code for clear.
“Had to turn.” And I turn again.
She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. She’s flying blind into a possible ambush after spending the night spotting for me. Not exactly fair.
I hang the next right and turn back onto the one-way to the embassy. This is definitely taking a chance — they’ve seen my van. Studied it in detail. Probably memorized the stupid monkey wrench logo. If I drive by again, they’ll think something is up. And if I stop to pick up a pedestrian? They’ll know it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
But when your partner needs you, you do everything it takes to be there for them, no matter the risk.
“Elliott.” Talia’s whisper raises all my red flags, and not just because she’s using my name. “They’re heading back to the embassy.”
Toward her. “Stay in front of them.”
“Are you crazy? They’re not—”
“Please.” I’m not enough of a plumber to stop the pleading that leaks into my voice.
“Fine,” Talia says, her voice hard. “Out.”
At last, I reach the corner where I’ll intercept her — and there isn’t an open spot in sight on this little one-way. Either I park illegally and wait, or I park illegally and wait.
Won’t keep you in suspense: I park illegally and wait, idling in the middle of the street, alternating between scanning my rearview for traffic and watching the window for Talia.
“Turn left at the corner,” I tell her.
“No, I was going to waltz into the embassy and ask for their private correspondence.”
“Ha.” I make up an imaginary countdown to stave off the panic clawing at my mind, closing my lungs. She’ll be here in three seconds. Two.
Headlights appear in my rearview. Less than a block away.
Come on, come on. “Come on.” One slips out. My eyes flick from the window to the mirror and back. Come. On.
Talia steps into sight at the corner of the building, twenty feet away. Finally. I shift into drive and wait for her to register me.
She doesn’t check the street. She slides into the apartment building’s shadow, away from the streetlight, away from me.
“No.”
I don’t realize I said it out loud until her shadow stops and she speaks. “Huh?”
“Street.”
She turns. And sighs. And heads over to the van.
I check the headlights. Thirty feet. No time. My fingers tighten on the wheel. “Hurry.”
“They’ll hear me running.”
Girls and their noisy heels. I can’t tell anything about hers from here, but stilettos aren’t usually her style.
“How far behind you are they?” I ask.
“Fifteen feet.”
I check the headlights. Slowing down for me.
Talia hops in the van and folds herself over to hide from view. Before the car behind me can stop, I hit the gas. I glance down the street for the guards. For half a second, I swear I make eye contact with Dude Number One. My heart catches.
And then we’re out of sight. Once we pass the embassy, Talia waits a few minutes longer than strictly necessary to pop up. “They never would’ve interrupted if you’d listened to me and we were both up in that apartment.”
“Gee, thanks for the offer, sweetheart.”
“Ugh.” Talia rolls her eyes and pushes her dark brown bangs out of her face. She’s cute enough, though her best asset is her legs.
Not that I’m looking. Now or ever. But it’s like she’s reading my mind. “Elliott, you’re an idiot.”
“I love you, too.” I take us back to the last safe topic of discussion. “The mic lines from up there were all wrong.”
She shakes her head. And then it sets in: we’re both clear. The only headlights visible are that same car behind me on a one-lane one way. I don’t have that sixth-sense, bad-news tingle.
The sweet taste of satisfaction replaces the adrenaline in my bloodstream and I puff out a breath. Talia’s safe. I’m safe. And we might have something.
I check to see if Talia’s as relieved as I am. Nope. She’s staring at me in that we-need-to-talk way all women master
“Had to turn.” And I turn again.
She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. She’s flying blind into a possible ambush after spending the night spotting for me. Not exactly fair.
I hang the next right and turn back onto the one-way to the embassy. This is definitely taking a chance — they’ve seen my van. Studied it in detail. Probably memorized the stupid monkey wrench logo. If I drive by again, they’ll think something is up. And if I stop to pick up a pedestrian? They’ll know it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
But when your partner needs you, you do everything it takes to be there for them, no matter the risk.
“Elliott.” Talia’s whisper raises all my red flags, and not just because she’s using my name. “They’re heading back to the embassy.”
Toward her. “Stay in front of them.”
“Are you crazy? They’re not—”
“Please.” I’m not enough of a plumber to stop the pleading that leaks into my voice.
“Fine,” Talia says, her voice hard. “Out.”
At last, I reach the corner where I’ll intercept her — and there isn’t an open spot in sight on this little one-way. Either I park illegally and wait, or I park illegally and wait.
Won’t keep you in suspense: I park illegally and wait, idling in the middle of the street, alternating between scanning my rearview for traffic and watching the window for Talia.
“Turn left at the corner,” I tell her.
“No, I was going to waltz into the embassy and ask for their private correspondence.”
“Ha.” I make up an imaginary countdown to stave off the panic clawing at my mind, closing my lungs. She’ll be here in three seconds. Two.
Headlights appear in my rearview. Less than a block away.
Come on, come on. “Come on.” One slips out. My eyes flick from the window to the mirror and back. Come. On.
Talia steps into sight at the corner of the building, twenty feet away. Finally. I shift into drive and wait for her to register me.
She doesn’t check the street. She slides into the apartment building’s shadow, away from the streetlight, away from me.
“No.”
I don’t realize I said it out loud until her shadow stops and she speaks. “Huh?”
“Street.”
She turns. And sighs. And heads over to the van.
I check the headlights. Thirty feet. No time. My fingers tighten on the wheel. “Hurry.”
“They’ll hear me running.”
Girls and their noisy heels. I can’t tell anything about hers from here, but stilettos aren’t usually her style.
“How far behind you are they?” I ask.
“Fifteen feet.”
I check the headlights. Slowing down for me.
Talia hops in the van and folds herself over to hide from view. Before the car behind me can stop, I hit the gas. I glance down the street for the guards. For half a second, I swear I make eye contact with Dude Number One. My heart catches.
And then we’re out of sight. Once we pass the embassy, Talia waits a few minutes longer than strictly necessary to pop up. “They never would’ve interrupted if you’d listened to me and we were both up in that apartment.”
“Gee, thanks for the offer, sweetheart.”
“Ugh.” Talia rolls her eyes and pushes her dark brown bangs out of her face. She’s cute enough, though her best asset is her legs.
Not that I’m looking. Now or ever. But it’s like she’s reading my mind. “Elliott, you’re an idiot.”
“I love you, too.” I take us back to the last safe topic of discussion. “The mic lines from up there were all wrong.”
She shakes her head. And then it sets in: we’re both clear. The only headlights visible are that same car behind me on a one-lane one way. I don’t have that sixth-sense, bad-news tingle.
The sweet taste of satisfaction replaces the adrenaline in my bloodstream and I puff out a breath. Talia’s safe. I’m safe. And we might have something.
I check to see if Talia’s as relieved as I am. Nope. She’s staring at me in that we-need-to-talk way all women master
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