Page 33 of Agent Zero
“You should eat something.”
“Why me?”
Why should you eat?Or why am I doing this to you?Is that what you’re asking?He cleared his throat.That was no help, but it gave him a few seconds to maybe think about what he should say.“Um.You mean, why did I?—”
“Why did you even come into the Crossroads?I can’t remember when you first showed up.”
Ten months ago, give or take a few weeks.Right after the second time I was in Venezuela.I only started coming in regularly after Tangiers, though.Because I couldn’t stay away.“It was just chance.”He had to refrain from over-explaining; that wouldn’t help.“Then I kept going back to see you.”
“Butwhy?”
What did she want to hear?If he could guess that, he could figure out how to persuade her, maybe.
If he couldn’t, well, there were always other methods.He was a bastard for even considering them, but that was old news.
“It was a Sunday,” he heard himself say, and swore internally.Looked like he was going to tell her part of the truth.“I, uh, I had my coffee.There was an old man at the counter.Red suspenders, Bulls baseball cap.Looked like he’d done some trucking when he was younger, just the way he sat.He called you honey a lot.Middle of the day, he stiffened and fell off the stool.”First I thought he’d been shot, and was looking for angles.
“Ernie,” she whispered.“Always tipped in quarters.He’d had a heart attack.”
I know.“You got everyone away from him, shouted for that tattooed girl to call 911.”She snapped to attention, too, because you looked ready to take her face off if she dragged feet.For once.“You asked if anyone knew CPR.There was an orderly there from Cat General, on his lunch break.He started doing chest compressions and mouth to mouth.You...”Reese was staring at the grocery bag, he realized, at the apples he’d carefully sniffed and examined for blemishes, the wrapped block of Colby Jack, the bagels with their flecked tops.“You were down on the floor with him.You were holding the man’s hand, and telling him it was going to be all right.”
The orderly hadn’t been doing CPR hard enough to crack ribs, and that was the only effective way.But something else had bothered Reese ever since—what sort of woman would hold a dead man’s hand like that?Maybe the sort of woman who could...
Christ.The sort of woman who could overlook the fact that Reese was a ghost.A dog trained to dig.An agent, not a...
Not a man.
Holly sniffed now, too, and wiped at her nose with the back of one hand.
His arms ached, just as they had on that rainy night as he followed her home, wanting to help.Almost desperate to touch.“He was dead as soon as he hit the floor.”Why was he hoarse?“But you kept holding his hand.I just...I kept coming back.I couldn’t stay away.I’m sorry.”
Holly half-turned.Now she faced him, hugging her blue backpack, and he didn’t know how to quantify her expression.“That was a long time ago.”
Less than a year.He shrugged.“I’m sorry I brought all this down on you.We’d better get moving.”
He’d been about to say,I’d take it back if I could, but that was a lie.He had no problem with lying; it was part of every agent’s arsenal.
The uncomfortable thought that maybe heshouldlie to her, just to keep her calm and safe, wouldn’t go away.He’d told her to go ahead and call the cops, and Reese had to be glad she hadn’t matched that bluff.
Even if he threatened it, he wasn’t going to leave Holly to any authority, civil or military.He had what he wanted, and even if it wasn’t optimal, well, making the best of the situation was on the agenda.One more reason why he wasn’t even close to being anything she could like.Or even tolerate.
She nodded, sniffed again.Clutched at the backpack as if it was a life raft.“Okay.”
He’d been prepared for anything but simple acceptance.Of course, right now she was still weak and shaky, and it was good strategy on her part to play nice.Had she noticed he’d left her alone in here with the phone?Maybe he’d been hoping she’d do something, call someone, force his hand.
“Okay,” he echoed.Reese hitched his own backpack higher on his shoulders and grabbed the plastic bag again.A single toss had the room key on the tangled bed, and he reached for the doorknob.“You got everything?”
Good work, agent.We’ve got her acting complicit.Keep it up.
He told that cold, calculating little voice to shut the hell up, and got going.
TWENTY-THREE
Holly was toohungry to care what he’d brought, really, but she was still glad it wasn’t anything fried or greasy.The apples were just right—crisp, not mealy—and Colby Jack wasn’t her presonal favorite but the instant she saw it, craving hit her hard.The bagels weren’t toasted, but that was okay.Even the Gatorade tasted like manna.
For once, she could eat.Maybe she just had to get hungry enough.
She realized she was stuffing her face and tried to slow down, tearing off a hunk of cheese and nibbling at it.“Do you...I mean, are you hungry?”
