But I could see her point.
Everyone needed someone to rely on. I hadKaufmann, the parole officer who’d been there for me when my lifefell apart at age fourteen. He still checked in with me from timeto time. He had no clue about the nature of my real job, my reallife. But just knowing he cared made all the difference.
“Tell me why you’re helping me,” Juliannesaid, “and I’ll leave you alone.”
I let out a deep breath. When it came down toit, I really didn’t know much, and Jacob hadn’t said anything aboutkeeping what little I did know from Julianne. “Your father sent us,sort of.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“Your father pulled some strings to make sureyou were safe.”
“You think that’s funny?”
I shook my head. “Listen, I don’t know thehistory between you and your father. You don’t want him involved inyour life, take it up with him.”
“My father left my mother before I was born,”she said, voice flat. “I’ve never met him. Whoever sent you, itwasn’t him.”
“You are a weapon,” The Instructor said.“You are a tool of your government. You’ll have to make calls inthe field, snap decisions, but don’t let that seduce you intobelieving you decide anything. You may turn down an assignment, butonce you accept, your job is to carry out orders, no more. Yourhandler will aim you, fire you, and it is up to you to make surethe bullet hits its mark.”
I let her words sink in the rest of the walkto the health club and focused on my usual security precautions,doubling back, watching for tails.
The place was called Stretchers, a nationwidechain exclusively for women. I didn’t have my membership card, butI gave them my fake name and address and they confirmed my ID ontheir computer. Julie waited in the lobby, and I popped into thelocker room and opened my rented locker. From the duffle bag I tooka clean driver’s license and a credit card in the name of HeidiOrland, a thousand in cash, an S&W tactical folding knife, anda spare charger for my cell. I still had Morrissey’s Glock, but Ifigured I might have to return it, so I added a compact Ruger .380LCP of my own and two extra mags, cramming everything into my purseuntil it was so stuffed it refused to close. Then I secured thelocker and led Julie to the nearest hotel.
Once we were inside the room and I’d searchedthe place for bugs using an app on my phone, I allowed my thoughtsto turn back to what she’d told me.
“So you don’t know your father.”
“Never met him, have no idea what he evenlooks like.”
Julianne stepped to the floor-to-ceilingwindow. Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked down on TimesSquare. She looked small, lonely. Behind her, the clock on theParamount Building read four o’clock, a half hour slow.
“My name isn’t even Julianne. It’s Julie. Ijust thought Julianne sounded more like a model.”
I attempted to run a hand through myhopelessly tangled hair. While I had recovered from my earlierdesire to shave my head, as soon as this operation was over, I wasdefinitely getting the mess cut short enough to keep it out of myeyes.
“What do I call you? I’m guessing your nameisn’t Claire.”
No harm in telling her my codename.“Chandler.”
“Chandler. That’s cool. Like on that showFriends.”
I preferred comparison to the dead mysterywriter, but I supposed it didn’t matter.
Normal, not-a-model Julie turned from thewindow and looked at me.
“So now what, Chandler?”
“Nothing has changed. My assignment is tomake sure you’re safe, whether your father is behind it or notdoesn’t really matter. Okay?”
She gave a little nod, but she looked lessthan convinced.
“You’re going to be fine. I’ll make sure ofit. I promise.” I gestured toward the bathroom. “Now why don’t youget cleaned up?”
As soon as I heard water hiss through pipes,I called Jacob. We engaged in our usual security dance. By the timeI was able to speak, I felt like crawling out of my skin withimpatience.
“Who is the VIP, Jacob?”
He paused for a moment. “I hear theextraction didn’t go as smoothly as we hoped.”
“She’s here. She’s unhurt.”
“But you left a nasty traffic snarl in theQueens Midtown Tunnel. The media is calling it a terroristattack.”
“Couldn’t be helped. Who’s the VIP?” Irepeated.
Another pause. “All I was told is that he’sthe girl’s father.”
I was getting used to Jacob’s altered voice,but there were times I still wished I could hear his naturalinflections, or better yet, look into his eyes, gage hisexpressions.
“She says she never knew her father, insistsit couldn’t be him.”
He paused, then said, “Interesting.”
“That’s all you have to say?Interesting?”
“Does she have any ideas?”
“She says she has no one, and I think she’stelling the truth.”
I went on, filling him in on Julie’s realname and my suspicions that our fake modeling agency was also afake when it came to the human trafficking business.
“You think they’re some kind of intelligenceoperation?”
“It seems so. Several are South American. I’mguessing Venezuelan, although they all might be mercs.”
“And that means there’s more to Julie thanthe fact that she’s daddy’s little girl,” Jacob said, summing up mythoughts.
“Right. I might have something on theBradford and Sims Agency. I took the memory card from one of theircameras. It got wet, but if it works I’ll upload it to the dropboxas soon as I can.”
Jacob and I often communicated via a seriesof secure Internet drop boxes. It was a convenient system fortrading various types of files no matter where I was in theworld.
“Even if it’s damaged, I might be able torecover the data.”
“I’m not sure anything useful is on the card.But at the very least, you’ll be able to ogle some topless photosof me.”
“You weren’t kidding about the strip club,huh? I don’t know how you find the time.”
I smiled despite myself, and it felt good. Imight never meet Jacob in person, but that didn’t change the factthat we seemed to ‘get’ each other, important when my life dependedon his communication skills and willingness to watch my back.
“You sure you can’t find out more about thisVIP?”
“Chandler …”
“Right. You’ll let me know when you know.” Ipaused, trying to come up
