Page 13 of Perfect Order
“When you next chat with your sister—and I don’t mean in that crazy telepathic way you two seemed to perfect in utero—tell her the local paper quoted a very nice mention of her performance at a place called Brooklyn Steel?”
Enthusiastically, I inform her, “Kylie mentioned it. Said there were amazing acoustics and her show sounded so terrific, the label is debating releasing the live recording.”
“Really? Well, isn’t that wonderful.”
“I’m so proud of her, Mom.”
“I’m proud ofbothof you, despite the fact your work rarely appears in the paper, darling. Don’t think your father didn’t come rushing down to the breakfast table this morning when he saw Castor’s press release. Why didn’t we hear about that from you?”
“We were under a gag order.” I was under much more than that as I force myself to dredge up the memory of a deep voice screaming at me on the secure line issuing threats I ended up reporting to the DoD. Freaking Messenia.
“You couldn’t have told us?”
For just a moment, a twang of guilt hits. Then, memories of the way the sleepy little town where I grew up could miraculously manage to spread gossip without a single person saying a single word makes me shudder. Calling upon all the diplomatic negotiation skills I used to secure the deal in the first place, I soothe her ruffled feathers. “Mom, I could have put the entire contract at risk. Who knows who might have been listening?”And I don’t just mean our government, I think ruefully, recalling the attack on the company’s network last night. Despite the fact I’ve taken a large step back from what I used to do, I’m ridiculously cautious for entirely different reasons.
I can’t deny there are times I yearn for anonymity—when I was only an obscure college kid who was simply someone’s unknown best friend or their worst shadow. Then after an infamous Defcon where I was noticed, and subsequently approached on campus, my whole life changed. Mind whirling, I recount my first interaction with my boss.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here for you.” He crossed his still-impressive arms over his chest.
I remember shrieking at him. “Privacy is the very core of Defcon. Who the hell are you to shatter it?”
“The man who’s going to save the life of you, your parents, and your twin. You have no idea of the people who are taking notice of you, little girl. Now, do you want to give up the theatrics and have an adult conversation, or would you like to draw a little more attention to us?”
I crashed into him as I stormed past, calling him an asshole. But I agreed to the conversation.
In all the years I’ve worked for him, I’ve begrudgingly retracted calling him an ass. He’s laid it all on the line, multiple ways. And he’s never asked for more than any of us give, than he himself has given. So what if I’ve been forced to give up free time because certain authorities need me to assist under dire circumstances when computer experts, governments, and corporations needed my skills to accomplish certain missions? Instead of using my skills for my own amusement, now they’re used to keep people safe.
Only once have I felt the games went too far and debated quitting, putting it all behind me and focusing solely on the jobs my cover affords me. Early in my career, intel I passed along to a Marine led to a bloodbath in Azerbaijan. My handler verbally castigated me when I approached him with my weakness. He took a much-needed hard line, reminding me of the oath I swore. I’ll never forget him telling me to come back when I had my head on straight. “These are people’s lives you’re saving. You can’t quit on them.”
I went back to New Hampshire to get perspective, blaming the loss of a bug bounty for my behavior. While there, my father reasoned, “You need more than this in your life, Leanne. Structure. Balance. You can be the best at what you do without being notorious.”
“You mean like Kylie,” I teased. My twin’s antics were going to turn my platinum-blonde hair gray well before its time.
“You need to be the best in a very different way. You’re identical, but you don’t need the fame the way she does. Find your balance; it’s out there.”
As if his words woke me, I began investigating what it would take to disengage myself from the ties that bound me so tightly to a future that was destroying me one click on the keyboard at a time. I established Castor and what jobs I would continue to accept under the aegis of my new corporation. Shaking my head to clear it from the foggy memories of the past, my smile is in my voice when I tease my mother. “Besides, I would have called later.”
“When you woke up.”
“Mom, when have I kept normal hours?” Not since I learned the truth lives buried in layers of night. And people with something to hide fear the dark.
“Sadly, not since you were in high school, darling. I still remember the first semester you came home from MIT and were up three days straight in some…what’s it called again?”
“A hackathon. And I damn well won it.” It was much more than a hackathon, but there are things I can never share with my mother. Things I’ll take to the grave.
Horror fills her voice. “Leanne Miles, tell me you weren’t up all night participating in something of that sort. You’re a legitimate businesswoman now.”
I cross my fingers before responding. After all, if I tried to explain what my company really does to my mother, she’d likely have a heart attack on the spot. And that wouldn’t be good for Mom to be wheeled into the hospital where she’s a trauma nurse due to her daughter’s carelessness. “Of course not, Mom. I hire people for that sort of work.” Which is completely true. I now manage my own team of twelve that get off on the hunt as much as I do. And while we still have other work, it’s the things we tackle for Uncle Sam I suspect she’d never understand, perhaps even severely disapprove of.
She lets out a sigh of relief. I almost feel guilty about the small fib until I think about all the crap about my sister I destroy regularly. Thoughts of Kylie appearing on the front page of a tabloid table dancing with her legs wrapped around the hips of a popular movie star flit through my mind. “Yeah, that would go over well,” I mutter.
“What would, darling?”
“Nothing, Mom. I was thinking about work.” Because some days, the alerts about my sister rival the volume of work my boss punts my way.
“Do you have to go in today?”
