"I don't know what you're looking for, but perhaps if you were better organized, you could easily find your belongings."
Before I could threaten to pass equal judgment over him in his most personal space with a clever, snarky response, I spot my phone's skull case on a box of teeth I've been meaning to document.
"Ha! No need." I shrug, my hands still shaking. "It's exactly where I left it."
One of his eyebrows does the curvy thing again, his hazel eyes caught between annoyance and amusement. He opens his mouth to say something, but I silence him with a raised finger, full teacher mode activated.
I scroll through my contacts until I find my dad's number and click on it.
"What did I do to deserve such an unexpected call from my favorite daughter?" my dad asks by way of greeting. He might not be a nocturnal creature like me, but he adjusted his entire life to the nighttime when I was a kid. He's good like that.
And now I have to break insanely disturbing news to him.
"Dad, are you sitting down?"
"I don't like the sound of that, Spooky. What's happened?" His voice, usually sweet and gentle, takes on an edge.
"Mom escaped prison." I ignore Agent Thrussell's sharp inhale. I can deal with him as soon as my dad is safe. "I don't have any more details than that, but you need to follow the protocol I set up in case this happened. Do you remember what we talked about?"
"Oh." My dad's voice shakes. "She escaped?" he asks as if he isn't sure he heard me right the first time around.
Yup, I get it, Dad. This is about as fucked up as using a rusty blade to start an autopsy.
"Apparently." My eyes go to the agent who is now standing with his arms crossed, suspicion and fire in his eyes. What's his damage? "You need to pack a bag and go."
I wave my hand over to Agent Thrussell, who is now openly glaring at me. "When did she escape?" I ask the Norse-god lookalike. He shakes his head and nods toward my phone.
"Right," I snap at him. "Look, I know you guys dropped the ball by not calling Edward, but he needs to go someplace safe."
"If you could please hang up the phone and explain to me what is happening, that would be great."
"I have to make sure my dad is safe. She could go after him."
"Am I understanding this properly? You're Sveta Markov's daughter? You are the child of this generation's Elizabeth Bathory?"
I bristle at the description the media created for my mother based on the notorious woman of the sixteenth century, but with a deep inhale, I calm myself enough to glare at Agent Thrussell.
"I'd prefer it if you addressed me as Mila or Agent Starling." Agent Thrussell gives me a curt headshake, apparently as an apology. "When did she escape?" I make sure to enunciate every word clearly, hoping to sound as badass and annoyed as I feel. It's my instructor voice. Equal part bitch and boss. I like to think that I’m channeling Professor McGonagall.
"She vanished about thirty minutes ago. We have uniforms going to your father's house as we speak. I didn’t realize his name was Edward. I apologize for the confusion."
"That's nice, but I've got this under control." I turn my attention back to my father. "Dad, the protocol. Follow it. Contact me when you're safe."
"What are you going to do to protect yourself?" my father asks. "Like I've told you a million times before, you'd be her target. Not me. I'm too old."
I ignore his words. They hurt too much. For all we know, Dad is right.
"I'm a FUC agent, Dad. I'm fine."
"Okay, Spooky." He breathes unsteadily. "I love you."
"Love you, Dad. Be safe."
I don't even have time to push down on the End button before Agent Thrussell is on me like a vampire bat on a juicy calf. He closes the distance between us, his eyes digging into me as if I were a suspect, not a colleague.
"Is there a problem?" I bite, crossing my arms.
Holy bloodbag. I get why he is mad. It's not every day that you learn that an agent is the direct descendant of the century’s most infamous slaughterer. But still, he doesn't have to look at me like I committed the murders.
Also, if he could stand a bit farther away from me, I'd appreciate it. He smells too good, like sandalwood and freshly cut grass. I don't know whether to shove him away or maul his handsome face.
From this close, I can see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, making me a bit loopy. Did I use chloroform today? That has to be it. There's no way I'm all woozy because of a dude.
Definitely not a man who makes the Hemsworth brothers look like silly little boys. The Viking look is so not my type.
Especially not one who invaded my lab with only the worst news ever.
"You're Markov's daughter?" Agent Thrussell's eyes take me in, no doubt looking for any outward sign that I am like my mother. That's a look I get a lot when people figure out whom I'm related to. "How is that even possible?" He sounds about as incredulous as if I’d just announced to him that the moon is made of Styrofoam.
"Well…" I sigh with a deep eye-roll. "When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much…" I begin.
"I get that, Agent Starling." He doesn't snap, exactly, but it's clear I'm pushing his buttons.
Deciding to play nice for now, I shrug. I have to tuck away my sass and focus on getting Mom back behind bars. If this delicious mancake is the one who has the information I need, I have to keep him on my side.
"I have my father's name. My mother kept her own because it was the name on her doctorate. It would have been too much of a hassle
