Page 5 of Spies Don't Fall for Their
“Itappears that it also contains some intel from an operationof theirs.”
Igive him a wary look.Itsounds like their way of trying to steal it from us.
“Adifferentoperation,” he clarifies. “We’llknow more after the contents are analyzed.Fornow, go home.”
“I’mfine.Ifthat case contains what we think it does, we’ll need to act on it soon.”
“Evenif it does, the analysts will still need time with it first.There’snothing you can do right now.Howlong has it been since you last slept?”
“I’mfine.”
Sullystudies me in a way that makes me feel like he can see everything. “Thatfall on the lawn said otherwise.”
Iwince.Ofcourse, he saw it.
“Zoe, you’ve been working this case too hard for too long.Gohome.Afterhow long you’ve been gone,Ibet it’ll be nice to sleep in your own bed again.”
I’mactually exhausted.Iknow, becauseSully’sright—Inever would’ve fallen on that rooftop ifIwasn’t.SoItellPackstonI’mheading home, leaveLangley, get takeoutChinesefood becauseI’vealso realized how ravenously hungryIam, and head to the hotelI’mcurrently calling home.
Thisplace is clean and although the walls are painted the yellow of a mostly healed bruise, they’re better than the purple and orange plaid wallpaper of my previous hotel.Notthat it matters.Thisis just the placeIsleep and occasionally eat.Idon’t need more than this.It’snot likeI’veever really had a place to call home to compare it to—Ionly have vague recollections of the apartmentsIlived inwith my mom beforeIstarted moving from house to house in foster care.
Andnow,Ispend half my time in hotels around the world.Ahotel might not be what most people call “home,” but it’s what’s most familiar to me, and that’s the same thing.ItmeansIcan feel “at home” whenI’matLangleyor out of town.
Idrop my go bag on the floor just inside the door, lock both locks, and take myKungPaoChickento the desk, because it feels more like a kitchen table than my coffee table does.I’mpartway through the container whenIhear the sound of theFriendstheme song coming from theTVin the room next to mine.
Oneof the bad parts about living in a hotel is being at the mercy of whoever is currently staying in the room next to mine.Iwatched an episode ofFriendsonce.Icould tell that it was a great show, butIhated it.Atleast it isn’t quite as bad as the previous guests who stayed in that room and watched one episode ofModernFamilyafter another.Idon’t like feeling melancholic.Orinadequate.AndIdefinitely don’t enjoy longing for a past— or a present— thatI’venever experienced.AndIfeel all three with those shows.
SoIgrab my headphones, open an appIhave on my phone that plays brown noise, andIcrank it up loudly enough to drown out the sounds of theTV.ThenIeat my spicy chicken in peace and think about how great it is thatIhave this space to myself.Infoster care, that wasn’t a luxury thatIever enjoyed, soIalways make sure toenjoy it now.
Afew minutes later,Iremove my headphones, close the box ofChinesefood, unsure ifI’mfull or ifI’mtoo tired to finish eating, and stick it in my mini fridge.ThenIwalk to my suitcase and stare at it.I’mtoo exhausted to change, butI’mnot about to sleep in leather pants.So, as usual when exhausted,Istill do whatever has to be done.Ipeel off my clothes, which are, in fact, dry now, pull on a nightshirt, and, as the director suggested,Icrawl into “my own” bed.
It’snot that all mattresses in all hotels are the same that makes this one my own.Butthe circumstances of my childhood gifted me with the ability to sleep anywhere.Andtraveling the world for theCIAand spending time in so many different time zones has gifted me with the ability to sleep at anytime.
Whichis good, because the clock on the nightstand reads 6:02 p.m. asIput a pillow over my head to drown out the sound ofRoss’sdinosaur lecture being met withPhoebe’squirky retort, and, like a pro, drift off to sleep within seconds.
CHAPTER 3
SIBLING REVELRY
LEDGER
ThemomentIopen the front door to my mom’s house for our weekly family dinner,Ican hear sounds of everyone chatting coming from the kitchen and dining room at the other end of the long hall.Andthe sound ofBlake’stoddler daughter shouting “Wedgejo”— her best attempt at saying my name— as she runs toward me, hands up in the air.
“There’smy favorite rocket ship!”Isay asIscoop her up and swing her around to sit atop my shoulders.And, as is our custom, she raises her hands up so she can run them along the ceiling, making “rocket ship” sounds as we head down the hallway.
Inthe kitchen, my sisterCharlieis showing my future sister-in-law,Mackenzie, something on her phone and they’re both laughing.Jaceis, of course, next toMackenzie, my brothersMilesandBlakeare talking to my mom.Soeveryone exceptEmersonis here.
Ilike thatMackenziecomes to all of our family dinners now.Themore the merrier, if you ask me.Aslong asJacedoesn’t go off and get all boring now that he’s engaged.Imean,Ido like that he’s happier and less stodgy.Ilike the happier part because that means he’s down to do more fun things.ButI’veseen friends get married, and it doesn’t take long before their lives get boring.Likecry-into-your-tax-forms boring.
Iam never going to let someone trap me and make me boring.Isuppress a shudder.Tieme up and make me watch daytime talk shows, force me to fold endless laundry, and pluck out my nose hairs one by one if you want, but don’t ever trap me in a boring life.
Iwalk over to my mom, put my free arm around her shoulders, and give her a hug.Mymom gives me a squeeze back.Heidiwants in on the action, butI’menough taller than my mom thatHeidican’t reach her, even though she does try.Instead, she sticks a leg straight out, and my mom gives her foot a squeeze.
“IsEmersoncoming?”Iask.
Mymom shakes her head. “He’sat work.”
Igrin becauseIcan tell by the look in her eyes that it meansZoeis back with the case and that theCIAkept their word and shared with theCSAthe infoI’dworked so hard to get.Sonow it’s time forEmerson’steam to do their analyzing thing.
