You Won't Know I'm Gone Read online

  Luke nods and we try again and again and again until he nails it.

  “Amazing,” I say and high-five him. Luke smiles and grabs at his knees, slightly out of breath from my heavy body forcing him down over and over.

  “Thank you for teaching me.” Luke straightens back up. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

  “That’s why I’ve got to be all numb and stuff,” I say with a smile. “I’ve got to be good so I can stay here with you. Now, let me show you how to get off the ground a little sooner after you flip the assailant over.”

  I hand the knife back to Luke and lie down on the ground. Luke hovers over me in the attack position. I nod to signal that I’m ready and he plunges the plastic blade toward me. I start off doing everything right. I push his face away with one hand and brace for his attack hand with the other. But after I flip him over and try to get up quickly, I stumble and fall on top of him.

  “Sorry,” I say with a giggle. Luke is laughing, his stomach heaving against mine. He throws his knife to the side and once our laughter begins to slow, his eyes lock with mine.

  Get up. Get up. Get up, my mind pleads. But it’s too late. Luke holds me with his eyes, our breaths settling into parallel gasps, his sweet and warm on my aching lips. My body melts into his, even as my brain continues its plea. But I don’t want to move. His fingertips slowly find the back of my neck and as he touches me, every nerve ignites, the universe unravels in a matter of seconds. My lips tremble as I say, “Thank goodness the trainers weren’t here to see that.”

  “Yeah, thank goodness,” Luke replies, his voice soft and jagged. His fingers dance across my shoulder blades and find the exposed skin of my arm. And there it is. Stronger than ever. An unmitigated heat that instantly liquefies every organ. I thought maybe it was a fluke back in the car during training. A reaction to the stress of Qualifiers. But it wasn’t in my head. It’s here. And as much as I don’t want it to be, it’s very, very real.

  I want to get up, walk away. But Luke’s touch has hypnotized me into a state of paralysis, and the memory of our kiss at Templeton floods my body. My mouth throbs. My tongue tastes of cinnamon. Every inch of me vibrates, like my skin is made up of a thousand little heartbeats.

  Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.

  “I know we can’t,” Luke finally says, his fingertips brushing against a spot above my elbow that weakens my limbs. “But tell me one thing. Can you feel this?”

  Yes. A million times, yes, my mind whispers, the words caught somewhere between my heart and tongue.

  The heat from his hand singes my flesh. Our breathing stops almost in unison until all I can hear is the buzz of the overhead lights. Luke’s head lifts off the mat and like a magnet, my face is pulled closer and closer to his. My stomach burns with a different kind of heat, a swirling, aching blaze. A feverish tornado. My nose grazes his and the air between us smells like it did before, like milk and honey. His bottom lip brushes against mine and …

  Boom.

  Down the hallway, a door slams, the crack rattling against my chest and sending my body flying straight into the air at record speed. I look down at Luke, his eyes still on me, waiting for me to return or at the very least, answer his question.

  “I think that’s enough for tonight,” I say quietly, even though every part of me wants to touch him. Kiss him. But it’s far too risky. On so many levels.

  I turn my back on Luke and walk toward the open door that leads to the North Hall. My body tingles, my limbs weak and fighting against me with every step. I settle my hand on my still-burning stomach as I try to suck in new air. I can feel Luke watching me, but I don’t look back. I can’t. I reach the door, turn into the dark hallway, and free-fall into the night.

  NINETEEN

  “I feel like I’m legit going to throw up,” Anusha says as we take our seats in the conference room where we had our first meeting at the start of Qualifiers. “How many people are they cutting today?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer and shake my head as I settle into the high-back leather chair next to her. “I think at least six.”

  “Any idea who it’s gonna be?” Cam asks, taking a seat next to me.

  “I have no freaking idea,” I reply. Maybe me. The heavy knot in my stomach tightens at the thought of not hearing my name called for the next round. I haven’t been what the Black Angels expected. I know I haven’t lived up to the legend, the myth that seemed to doom me before I even set foot inside CORE. The only thing worse than high expectations is falling so fantastically short.

  “You look pretty nervous over there, Hillis,” Lex says from across the table, her pink lips curled into an insufferable smirk. “But then again, I’d be nervous if I were you too.”

  “Lex, why don’t you shut the fuck up,” Anusha quickly snaps.

  “Why must you be so vulgar all the time, EOP?” Lex answers, lifting her long fingers to her lips and feigning disgust. “Do they teach you to talk like that in the slop halls in the air force?”

  “Do they teach to act like a total bitch at prep school?” Anusha counters just as Director Browning walks through the doorway.

  Browning claps her hands three times in the air, the open pockets of her palms creating a thunderous strike, startling everyone who hadn’t noticed her presence. She narrows her gray eyes and glares back and forth between Anusha and Lex. “That’s enough out of the two of you,” she declares, her angry eyes now focused on Lex.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lex answers sweetly, her hand at the center of her chest. “I was just wishing Anusha and Reagan well today.”

  “Yeah, right,” Anusha says under her breath but loud enough for Director Browning to hear.

  “I said that’s enough, Miss Venkataraman,” Browning replies, shooting her a silencing glare. “This is a serious agency that conducts very serious work. This is not a place for high school bullshit, so if you’d like to go play mean girl somewhere, perhaps you still have time to send in your application to college and join a sorority. Do I make myself clear?”

  No one speaks. Anusha gives Browning a tiny nod of her head while Lex glares across the table at me, as if to say See what you made me do?

  “All right. Now, for what we really came here to discuss,” Browning says, pulling at her black blazer and taking her place at the head of the conference table. “Thank you very much, trainees, for your hard work during the last several months. We know Qualifiers can be rigorous. We are pleased with the improvements we’ve seen in many of you, but for some, you’ve fallen short. And I’m sorry, but this is the end of the road. Any questions before I call out who will be moving on to the next round?”

  Lex’s hand shoots up. Browning nods, adjusting the dark blue printed scarf around her neck. I haven’t seen her wear it before. Must be new.

  “Will we be finding out our ranking among the other trainees today?” Lex asks, her hand still raised in the air, even after she’s been called on and her question phrased. Overeager much?

  “No, Miss Morgan,” Browning answers, shaking her head. “Your status could very well change during the next round, so there’s no point in celebrating or feeling defeated just yet. We won’t just be looking at your raw talent and skill level during this next phase of Qualifiers. We’ll be assessing your communication, your leadership, your ability to follow orders, and your teamwork. All very crucial elements to being a Black Angel. Even more important than your skill level. Some of you may even be sent out on real missions with Black Angel operatives. This is our chance to test you and see if you’re truly equipped to handle stressful moments in the field.”

  “Very well,” Lex says, her voice obnoxiously proper in front of officers and trainers. She places her hand delicately in her lap and shoots me a look. Her eyebrows rise above her giant, upturned eyes and I know what she’s thinking. Gotcha now, Hillis. Everyone knows what happened in Colombia. How I was called combative. Reckless. A rule breaker. With Lex of course leading the gossipy pack. The extr
a glint in her eyes tells me she’s counting on me screwing up this round. If I even make it, that is. I dig my fingers into my hip bones and turn back toward Director Browning, refusing to alter my blank stare, give Lex any kind of reaction—good or bad—to cling to.

  “All right, if I call your name, you will be moving on to the next round of Qualifiers,” Browning states, balancing a pair of reading glasses on the bridge of her nose as she unfolds a sheet of paper from her blazer pocket. “Hannah Adams, Luke Weixel, Cameron Conley, Anusha Venkataraman, Matthew DeVillers, Alexis Morgan…”

  Lex’s eyes light up at the sound of her name and the lack of hearing my own. I can feel her intrusive glare from across the table but refuse to give in to her. As Browning rattles off name after name, I pinch my fingers against my thumb, counting the number of trainees that have been called, mentally computing just how many spots are left.

  “Elisabeth Kelley.”

  Four.

  “Anay Patel.”

  Three.

  “Jackson Yuzwa.”

  Two.

  “Luca Angellini.”

  Oh my God. One. Please say me. Please say me. Please say me.

  My entire face goes numb, my tongue swells inexplicably in my mouth as I realize this could be it. My end. No more training. No justice for my mother. Torres will end up free or in a prison cell, which is grossly more than he deserves. The acid in my stomach solders my organs together. This can’t be it. This can’t be the way it ends for me.

  Anusha reaches out, touching me gingerly on my wrist as if to say, It’s okay. It’s okay. But it won’t be. Not if I don’t hear my name. Her fingers encircle my bone, and my skin wilts with clammy dew beneath her touch.

  “And the last remaining spot goes to,” Browning begins, pausing theatrically as if she’s the host of an old-school game show. I can nearly hear the dramatic rattle of a drumroll only to realize it’s just my heart pounding in my ears.

  Please God. Please God. Please.

  “Reagan Hillis,” she finally announces. Browning’s eyes catch mine as her lips flinch into an almost indistinguishable smile that I’m not quite sure how to take.

  Anusha’s fingers slide up my wrist, squeezing my hand, and I finally remember to take in a breath. I’m in. I somehow squeaked through.

  “To the trainees who didn’t hear their names, I’m sorry but that means you have been cut,” Browning reports flatly, removing her glasses and tucking them into the pocket of her black blazer. “Please return immediately to the dorms and pack up your things. Flights have already been arranged for your transport back home. We wish you well.”

  Browning folds her list in half, turns on her heel, and walks briskly out of the room. Three male trainees whose names were not called quickly stand up and, with their heads lowered, slip out of the room behind her. Olivia and Kathryn, two of the female trainees who didn’t make it, stand up almost in unison, hugging their arms to their chests, and hurry into the hallway. But Savannah, one of Lex’s little followers and closest friends, sits frozen across the table from us. She stares blankly past me, her mouth pressed into a thin line, her dark, stunned eyes glazing with tears. She hasn’t been particularly kind to me. She’s been quiet and distant, her head halfway up Lex’s ass. Giggling after every dig or rude comment thrown our way. But still, I feel sorry for her. She’s a third generation Black Angel. Trained her entire life to be here. She gave up everything to follow in her parents’ footsteps. Now she has to return home and tell them she’s not wanted here. Explain why she failed. And as the news begins to sink in, shame reddens her cheeks and forces those tears to fall.

  Lex pulls her body into a hug, hiding Savannah’s face from our view.

  “It’s okay,” Lex says quietly in her ear. “It’s okay, love. You’ll be all right.”

  I never imagined seeing Lex as anything but ruthless, but as she lightly strokes Savannah’s dark hair, I realize that maybe there is a heart somewhere in there.

  “You don’t deserve to be here, Reagan,” Lex snaps, her emerald eyes now fixed on me.

  Okay. Perhaps scratch that.

  “I’m very sorry you feel that way,” I reply gently, not wanting to get into an argument with Lex in front of a girl who in one hour will be on a plane back home. I stand up with Anusha and we begin to make our way with the rest of the trainees toward the conference room door. Luke and Cam lean against the cinder block walls near the doorway, waiting for us.

  “They kick agents out of here for what you did,” Lex calls after me but I keep walking. “You manipulated and bullied your way onto a mission. You disobeyed orders. You spit in the face of all the Black Angels that came before you. Your own mother died because of what you did.”

  Her final words stop me in my tracks. Trainees who aren’t yet out the door slow their pace or turn around. Every nerve in my body sparks. I’m surprised I cannot see glowing, incandescent particles leap off my skin. I try to move but can’t. I try to breathe, but no air comes. Luke is now at my side with a hand on my back, trying to guide me out of the room, but my feet are sinking, like quicksand, into the acid-stained cement floor.

  “No one else will say it to you, but I will,” Lex calls over her shoulder. “Savannah deserves that spot. Not someone like you. Not someone who is so combative people actually die.”

  My lungs inflame and I feel like my body is on fire.

  “Let’s just go, Reagan,” Luke says quietly into my ear, pulling me by the arm, but my feet still won’t move.

  “No,” I respond, yanking out of his grip. I slowly turn and look at Lex. “Santino Torres put a gun to my mother’s head and pulled the trigger. Not me. I didn’t kidnap my parents. I didn’t take them on a plane down to Colombia. I didn’t tie my mother up in a basement and beat her. Santino Torres did.”

  “But don’t you think things would have turned out differently if you’d actually followed the rules?” Lex replies, letting go of Savannah and turning her chair around to face me. “Don’t you replay your mistakes in your head?”

  That hollow spot inside me shrieks as that night comes back to me in fragments. Dad’s bruised face. The sound of gunfire with the guards. The feel of death, pressing against my neck. Mom’s desperate face. Torres’s loaded gun.

  “Every day, Lex,” I finally whisper as a searing pain balloons against my chest. “Every single day.”

  “See, you don’t think you deserve to be here either,” she replies, her eyes narrowed into almost indistinguishable slits. “So why the hell are you?”

  “To make your life as miserable as humanly possible when she gets a Rescue/Take-down spot over you,” Anusha says, pushing me forcefully toward the doorway and into the hallway, Lex’s question still echoing in my brain.

  We walk in silence for a few seconds before Luke grabs me by the elbow and says, “Don’t listen to her. We all know you deserve to be here.”

  I nod, keeping my eyes on the floor and watching my feet as I force them to step one in front of the other. I don’t want them to see my doubt, my panic.

  Do I deserve to be here? Am I only here for revenge? Is killing Torres a good enough reason to take a spot from a Black Angel child who truly wants this? Who has trained so hard and dreamed of nothing else?

  Selfish girl. The words most frequently used to describe me whisper in my ear and slip in between the gray looping coils of my brain. Perhaps I am selfish. Perhaps Savannah could do more good in the world by being a Black Angel than I could.

  Maybe Lex is right. Maybe I am unworthy of this spot, this chance. Maybe she’s the only one who sees me for what I really am: A rule breaker. A manipulator. A killer.

  TWENTY

  “What floor do you think the office is on?” Luke asks quietly next to me as I mentally scan the floor plan that was shoved in our faces for only sixty seconds before our test. Thanks, Mom, for the photographic memory.

  We’re standing on the ground floor of a busy bank. Well, at least it looks like a busy bank. It has a few tellers, men an
d women scribbling their names on the backs of checks, and bankers dressed in suits and ties. It’s just another Qualifier test at one of the CIA’s many training facilities, one hour outside of Langley.

  I love these exercises. It’s the only time we get to see the sun or breathe in air that’s made by trees and not machines. That underground bunker is starting to shrink with each passing week, and I’m actually starting to long for my days cooped up at the safe house. At least there I had the luxury of a window to the outside world.

  “They really go all out for these tests, man,” Cam says next to me, pretending to look down at his cell phone but eyeing the two dozen low-level CIA operatives posing as actors for this assessment. “It’s hard to tell who is who in here.”

  “That’s the whole point of the exercise,” I respond, still mentally scanning each floor on the blueprint, trying to figure out our next move. “You think when we’re in the field people are going to have terrorist or target sewn onto their collars?”

  “Point made,” Cam responds, looking back down at his phone, trying to blend in with the other “civilians” in the crowd.

  Our mission today: download the contents of an executive’s laptop to find a dirty money trail. My eyes quickly look over the roaming agents, wondering who could be our targets: bank insiders looking to catch us before we reach the crucial data. Dressed in an array of suits and jeans and hoodies, I have no clue who has their eyes on us. What I’m looking for is body language, shifting eyes, nervous hands.

  Focus, Reagan. Focus. The office.

  My mind mentally crosses off locations inside the building. According to the blueprint, the basement holds the vault and safety deposit boxes. An executive’s office wouldn’t be down there. And it wouldn’t be up on the main floor either. Way too much traffic. Far too easy for someone to steal information. The second and third floor house all the banking offices. And the better the view, the higher the salary.