I looked back out the window, "You still shouldn’t be driving."
His tone changed, "I got this. Don’t worry about me. Worry about your kids."
My head snapped back, "What is that supposed to mean?"
He took the exit for Weston, driving far too fast, "It means you need to do this the best you can. I'll be here for you, but all I can do is hope you have the training you’ll need for this. The number one skill of any CI officer is belief. You need to believe. ‘Cause if you don’t, they won't either. Now take this package inside, go over it and then burn it." He pulled the cab onto my street and parked in my driveway with a jerk.
"You drive too fast," I snarled and snatched the package. I jumped out of the car and slammed the door. I ran for my front door, not stealthy like at all.
The house was dark and silent. I slumped when I closed the front door and pressed my back into it. It was too much. It was all too much. I turned the locks and tried to find my peace again.
I could still smell the lingering odor of the spaghetti my mom had made the kids for dinner. I looked up the stairs to where my children were sleeping and made a mental note to change all the locks. Mom and the kids would be on mandatory lockdown.
I had no clue how to protect them. I had never been an agent with a family.
"Fuck!" I whispered into the quiet of the foyer. Looking around, I wondered where they were, the bugs and the cameras?
I grabbed the package and stormed into the powder room, I would hope they hadn’t bugged the bathrooms.
But what if they had?
Oh my God, were these people watching my kids shower and use the bathroom?
My stomach sunk farther. Frantically, I rifled the bathroom. When I pulled the fan cover off I found it. A small bug. I ripped it off and tossed it in the toilet. I stuck my hand up farther and found the second one. There was always a decoy. I flushed both and sat down on the lid. I wanted to cry. I wanted it more than I wanted anything, but the tears I had shed in the hotel room had taken all my sadness.
My fingers didn’t tremble when I opened the manila envelope. Nothing inside of me was the same as it was when I left the house. In the place of the pain and self-pity, was resentment and a dirty dose of fury.
I shook my head and pulled out the folder, "How could you, James?" I muttered to the folder, "How could you do this to me and the kids?"
The dark-brown folder had one word on the front of it, "Burrow" I didn’t know what it meant but I assumed it was something to do with him being a mole. A double agent. How could he? I closed my eyes and repeated the word burrow but it didn’t trigger anything.
I twirled the locket on my neck, trying desperately to recall even one thing. The locket made me ashamed. My father had given it to me for my graduation from CI training. He had been commander in charge at the time. He had begged me not to become a CI agent, but when I had ignored him and done amazingly at training he had to be proud. He begged me not to date James when we were discovered. I never understood his hate for him.
I couldn’t help but wonder, if my dad had seen the man he would become?
I took a breath and wished I had some red wine to drink as I flipped it open. At first, it was pictures, surveillance photos of buildings I had never seen. No different than what I had looked at a million times in my short career as a CI agent.
I flipped past them, trying to commit them to memory.
Unfortunately, the shows my kids watched everyday had fried my brain somewhat. Well, kids’ shows and the many hours I may or may not have spent playing Skyrim. I believed in testing a product before I let my ten-year-old play it. Damn those game makers. They were good. That damned game was addicting, once I got used to the Xbox controls.
My to-do list was balanced in there somewhere, along with the heartbreak that my kids’ dad was an idiot. There was no room for surveillance photos.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, needing to be the person I once was. I opened them and started to look at the pictures again. Warehouses maybe, factories, trucks parked outside, men walking the yards without guns. The pictures were like looking in over the industrial section of any city. I couldn’t even say what country it was. Nothing stood out.
The next pictures were of a man, I thought maybe I knew. The next one was of James and the same man. The man looked to be close to James' age. The black and white photo showed him to be handsome, dark haired, and serious looking.
It wasn’t keeping my attention. I needed a snack. I put the papers down and went to the kitchen. I picked my underwear out of my butt, where it got lodged from sitting on the lid to the toilet and then looked around.
"Shit," I whispered.
Coop, or someone, was no doubt watching that. I snarled and opened the freezer. I should have grabbed the plate of food, Mom would have in the fridge for me. Instead, I grabbed the caramel pecan ice cream and a spoon. I raised it like I was toasting whoever was watching me. Fuck Coop and his out of shape comment. He was probably disgusted at the thought of a girl eating ice cream from a container.
I carried it back to the washroom to look at the files again.
Sitting back on the toilet, I spread the photos out on the floor, after I went over each one. The first one was of James and the man talking outside of the warehouse. I knew the man. It was driving me insane where I knew him from, so I blanked my mind, but flashes of Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends filled it. I loved that show.
I sighed and grabbed the notes.
"Officer Hammond believes Officer Evans to be compromised and possibly committing traitorous acts against the flag."
I reread the sentence and swallowed the lump of cold ice cream. I clenched my face and neck, as a throat burn started from not chewing the ice cream and taking in too large a bite. It happened when I watched Vampire Diaries too. Damn those Original Vampires and their sexiness, they gave me brain freeze and throat burn every time.
The next page was dates. I saw some I recognized as dates he was out of town for work. Others were hockey tournaments and other such competitions for our kids. Some of them, I recalled James being at.
Lastly, was an iPod. I pressed the on button on the top and instantly the screen went to a video. I pressed play.
It was James being filmed from a short distance at night. He stood in a dark corner with someone who I couldn’t see, but I could tell it was a woman.
"You think if I had any other choice, I would have let this happen?" he asked the lady.
She put her hands on his jacket, on his chest. I placed the ice cream on the counter and dragged the video back. I watched her hands touch down on his jacket. It was an intimate touch.
My stomach turned, but I forced myself to watch the rest. I was actually being given footage of one of his said infidelities. They knew? They knew and they let me watch the video?
"Heartless bastards," I muttered and looked back at the video.
The lady spoke plainly, "I just want you to be safe. They know about the Burrow, she knows for sure. There's no way Evie..." I knew her voice.
"Shhhhh," he said and looked around.
My guts burned. Why was my name being mentioned? I knew her voice? Where from?
"James, they know about Evie…" she whispered, just as the camera lost her voice.
I gagged. Of course I knew that voice and the way it whispered my name. It belonged to my best friend in the world. My best friend, who I believed to be on mission and unable to be at my side, as I learned my husband was dead. I waited on pins and needles for the camera to catch her face. If it was her, I was going to have a heart attack.
He grabbed her arms, "I told you not to say that. You don’t know who's following us. Just stay out of this and stick to the plan. Meet me in Holland in a week. I have to break this to Evie and the kids. I know she knows, or at least, suspects something. She knows this is coming."
My mouth dropped open. I didn’t, in fact, know. I never suspected.
"I hate that she's going to get hurt." She rubbed her hands up and down the front of his body, making mine numb. I felt my lower lip creep out. I was actively praying it wasn’t her.
His voice turned soft, "Melanie, I want to be with you. The kids are old enough. It's our turn. Me and you, baby."
My mouth was completely dry, except for the sour taste in my cheeks. I dropped the iPod to the tile floor. My hands covered my mouth, "Fuck." Silent tears streamed my cheeks.
Melanie… Melanie, who sat on the toilet nervously watching me check the pregnancy test. Melanie, the bridesmaid at my wedding. Melanie, who held my hand when I gave birth. Melanie, who I had prayed would get my dozens of desperate emails from the last two months.
She was my best army friend. We had done basic together and Fort Huachuca. We had entered CI together. A million images flashed in my mind. He was fucking her too? The PTA moms weren’t enough? He had to take the only thing that was mine—she was mine.
The video was still playing but I couldn’t hear anymore. I got up and left the bathroom abruptly.
I needed to be away from the papers.
I paced the hallway. My breath came in rough spurts and panicked half breaths.
I burped the ice cream. It started to creep up my throat. I sat on the stairs; my tears wanted to come but the ice cream was blocking them.
I gagged and ran upstairs to my bathroom, bursting through the door, and running for my toilet. I couldn’t go back into the bathroom downstairs, not yet.
I bent over the toilet and gagged for a second before the scotch and ice cream started to flow. My guts retched and my heart broke. Not from his betrayal but from hers. Him, I had started to come to terms with. Hers might kill me.
I finished throwing up and flushed repeatedly. I curled up on the cool floor and pressed my face to the tiles. My silent cries turned to blasting sobs. I let loose the horrors and the pain. I let loose the millions of things I hadn’t let myself see. The dam broke and I let the avalanche smother me completely.
Images of things I had not wanted to see, ran like a movie behind my eyes until the movie ended and my eyes went black. But even as I passed out in the bathroom, I dreamt of things I didn’t want to see. His hand grazing her thigh, the two of them sneaking off during our wedding, the way he always insisted I invite her along.