Cassidy Jones and the Seventh Attendant (Cassidy Jones Adventures, Book Three) (5 page)

But what about his appearance when he finally did make it home last time?
another part of my mind countered. He had looked beaten up, and he had lied that he had fallen down airplane steps. Obviously he had escaped from someone, someone who probably worked for Junior. Then Junior had talked about Mr. Phillips like he knew him, and the thought that Emery’s dad was coming for him terrified him.

Of course they know one another.
I palmed my forehead, feeling like I was seeing the situation clearly for the first time. When the military had contracted Serena to develop Assassin, she was working for Arthur King Sr. She hadn’t met Junior prior to his kidnapping her, but that didn’t mean her husband didn’t know him—

I froze, hearing someone coming up the basement stairs. I knew the sound of Emery and Serena’s footsteps, and these weren’t theirs. My stomach knotted, and I started scrubbing the chili-encrusted saucepan harder, regretting my polite decision not to listen in. Due to that decision, I was clueless about why Emery’s father had come home. Last I had heard, he wasn’t due back until early spring.

The door creaked open. My sponge moved faster over the pan, and I whistled to give the impression that I was unaware of Mr. Phillips’s presence. Why I felt the need to deceive him, I can’t say.

He cleared his throat. I feigned being startled and splashed water over the front of my shirt.

“Oh, sorry about that,” he said good-naturedly. “Usually people hear a big lug like me coming from a mile away.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and croaked out a laugh, casting a cautious glance over my shoulder. His expression was as amicable as his tone.

“No worries. You just startled me,” I fibbed as he came closer. Another fib slipped out before I could stop it. “Plus, I’m a total klutz.”

“You and me both,” he lied.

Mr. Phillips opened the pantry and frowned, probably at how empty it was.

“Um, I didn’t know you were coming home,” I ventured, trying to sound easygoing. I think it worked.

“That’s because Emery and his mom didn’t know.” He moved to the refrigerator. “I wanted to surprise them.” He pulled the door open and groaned, “Serena.”

“I know,” I commiserated. The shelves were occupied by a few straggling condiments, a carton of milk, and a couple of take-out containers that probably contained more mold than food. They had been in there for a while. “They have the worst diets. You’d think a couple of geneticists would take the food pyramid more seriously. Emery won’t eat anything fresh. I have to force him to eat an apple.”

Mr. Phillips laughed. “You managed to get him to eat an apple? I’m impressed and humbled. Never could get that kid to do anything he didn’t want to do.”

“He is stubborn,” I agreed, causing Mr. Phillips to laugh again. “If you’re hungry, there are TV dinners in the freezer.”

“Don’t I know,” he replied with distaste. He shut the refrigerator door. “Looks like I’m off to the grocery store. I’ll pick up a few apples now that I know Emery has met his match.”

He winked at me and turned to go, and I had to wonder why I had never noticed how cool he was before.

I sighed.
I’m ridiculous
.
Why did I get wigged out about him last time? He’s a nice guy.
Shaking my head at my overactive imagination, I put some real force into scrubbing the pan.

Four

Like Father, Like Son

Mom treated Miriam Cohen, Bren Dawson, Carli Cooper, and me to manicures, while Dad and Ben took Nate, Jared, Emery, Bobby, and Chazz to play laser tag. The plan was to meet at our house for pizza and cake afterward.

If my mom had suggested doing manicures on my last birthday, I doubt I would have been very enthused. I’d just gotten into the girlie stuff lately, but the manicure was a blast, and I couldn’t stop grinning as the nail technician pressed glittery star decals onto my perfectly filed, aqua-blue fingertips. My nails had never looked so smashing.

My friends chose color combinations that suited their personalities. Miriam went with hot pink polish and red lip decals. Carli chose bright yellow polish and rainbow smiley faces. And Bren couldn’t resist the snarling bulldogs, which looked awesome against gunmetal gray.

The guys arrived home before us. As we came through the front door, talking a million miles a minute, I instinctively took a scent inventory: pizza, Dad, Ben, the boys, Serena, and Mr. Phillips were all here. Laughing and chatting, we entered the kitchen, running into Emery first. The others were helping themselves to pizza and salad at the island in our very white kitchen that my mom was a slave to. She spent countless hours keeping it perfectly clean.

“Emery, check it out.” I showed off my nails, wiggling my fingers so the decals caught the light.

He studied them and remarked, “They’re very . . . reflective.”

“Reflective?” I laughed. Emery sure knew how to give a compliment.

“You should’ve heard the lady complain about them,” Bren said. She pushed her straightened, espresso-colored hair back from her dark face and cleared her throat. “Li’l gul,” she said, imitating the woman who had done my nails, “you dwink
too
mush meelk. Deez nalls ah like dwagonz—”

“You’re so mean!” Carli cut her off, giving tiny Bren a good-natured bop on the head. Bren yanked Carli’s long blond hair in return. Everything about Carli was long—hair, arms, legs, fingers, feet. Only now were the boys in our class finally catching up to her in height.

“Well, that’s what she said!” Bren insisted. “Cass has ‘dwagonz’ nails.”

Emery looked at me, chuckling. Though his expression was carefree, his eyes were assessing. I smiled to let him know all was well. So my nails had become rather thick? Minor compared to my other mutant anomalies. I was just relieved no one had noticed my eyes today, not even my mom, who was the only person who had noticed when my freckles had vanished. She had chalked up the disappearing act to getting older.

Miriam, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, bulldozed in, shoving her hands in Emery’s face. “I thought of you when I chose these,” she said flirtatiously, fluttering her fingers and eyelashes.

“Thank you,” he said with his easy grin. The grin masked discomfort. Emery didn’t know how to take Miriam. Most boys didn’t.

“Anytime.” She winked a sparkling cobalt-blue eye and gave her silky black curls a calculated shake.

Emery laughed, not knowing what else to do. Miriam laughed, too, delighting in the knowledge that she had made the boy she was enamored with feel awkward. Miriam was a complex creature.

“Let’s eat,” Carli suggested cheerfully, shoving me toward the island. “Birthday girl first.”

I noticed a free chair next to Jared at the table and didn’t protest. I slapped a slice of pepperoni pizza onto a paper plate and got a spoonful of salad, then hustled to the vacant chair next to Jared like someone was racing me.

“Hi,” I greeted everyone as I sat down. Whipping my head to Jared, I flashed a big smile, startling him. “How was laser tag?” I blurted, two decibels too loud.

Before he had a chance to answer, Bobby said, “Real fun—for Jared and Em. They dominated! Totally shamed me with all the points they scored off me.”

“You wore white,” Jared pointed out with a shrug.

“The little girl scored off you, Bobby,” Ben teased.

With mocha-colored skin, happy amber eyes, and an infectious smile, twenty-three-year-old Ben was one of my most favorite people in the world. “Your arms glowed, dude, like targets.” He shook his head and laughed. The movement brought his corkscrew hair to life. “Black, Bobby—
always
wear black.” Which every male at the table was wearing, with the exception of Bobby, of course. Even Emery’s dad wore a black knit shirt.

Black suits him
, I decided, shifting my gaze to Serena on his right. I blinked as if I was hallucinating. Curled hair, floral dress, blush, and lipstick, Serena was—“Beautiful. Serena, you’re gorgeous!”

She and Mom stopped talking. Serena stared at me as if I spoke an alien language, while Mom raised her eyebrows in disapproval.

“I mean, Mrs. Phillips,” I quickly amended. My mom didn’t know Serena and I were on a first-name basis. “You look so beautiful tonight.”

“Oh, you do, Mrs. Phillips,” Miriam quickly agreed. Carli and Bren complimented her, too.

“Thank you,” Serena said, more baffled than embarrassed.

“When is she not?” Mr. Phillips chimed in, dreamy eyes drinking in his wife. Leaning in, he nuzzled her neck.

Miriam dug her nails into my forearm, ogling. I bobbed my head in silent agreement. Their chemistry was almost palpable.

“Break it up,” Emery joked, plopping his plate on the table. He squeezed a chair between his parents. “What will the neighbors say?”

Miriam pouted.

“Party pooper.” Mr. Phillips sported a devilish grin as he entwined his fingers and stretched his arms over his head.

Miriam’s nails dug into my forearm again. Together we watched Mr. Phillips’s short sleeves ride up ripped biceps, revealing a tattoo on his upper left arm.

“Gavin,” Ben said, noticing the tattoo, “you’re a SEAL.”

Nate stopped talking to his friends. His eyes shot to Mr. Phillips.

Bringing his arms down, Mr. Phillips looked at the tattoo thoughtfully. It was an eagle with one talon wrapped around an anchor and the other clutching a pistol.

“I was, another lifetime ago,” he replied, running a hand over the tattoo. “This isn’t government issue. Goes without saying, having a SEAL’s trident on your arm is risky, personally and to a combat mission.” He smiled wryly at the tattoo, as if reliving a memory. “This is the result of a night of stupidity and too much tequila.”

My jaw dropped. Tequila and stupidity were not things usually discussed at our dinner table.

“No way!” Nate exclaimed. “You were Special Forces?”

“Special Forces!” Chazz cheered, having no idea what Special Forces was.

From this point on, the boys and my friends fired questions at Mr. Phillips, who barely had time to answer before the next question was blurted at him. I noted that Jared didn’t ask any, though. He concentrated silently on Mr. Phillips, digesting information. I was quiet, as well, but not because I was interested in Mr. Phillips’s military experiences. Emery had hurt my feelings. Why hadn’t he told me his dad was a Navy SEAL? This was sort of a big deal and the type of information friends share with friends, especially close friends.

“Dude, why didn’t you tell us about your dad?” Bobby said, verbalizing the question that had been bothering me. “All I can say is, like father, like son—right down to the tat.”

“Tat?” I jerked forward, shooting Bobby an inquiring look. He wore an
oops
expression.

My brother palmed his forehead.

“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “Emery doesn’t have a tattoo.”

Nate let out a low whistle.

“Uh . . . maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” Bobby glanced sheepishly at Serena.

Her lips flattened in a thin line of disapproval, confirming that Emery did, indeed, have a tattoo. This knowledge ignited an array of emotions in me. Why hadn’t Emery told me?

Mr. Phillips patted his son’s shoulder good-naturedly. “We’ll call it Emery’s night of stupidity.”

“I want to see!” Miriam squealed, clapping her hands.

“Where is it?” I blurted.
How could Emery not tell me when he knows
everything
about me? Even Bobby Neigh knows.

Peripherally, I caught Dad’s smile. Obviously, my ignorance of the tattoo’s location on Emery’s physique pleased him immensely.

“Oh, dude,” laughed Nate, shaking his head.

“Well? Show us!” I demanded.

“Cass,” Dad lightly chided.

Even Bren advised in a whisper, “Chill, Cass.”

“Whatever,” I snapped, glaring at Mr. Cool-Calm-Collected-and-Totally-Unremorseful.
Why would he hide this from me?

“I want to see it, too,” Chazz said, oblivious to the tension I had caused.

“I’ll show you later,” Emery promised, smiling. To everyone else, he said, “Now if we could get back to the SEALs before my mom decides to ground me again.”

I snorted, arms crossed. As if Emery had ever been grounded in his entire life.

At least, I didn’t think so.

“So, Mr. Phillips,” Bobby said, honoring Emery’s request Bobby-style, with foot inserted in mouth, “how many people have you killed?”

~~~

Eventually the feverish SEALs Q&A ran its course, and Mom brought out a beautiful birthday cake. She lit candles, and everyone broke out into a jubilant round of “Happy Birthday.”

I was having a difficult time shaking Emery’s nondisclosure about the tattoo. To him, not sharing that he had a tattoo might have seemed like no big deal and none of my business—which it wouldn’t be, if I was just the girl who lived across the street, but this wasn’t the case. I wondered if I should trust him as implicitly as I had, and I didn’t like having doubts about the person I had entrusted my life to.

We moved to the living room to open presents and had just settled in when Mr. Phillips’s cell phone rang. He excused himself and left the room.

“I’m in charge of presents,” Chazz announced, shoving Carli’s gift at me.

Nate and I switched off opening the gifts Chazz handed us. Feigning joy and gushing thank-yous, I forgot what I had unwrapped as soon as my moment was done. I was too unsettled to pay close attention.

“Here, Cassidy.” Chazz placed a pretty little package in my hand, wrapped in silver paper. It was from the Phillipses.

With a pasted-on smile, I unwrapped the gift: a stainless-steel charm bracelet.

“It’s beautiful!” I exclaimed with genuine pleasure and looked up at Serena in the wingback chair. Mr. Phillips sat on the floor in front of her with his arm slung over her knees. I hadn’t noticed he’d returned. “Thank you so much,” I said to her and Mr. Phillips, not looking at Emery.

“You’re welcome, my dear,” said Serena, while her finger played absently with her husband’s hair. “I thought we could add a new charm each year.”