. He wanted to feel his hands inside her thick hair, their bodies close together, his lips on hers.

Jack forced himself to step back. “I'll see you tomorrow,” he said abruptly, and walked away.

Five hours later, at 0330, sleep continued to elude him. He rolled onto his back, eyes trained on the ceiling.

He could've fallen for her easily. No girl had ever read him like that—so quickly, so dead on.

She shouldn't have told me what she knows
.

He'd worked it out during the movie: Nadia Riley was absolutely the double agent. Before she'd arrived on campus, she'd studied a dossier of her teammates. She missed enough of the details that if he hadn't already known about her, he wouldn't have been suspicious.

But how did she know about my relationship with Dean Wolfe?
That wasn't in any dossier. He'd never spoken to anyone about the Dean. Not even Dr. Cameron.

Jack sighed.
At least Wolfe will be happy. And I'm here to serve my country, not find a date to the prom
.

His expanding disappointment aside, the investigation did intrigue him.
How long has she been training? Who does she work for? What could she teach me?
Jack understood why she'd been chosen. There was something about her—he couldn't quite put his finger on it. She was disarming. Like in the car, when he was
talking about his summer. He'd forgotten for a second that she was the enemy.

His stomach twisted as he pictured her, leaning against him outside her dorm, her lips so close to his. Her scent—soft and summery, like coconuts. How she'd looked at him. He knew when a girl liked him.

Seriously, Jack? That's spycraft 101. She was trained to attract you
.

Intellectually, he understood his feelings were stupid and childish—she was putting on a show. But emotionally . . .

What kind of agent will I be if I fall for every girl who comes along?

But it wasn't every girl, it was this girl. And this was the
only
girl.

What does that say about me? That the only girl I fall for is an enemy spy? Dr. Cameron would have a field day with that one
.

You know, maybe she's just intuitive. Maybe she has a gift for reading people. I don't have any proof that she's the double. It could be anyone. Maybe she scored so highly on the entrance exam because she's a genius. It would be awesome if she were innocent—she's just my type. Determined, hard-working, goal-oriented, perfectionist
.

Jack sighed and forced himself back to reality.
Knock it off. It has to be her. No one is that intuitive. And who studies cryptograms for fun? Not to mention, she was evasive about her family and where she grew up. And that code game with her mother?

But if it was more than a game, why'd she tell me about it?

Jack checked the clock. 0359. His eyes returned to the ceiling.
She shot herself with a tranq gun. No way would a pro do that, not even for a cover story—it's excessive
.

He sighed again.
Really? How long are you gonna go back and forth with this? Your first priority is to Dean Wolfe and your country
.

Of course, on the off chance that Nadia was innocent, Jack would love to be the one to clear her name.
I need to know the truth. This assignment requires aggressive action
. He closed his eyes as a new plan took shape.

Since their date last Saturday, Nadia had the feeling Jack was deliberately avoiding her. She wasn't the best conversationalist, but she'd thought he'd had a good time.
Until I read his palm
. Of course, she hadn't actually read his palm. She'd just paid attention.

She knew his mother was a good cook by the way he'd ordered his salad—Kalamata olives instead of Spanish, grilled shallots instead of raw onions, and olive oil and balsamic in lieu of Thousand Island. And he looked way too exotic to be named Jack. She'd guessed his father named him because his last name was Felkin, as opposed to, say, Kronopolis, which meant his mother—who might have given up her maiden name—was the one who'd bestowed him his beautiful dark olive skin.

And the thing with Dean Wolfe? Jack was obviously an over-achiever, which probably meant his father was excessively critical (which also meant he would prefer his mother's company). Matthew's father was the same way; that's why he'd felt a constant need to compete with her. And she'd guessed Jack's parents were divorced and he had at least one sibling based on what Sensei told her about how the Academy selects recruits. The older brother was a shot in the dark.

Next time she'd keep her deductions to herself. Not that there would be a next time.

She replayed their conversations in her head, poring over each detail.
I sounded like a fifth grader telling him about the code with my mother. And joking about Witness Protection. How is that funny? That's not funny
.

Maybe he was just being friendly. Taking her out because she was new. But why kiss her forehead when he walked her home? Is that something a team leader would do?
Yeah, I guess it's kind of big-brotherly. That would explain why I didn't get a real kiss
.

It doesn't matter
, she finally decided.
I don't want to go down that road anyway
.

In mid-October, after a solid month of physical training, Nadia bowed deeply to Sensei. Although the constant pain had subsided, she was grateful the four weeks were over. “Thank you for everything.” As a result of her hard work, Nadia noticed visible veins in her arms from hundreds of push-ups. Her stamina—along with her confidence—had increased threefold. And she looked
fabulous
. “I am now on par with my classmates.” She was actually much further ahead than her friends, but she didn't want to sound arrogant. Sensei appreciated humility.

Sensei gave her an appraising look. “Contrary to my expectations, you have proven yourself an earnest student. But I am still unsatisfied with your handgun skills.”

A week into private lessons, Sensei had insisted she begin target practice—with the silencer removed. “If you do not familiarize yourself with the concussion, you will freeze the first time you hear a shot.” After a lecture on gun safety (which Nadia politely suggested may have been more useful
before
she was given a firearm, and to which he responded
crack!
), he handed her the weapon.

“Nadia-san, remember your archery. Face your target. Open both eyes. Ready the gun and press the trigger.”

She'd held her breath and squeezed. With her stronger biceps, the recoil was much less noticeable and she easily controlled the kickback. The bullet pierced the edge of the target on her first try. “Look, I hit the paper!”

“This time aim for the man,” Sensei had answered without amusement.

Now he went on, “You may continue your private training three days a week.”

Nadia stayed low in her bow so he wouldn't see her cringe. “Hashimoto Sensei, your offer is beyond generous,” she said, straightening. “But why would you continue to spend time on me? Why do you care if I fail or succeed?”

Anger flashed through his dark eyes. Before she could blink, he dropped to a crouch and swung his leg toward her, catching her ankles and sweeping her feet into the air. She fell flat on her back. He pressed his pole to her throat. “I do not answer personal questions! I will expect you in my dojo three mornings a week.”

She nodded hastily.

“Get up. How dare you imply I have wasted my time.”

“My apologies.” She scrambled to her feet and quickly bowed again, wincing. “
Arigato
. But must you use the stick?”

Crack!
“It is only pain. When you are in pain one of two things will happen: The pain will be so great that you will die, or the pain will eventually go away. Either way,” he smiled and bowed his head, “no more pain.”

Nadia no longer hid behind her textbook in political science, and she'd started to pick up the nuances of Arabic and Chinese. Alan turned out to be a very proficient tutor. He focused on her study skills; she'd never learned
how
to learn. Alan, raised in private schools, had perfected note-taking years ago. He knew the value of an outline, flashcards and most importantly, rewriting class notes.

In Diplomacy the class studied dead drops, or leaving a package in a designated area to be retrieved later by another agent. They practiced brush-passes: a computer disc, a USB drive, an empty envelope. They'd go two at a time, while the other pair offered a critique. At first it was obvious, any bystander could see the object change hands. During one attempt, Nadia's hand got
stuck in Damon's jacket as they passed. He didn't notice until he'd pulled her to the ground, tearing open his pocket.

After a while they became skilled enough to complete undetected brush-passes right in front of the other pair. Occasionally when Libby and Nadia returned to their room for the night, they'd find a message from the guys slipped into a pocket or dropped in their bags.

Nadia's favorite section came next: cryptography. Studying under the same instructors who'd taught actual agents allowed her to further hone her decoding skills.

“How did you solve this one?” Alan asked of a particularly difficult problem.

“Look at this symbol. In this word it's used side-by-side, so it's most likely
s, t, e
, or
o
. It appears again at the beginning of this three letter word, which is probably
the
. So the symbol is
t
. Get it? You should be good at this. It's all about language. If you can remember letter frequency, you'll have no problem.” She raced through these assignments eliciting a rare, albeit backhanded, compliment from Alan.

“I am surprised you are so good at codes, given your lack of propensity for foreign languages.”

Nadia wasn't offended; she'd realized weeks ago that Alan was more clueless than malicious. “You know, you don't have to say every little thing that pops into your head.”

“I am physically incapable of telling a lie. My face gets red and splotchy and I grin like the Cheshire cat,” he answered. “Once in a while I break out in hives. I cannot imagine how I was selected for intelligence work.”

“So you never lie?”

“Out loud? Never. I could not begin to guess what the other person wants to hear, so why bother making up a lie?”

“What does ‘out loud' mean?” Nadia laughed.

Alan fanned his face with his notebook. “Everyone lies to themselves a little, right? I just meant—I mean—I try to avoid compromising conversations.”

“Compromising? Like what?”

His face reddened. “Nothing.”

“Come on. What aren't you telling me?” Nadia poked his ribs.

“Stop it.” He pushed her hand away. His nostrils flared a little as he spoke.

“All right. Sorry.” She hadn't seen him angry in a long time. Annoyed, yes. Aggravated—plenty. But not angry. “So can you tell when someone's lying to you?”

“I take people at their word. It does not occur to me they might be lying.”

Nadia shook her head.

“What?”

“I'm naturally suspicious. And when I ignore my intuition, I get burned.”

“Damon is the same way,” Alan said. “Makes for a lousy roommate.”

“But a pretty good spy.”

“Come on, honey. Rise and shine.” Libby pulled opened the curtains and sunlight poured across her roommate's bed. She never understood why people would want to sleep in. Her momma used to call her
Little Bit of Sunshine
. ‘Course, that was ages ago. “Time for breakfast.”