“I won’t go back,” I assured Evelyn. “That was ten years ago. I’ve grown so much since then. I wouldn’t recognize my eighteen-year-old self.” I patted her space on the bed. “Go back to sleep.”
She sprang to her feet. “No way. I’m wide awake, and it’s your fault. You owe me fried potatoes, and make sure they’re—”
“Extra crispy,” I finished, sliding out of bed. “I know.”
An hour later, the sun peeked over the Thames and sprinkled pale yellow light across the kitchen. Evelyn and I sat at the counter, talking about lighthearted things and making fun plans that didn’t involve past heartache. She wanted to take me to a cricket game. Until she was injured, she had been playing with a local women’s club, and she was dying to introduce me to her teammates. Leftover hash browns—or as Evelyn called them, fried potatoes—waited for someone to eat them in the frying pan. I’d given in and made eggs and bacon too, and we spent the early hours of the morning with tired eyes and full bellies.
It was a relief not to return to bed. A full twelve hours would pass before I had to bear the dark again, and by that time, I intended to be rid of my current anxieties. When Evelyn’s phone rang, her face paled as she spotted the number. This drew my head out of the past and plopped it firmly in the present.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“My boss.” She slid her finger across the screen, lifted the phone to her ear, and cleared her throat to get rid of her morning voice. When she spoke again, it was an authority I wasn’t used to hearing. “Good morning, sir. I’m well, thank you for asking.” Both her shoulders scrunched up as she listened to her boss speak. The stern set of her mouth indicated this was more than a checkup on her health. “I can come in today if you need me. I’m ready… No, my shoulder won’t be healed by then. Sir, I—yes, sir. I’ll be there.”
I got the feeling her boss wasn’t big on goodbyes because she stared at the phone and waited for him to press the end call button before her. When the screen returned to the home page, she turned to me.
“Change of plans,” she said. “I need to go to the office. The guy who wrecked my shoulder still won’t talk. They need me to review the footage of what happened, see if I can bring anything new to light.”
When Evelyn dressed for work, she looked like one of the Men in Black. Black suit, white shirt, black tie. I eyed her from the passenger seat as she drummed her fingers against her thigh, unable to sit still. She caught me staring.
“What?” she asked irritably.
“Nothing. Is that the uniform?”
“What are you talking about? We don’t have uniforms.”
“Sorry, Agent E.”
“Have you gone mad?”
Evelyn directed me to an underground car park and got out before I had a chance to bring the vehicle to a complete stop. In her haste, she stumbled over the curb. She flung her arms out to regain her balance, but the brace kept her injured shoulder firmly in place. She wobbled on her feet. Luckily, I caught her before she took a nosedive into the concrete.
“I know you’re not used to being dependent on someone, but I need you to slow down,” I said. I linked my arm through hers and set my weight, as if Evelyn was an impatient rottweiler at the end of a short leash. She liked to pull. “What’s got you so nervous? This is part of your job, right?”
At my pace, we made our way across the car park to a pair of nondescript elevators. I saw no signs to tell us where we were or what companies resided in the building above.
“There are two parts to this meeting,” Evelyn said. “First, like I told you, they want me to review the footage of the incident.”
“And second?”
“Second,” she went on, “they’ll want to discuss whether or not I performed well enough to remain with the company.”
Indignance, on her behalf, raised my blood pressure. “They would fire you? For getting hurt?”
“For not identifying the attacker soon enough,” she corrected. “For not reacting quickly. For letting him get the upper hand. For allowing him to come within a certain distance of my client. They could fire me for a number of reasons.”
“But you caught the guy,” I argued. “Despite all that, you’re the one who brought the attacker in.”
“I had no choice. If I’d let him go, I would have been fired for sure.” She bared her teeth in a grim smile. “Now I only might be fired.”
We stepped into the elevator. Once again, there were no signs. Evelyn flashed a badge attached to her belt against a scanner and hit the button for level seven. Up we went.
On the seventh floor, we entered a short gray hallway with a single locked door. Evelyn set her eye against a small device. It detected her motion, and a green line flashed across her face.
“Retinal scanning?” I muttered. “Really? This place is hokey.”
“Keep quiet,” Evelyn said. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Access granted,” chirped a computerized voice. “Please enter.”
The door slid open, revealing a massive open-floor office. People bustled around, carried coffee, stuck pens behind their ears, and scribbled on tiny notepads like they would at any other place of business. The office itself was
