Page 36 of Mine Again
“I think it’s best if everyone involved knows as little as possible,” I say.
“Agreed.”
“Agreed as in you won’t ask questions, or agreed as in you’ll help?”
He says nothing. Not right away.
The silence stretches long enough for the sound of approaching footsteps to reach us.
Damn it. Twelve minutes really moved fast.
I glance at my watch. The guards are early, or I was off in my timing. Two voices drift closer.
Uberto raises a finger to his lips. I nod and shift deeper into the alcove. The stone at my back is cold, and the hedge scratches my bare arms. The light from a flashlight sweeps the path just outside.
If it turns in our direction, we’ll be seen. There’s no explaining why we’re both here. I hold still, barely breathing, willing the guards to keep walking.
But they stop.
And so does my heart.
I feel light-headed, dizzy from holding still too long, or maybe it’s from fear. My lungs ache from the effort of keeping quiet, every breathshallow and controlled.
One of them mutters something under his breath. Then comes the flick of a lighter. A tiny snap, followed by the scent of tobacco drifting into the alcove.
My pulse hammers in my ears.
What the heck? Did they turn up early to have a smoke?
They’re closer than I thought, and they’re lingering.
They talk, their voices low and casual. It sounds like gossip. Something about one of the guests inside. Their tone is light, unconcerned, as if they have all the time in the world while they enjoy their smoke.
Uberto and I stay frozen like statues. I barely dare to breathe.
And then, naturally, my nose begins to itch.
No. No, no, no. Don’t sneeze.
I grit my teeth, focus on the pressure behind my eyes, count backward, anything to stop the rising sensation.
The light from the flashlight finally moves again, sweeping across the path. It slows and stops. Just for a second.
But it’s long enough to make my stomach knot and my legs tense, ready to run if everything falls apart.
At last, they walk off, their voices fading as they continue their patrol.
I let out a slow, wobbly breath.
I shake out my arms and legs. They feel like I haven’t used them in decades.
Looking at Uberto, he seems more than a little uneasy too. When our gazes meet, he finally speaks again.
“Fine, I will help you.”
He pulls a slim pen and a business card from inside his jacket, scribbles something on the back, and hands it to me.
“This is my personal email. It’s encrypted and routed through secure servers. Only I can access it.”
