Erasing Faith (5 page)

A GODDAMN DISTRACTION

I hated places like this.

Full of trendy music, migraine-inducing light shows, and stupid, superficial patrons.

Clubs like
Iguana
were all glitz and glamour on the surface level, with their lingerie-clad performers and velvet-draped wall panels, but if you peeled back that thin veneer of glitter, you’d find a black, rotten core. The dark ambiance and sexually-charged atmosphere created a haven for the worst kind of people.

Predators. Pickpockets. Robbers. Rapists.

They were drawn in like poisonous moths to an irresistible flame.

I wasn’t talking about the mobs filling the dance floor, here to have a good time with friends. Not the tourists and exchange students, happy to have a night out on the town, or even the locals who got a kick out of foreign girls-gone-wild.

I meant the ones who lingered in the shadows, who huddled by the far walls. The ones out of the spotlight. They didn’t crave attention; didn’t want to be seen. Their clothes weren’t flashy or form-fitting. They spent their nights watching. Waiting. Preying on the party-goers, who made such easy targets.

I wasn’t the only monster here, tonight.

My eyes tracked her as she moved deeper into the crowd, my gaze steadfast, unwilling to lose sight of her for even a moment. Every now and then, her hair would catch the light, flashing pink or green or some other hideous, fluorescent color. I ignored the feeling that swelled in my chest when I watched her laughing, her smile so bright, it practically glowed in the dark.

I hadn’t planned to follow her tonight. I had far more pressing things I could —
should
— be attending to at the moment.

Command had been requesting a debrief for hours. Cameras needed to be rigged on the Hermes entryways. Several suspects required tailing. Three separate phone taps had to be placed and monitored. The movements of this girl shouldn’t have been high on my list of priorities and certainly didn’t merit an in-person surveillance detail. 

And yet, here I was.

Earlier, I’d watched from the shadows and overheard her chatting with her roommate as they walked home from work. As I’d listened to them discuss their plans for the evening at the club, I’d found myself struggling to justify the need to watch her tonight.

I told myself there’d be predators who could interfere with my endgame. If I didn’t protect her — as nothing more than an asset, of course — she could get into all kinds of trouble and I’d have to start over, laying the groundwork with a new mark. I fed myself bullshit excuse after excuse, knowing all the while that I was fabricating reasons to be around her.

I knew I was getting too close. I was fully aware that the smart thing to do would be to pick another girl for this assignment.

But for some reason, I couldn’t walk away from her. Not yet.

She fascinated me.

I’d been trained to watch. I could stare at the most tedious of targets for hours without so much as blinking, because it was my job and I was damn good at it. But it was no chore to watch her. She had a way of moving through life that was just…
pure
. Authentic. Real.

Everyone in the world had nervous tells. Trademark gestures they made when they were scared or anxious. Some people blinked too much when they were lying through their teeth; others didn’t blink at all. A truly accomplished liar might be harder to spot, but even they had telltale quirks and mannerisms that gave them away, eventually.

I’d been watching Faith Morrissey for a week now, and she didn’t have a single one.

Not because she was the best liar I’d ever met, but because she didn’t live her life by covering things up. She laid it all out there, for the world to see. Her flaws, her beauty, her innermost self. There was nothing affected or superficial about her. There wasn’t a fake bone in her body.

She didn’t do secrets, or half-truths, or lies.

In every tangible way, she was my opposite…

And a goddamned distraction I couldn’t afford.

I bit the inside of my cheek to reground myself as I turned and headed for the exit. I couldn’t believe what a fucking pussy I’d become over this. How weak was I, if I couldn’t tear myself away from an average American girl? I’d never formed an attachment to a mark — never come close, not even after months of deep cover. I barely knew this girl. So, what the fuck was my problem?

I berated myself all the way to the doors.

You’re an idiot.

You’re losing your professional edge.

You need to regain focus on the big picture, or this entire mission will fall apart.

None of my internal rebukes were enough to stop me from looking back at her one last time when I reached the exit. My eyes cut straight to her through the crowd and, despite myself, I felt my blood begin to boil when I saw some half-cocked local attempting to mount her from behind on the dance floor. The look on her face told me his attention wasn’t welcome.

Walk away, Wes. This isn’t your business.

I sighed. Bit my cheek. Cursed myself.

Fuck.

Not two minutes later, I’d shoved my way through the mob to reach them. His back was to me and his arms were still wrapped tight around her torso. Seeing his uncoordinated thrusts, the way he ground himself against her, instantly had me clenching my jaw. I felt my hands curl into fists even as my internal voice screamed to walk away.

Self-restraint had never been my strong suit.

One swift undercut to the left kidney and a strategically placed boot sent him reeling. With nothing more than a quiet
oof
of pain, he was gone, quickly lost in the crowd. The glare I shot after him made sure he’d stay lost.

Before she could turn fully around to see what had happened to her dance partner, I was already fading into the crowd. For the briefest instant, I let my gaze meet hers across the sea of bodies. Her confused caramel eyes went wide in half-recognition, half-hope. Her mouth parted in a gasp. Her hand lifted involuntarily, reaching toward me through the crowd, as though she couldn’t help herself.

My cock twitched in my jeans.

Fuck
.

I whirled away, cursing myself once more for being a fucking idiot, and disappeared into the shadows where she could no longer see me, all the while promising myself I’d stay away for good this time. Find a new mark, move on without her.

I was a shit liar.

At least, I was when it came to deceiving myself.

CHINESE WATER TORTURE

My history lecture was boring me to tears.

I’d been doodling on the edges of my notebook for the past hour while Professor Varga droned on in heavily accented English about King Andrew II’s Golden Bull of 1222. Apparently, as the first edict in European history to limit the powers of a monarch, it was significant enough to take up a whole class period.

Yada, yada, yada.

Snore
.

I felt my phone buzz in my bag. In an attempt at stealth, I slipped it from the side pocket and glanced covertly at the screen.

Margot:
Hey! I have a surprise!

Faith
: I hate surprises.

Margot
: You’ll like this one! It involves college boys and alcoholic beverages!

Faith
: ….I’m listening.

Margot
: Study Abroad Student Mixer! Tonight in City Park! It’ll be fun!

Faith:
I don’t know. It’s my one night off from work. I was planning to relax.

Margot
: Oh, come on! It’s Friday night! You won’t regret it! I promise!

Faith
: Are you aware of how many exclamation points you use while texting? Because it’s a lot. Like, a
lot
.

Margot
: Shut up. It starts at 6. You’re coming.

Faith
: Okay(!!!) Sounds good(!!!)

Margot
: I hate you.

Faith
: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

***

Városliget — otherwise known as “City Park” to those of us who’d only been in Hungary for a month and were still struggling to master basic pronunciation — was a sprawling, magnificent garden that made every American park I’d ever been to pale in comparison. Nestled in the very center of Pest, the immense, green public garden was home to many of the city’s most beautiful sights. From the stunning Széchenyi thermal baths to Vajdahunyad Castle, which was perched on a lakeside like something straight out of a fairy tale, the entire affair took my breath away.

I’d been here several times before, but never this late in the day. The weak light from the setting sun illuminated the walking paths, aided by hundreds of beautiful paper lanterns strung from light-posts and tree branches. There was magic, here. Wisps of childhood floated through the air and threads of long-forgotten dreams were called to mind as you strolled from one attraction to the next.

Tonight was a perfect, sultry summer night, and the park was a popular destination for twilight strollers. Scores of couples walked hand in hand, gazing up at the lanterns or wandering the botanical gardens with dreamy looks on their faces. Families with small children hurried down the paths, eager to get their sleepy young ones to bed after a long day riding the wooden roller coasters and the hundred-year-old Ferris wheel at the amusement park.

Margot and I meandered past a stretch of museums and eventually reached Heroes’ Square. I hadn’t been back since my chance encounter with the stranger last week and, as I peered up at the imposing statue of Gabriel, I felt the stirrings of inexplicable remorse deep within my chest.  I wasn’t sure why I felt such a connection to the man I’d collided with — there was just something unforgettable about him. As though, once my eyes caught sight of him, they’d become so utterly fixated, they could’ve spent an eternity drinking in nothing but his image, and never felt a loss.

“Hey, you coming?”

Margot’s voice stirred me from my reverie, and I realized I’d drawn to full stop with my eyes locked on the archangel’s face high above. Shaking myself out of the trance I’d slipped into, I forced a smile and hurried to catch up with my friend.

“Sorry, got a little distracted.”

“You and your obsession with history.” Margot snorted. “Doesn’t all that stuffy old architecture and ancient art get boring after a while?”

I laughed. “As if studying languages is any more exciting. Who considers conjugating Hungarian verbs a hobby?”

“Just keep up, will you? At this rate, we’re going to miss the whole thing.”

I rolled my eyes. Margot had a tendency to exaggerate and was a total stickler when it came to being on time for events. “Margot, it started literally five minutes ago. We’ll probably be the first ones there.”

“Less talkie, more walkie!” she ordered, giving me a light shove toward the path that would lead us to the lake. I sighed, but allowed her to steer me along.

We walked for several minutes until the lakeshore came into view. A crowd of maybe forty people had gathered on one of the grassy banks, clustered around two rows of cocktail tables — a mix of young men and women in their twenties, most of them dressed far more formally than I was, in my casual jean cut-offs and summery top. As soon as Margot and I stepped off the path onto the bank, several sets of appreciative male eyes instantly clapped onto us and did a vertical sweep of our forms. I tried not to fidget, feeling insecure and underdressed beneath the collective weight of their eyes.

Abruptly, I had a very bad feeling that Margot hadn’t been entirely honest about our plans for the evening. 

“I thought you said this was a study abroad mixer,” I hissed in her direction.

“Did I?” she asked, her voice all innocence.

“Yes.”

“Oops!”

“Margot, don’t make me torture you.” I glared at her. “Where have you dragged me?”

“It’s a twenty-somethings speed-dating night! I saw a flyer for it while I was out riding during my shift yesterday, so I called and reserved two spots for us!” She grinned at me. “I thought it would be fun!”

“Margot,” I bit out, clenching my fists together so I wouldn’t reach out and strangle her. “Do you also consider Chinese water-torture or having bamboo shoots forced beneath your fingernails
fun
? Because I’d rather sign up for either of those activities than go freaking
speed-dating
with total strangers!”

“Oh, relax.” Margot huffed. “Let’s get a drink. You’ll feel much better after a glass of wine.”

“Are you planning to roofie it?”

“Only if you continue being such a spoilsport,” she countered breezily, grabbing my hand and tugging me forward.

There was a buffet table of appetizers on the left where, thankfully, most of the crowd had gathered. A makeshift bar had been set up on the right. I beelined for it, and not five minutes later, I had a complimentary glass of cheap, boxed wine clutched tightly in one hand – in the nick of time, too, because a bubbly woman with a brunette bob straight out of the 1950s had just grabbed an electronic megaphone and stepped up onto a stool to address the crowd.

“Good evening, everyone! I’m Linda!” Her voice boomed at such a high decibel, the mic let out a piercing shriek that probably set every dog in a ten-mile radius on high alert. I rubbed at my ringing ears and took a large sip of wine from my plastic glass. It tasted horrible, but I was pretty sure if I drank enough of it, the night might become a fraction more tolerable.

“Sorry, sorry!” the woman blathered into the bullhorn. “Still getting the hang of this thing!”

Her amplified giggles made me want to hurl myself into the lake.

“So, anywho!” she continued, her voice full of excitement. “You’ve gathered here tonight because you’re all English-speaking singles looking to spice up your love lives overseas! Am I right? Or am I
right
, people?”

I nearly threw up in my mouth, but managed to stop myself. I wasn’t about to waste a single drop of the precious little wine remaining in my glass.

Thank god no one in the audience chorused
you’re right!
back at Linda. I drew the line at campy call-and-response activities.

“So, as you can see, there are twenty tables total — ten in each row.” Linda gestured to the cocktail tables, each of which was topped with a paper placard. “Where are my ladies at, tonight?”

There were halfhearted murmurs from the women in the audience. Margot giggled; I sipped more wine.

“We’ve got a great group this evening, I can just tell!” Linda gushed. I was beginning to wonder if she’d popped a happy pill — or six — before beginning her speech. “So, ladies, you’ll each be stationed at a table. Gentlemen, you’ll rotate from woman to woman when you hear this sound!”

Linda rang a small bell with so much enthusiasm, I thought her arm might snap off.

“Each round is five minutes! Any questions?”

Silence from the crowd.

“Excellent!” Linda smiled wide. “And just remember… when you hear the bell
toot
, it’s time to
scoot!
No lingering, gentlemen.”

I
did
throw up in my mouth a little, that time.

“Now, off you go, ladies! Find your name and table.” Linda clapped her hands in excitement. “Gentlemen, please line up over here. You’ll have a better view of the ladies as they get settled from this spot, anyway!”

I turned to Margot with a fake smile plastered on my lips. “When your body washes up on the banks of the Danube tomorrow morning, just know… you totally deserved it.”

Ignoring my words, Margot shimmied her entire body inappropriately in my direction, drawing attentive stares from several of our potential suitors. “Oh, yeah. Single and ready to mingle. Let’s get this party started.”

With that, she turned and headed off to find her table. I raised my glass to take another sip of wine and was dismayed to find it completely empty.

Damn. This night was really not going my way.

***

“So, as I was saying, I’m really just here for a few weeks. It was the next stop on my bucket list, so I had to check it out. I’ve been all over Europe — Prague, Vienna, Florence, Amsterdam. I’m gonna hit up Asia next, then maybe head to Australia for a while.” He finally took a breath. “You know, some people aren’t like me.”

What, you mean not everyone is a total narcissist? Well, thank the lord for that.

“Some people aren’t lucky. Not everyone gets to travel to fifty countries in two years,” Earl prattled on, entirely unaware of my thoughts. He smiled at me with a faux-humble grin he’d no doubt been perfecting since his boarding school days, and I tried my best not to gag. “Not everyone has a trust fund, either,” he added. 

Jesus. Was this guy for real? Did women actually find this shit appealing?

Actually, given the fact that he was self-enrolled in a speed-dating service, I was going to assume the answer to my question was
hell fucking no
. I cast my eyes heavenward and prayed for divine intervention. Maybe a merciful lightning bolt would strike him — or me — dead. Because Earl was match number six, and, so far, he was the best of the bunch.

The first two guys had essentially stared at my boobs until the bell rang. The third had at least attempted conversation, not only revealing that he’d been traveling the world on a religious pilgrimage for the past eight months, but also attempting to convert me when I told him my parents had raised me without any formal religion — all in five minutes or less, mind you. Number four had been so shy, I’d initially wondered if, like me, he’d been forced into this situation by his friends, so I struck up a scintillating conversation about how beautiful the park was at this time of year. It seemed like an innocuous enough topic.

Huge mistake.

As it turned out, match number four was horrified to learn of my ignorance concerning the indigenous bird species that had been driven from their habitats due to overcrowding and excessive tourism. He used his five minutes to educate me quite thoroughly on the issue.

By the time date number five arrived, I was thinking things might finally be on the upswing — he was attractive, well-dressed, and I’d seen him engaged in a lively conversation with Margot only minutes before. And yet… he seemed totally disinterested in me from the moment he sat down, glancing at his cellphone every few seconds and casting several unsubtle looks at the girl at the next cocktail table rather than making conversation.

Talk about an ego boost.

Hell, considering the other options, Earl was shaping up to be the most eligible bachelor of the evening.

A surreptitious glance at my watch informed me that there were still three minutes left until the bell rang. I’d spent a hundred and twenty seconds with Earl, and I was ready to jab my eyes out. I didn’t know how much longer I could last.

Thankfully, he was so enamored with himself, he didn’t seem to notice that I was no longer paying attention. My eyes drifted down the bank of the lake and, in the fading twilight, I saw an artist packing up his easel for the day. He’d been sketching the rowers on the water, his canvas streaked with the red-orange hues of sunset. His back was to me — all broad shoulders and defined muscles. He wasn’t huge, like those roid-ragey, neck-less, body-builder types who were always grunting at the gym, but there was something in the way he held himself, even from this distance, that spoke of tightly coiled power, of lithe energy and a deceptive amount of control.