The Winning Element (23 page)
“Used to what?”
Beaker flung her hand in the air.
“This.”
“This.”
“
This
what?”
This
what?”
“Never mind.” She reached past me, grabbed two of the drinks from the vending machine, and tucked them in her jacket pockets. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Understand what?” Honestly, I had no idea what she was talking about.
Beaker shoved through the door and strode off.
Grabbing the two remaining drinks, I followed after her. “What’s wrong with you?”
She shouldered open an exit door that led out near the hotel pool area and beach. “Just leave me alone. Go be . . . perfect or gorgeous or something.”
Her gruff words didn’t match her hunched shoulders. She needed some serious lightening up.
“Perfect? Are you serious?” I laughed, stepping through the exit door and into the night. “Did you just meet me? Come on. I trip over my own feet. I drop food on my clothes. I stumble over my words. I can barely carry on a conversation unless it deals with binary numbers and algorithms. And, oh yeah, I’m a social reject.”
She marched off down a mulched path that led to the beach. “Whatever. You have the perfect looks and the perfect boyfriend. And no one’s ever made fun of you.”
“Oh, please. That’s all anyone ever did back in Iowa. Everyone in the dorms thought I was weird.” I glanced around the dimly lit path, assuring we were alone. “Being a Specialist is the first time I’ve ever felt somewhat normal.”
Beaker turned around. “People thought you were weird?”
“How many girls do you know with a one-hundred-ninety-one IQ who spends her days buried in her own brain?”
“Just you.”
“See?”
Beaker studied me for a couple of long seconds. “I guess we’re both weird in our own weird way.”
I smiled. “Seems like it.”
Thoughtfully, she gazed through the night toward the beach. I put my drinks down on a lounge chair and dried my hands on my shirt. “So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
Beaker heaved a heavy sigh. “Don’t laugh, okay?”
I held up my hands.
“I’ve never been on a date before. I’ve never had such a cute, normal guy like me. And I’m more than freaked about it because”—she motioned to her hair and clothes—“this isn’t me.”
I had the unnerving urge to hug her. Underneath all her gruffness, Beaker had a soft, sweet, insecure side. But I knew if I got gushy, touchy-feely, she’d push me away.
Instead, I shrugged. “I’ve never been on a date either.”
She blinked. “David?”
I shook my head. “Nope. It’s definitely on my list of things to do, though.”
That earned a small laugh.
I took a step toward her. “Don’t worry about CJ. And smile the next time you see him. It won’t kill you.” Listen to me giving relationship advice. “Something tells me he wouldn’t care if you were Goth or not.”
“Really?”
“Really. Come to think of it, I miss your Goth uniqueness. I don’t like you looking like everyone else.”
Beaker’s lips twitched.
Playfully, I shoved her shoulder. “You’re not so mean after all.”
“Yeah, I am,” she disagreed with a slight smile.
In that second it occurred to me her harshness was a wall to keep everyone at a distance. Put there because of the way she’d been treated over the years. In fact, I could’ve easily developed the same wall. Who would have thought Beaker and I were so emotionally similar?
I gave my head a quick shake, snapping out of my retrospective moment. Sometimes I could be quite the psychoanalyst.
My phone buzzed, and I checked the display. “It’s David!”
Beaker snatched my drinks off the lounge chair and headed back up the path. “See ya back in the room.”
“Okay.” I pressed the Talk button on my phone.
“Hi,” I greeted him with a huge grin, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Hi, back.”
His voice made my insides pure goosh.
“Where are you?” he asked.
I meandered down the path. “Heading toward the beach.”
“What’s at the beach? Another bonfire rally?”
“No. Beaker and I were having a private talk.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I blew out a breath. “No. I mean, yeah, everything’s okay with me and Beaker. But, no, not with me. Or, I don’t know.” All the mistakes I’d made on this mission came rushing at me, and I sighed in pure frustration. “David, I’ve really screwed up.”
"What do you mean?”
“With you,” I answered. “With this mission.”
“Listen, as far as everything that happened back at the ranch between you and me? I don’t want to think about it anymore. It’s over with. We’re fine. Can we do that? I know your emotions are running high over all this, and I understand that.”
I made it to the beach and sat down in the sand. “My connection to this mission and my emotions are making me stupid.”
“That’s why I called. I know about everything that’s happened. TL and I talk numerous times a day.”
I stared up at the half moon. Great. Now I had to hear it from David, too. “And? Are you disappointed in me?”
“No. I wish I was there to hug you, though.”
My heart paused. “Oh, David . . .” His quiet words sank deep into my soul, filling all the empty voids. I closed my eyes. “I needed to hear that so bad.”
"GiGi, you should know TL’s had me following you. I was right there watching you on that bike trailing Eduardo.”
Silence. Long seconds ticked by as indignation hit me first, slowly followed by logical reasoning. Of course TL would have me followed. He’d be stupid not to.
“And,” David continued, “back at the ranch, I secretly met with TL nearly every night to give him a rundown on our day’s activities.”
I didn’t have a response to that one either. I didn’t feel double crossed, really. Naive better explained my thoughts. It was naive of me to think I could do such a complex job without TL closely monitoring me.
“Don’t take it personally. To my knowledge, he’s never just handed over the reins to someone. He
is
in charge. Even when someone goes on a solo mission, like I did to Iowa, he’s still on top of it all. That’s his job. And that’ll be his job until he one day steps down and turns his duties over to someone else.”
is
in charge. Even when someone goes on a solo mission, like I did to Iowa, he’s still on top of it all. That’s his job. And that’ll be his job until he one day steps down and turns his duties over to someone else.”
“Over to you.”
“Maybe. Being a strategist is not easy.”
“Tell me about it.” Suddenly, I missed David so badly I could barely stand it. “I really miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
And then the line clicked off.
[12]
Later that night I lay wide-eyed, staring at the dark ceiling of my hotel room. One A.M. I knew it was one A.M. because I’d been incessantly checking my watch since my return from the beach.
The air conditioner kicked on. Its rush of air and motored hum muted Jessy’s (or maybe Lessy’s) soft snore. Beside me, Beaker twitched in her sleep and then rolled to her side.
A hotel exterior light filtered through the curtains’ crack, flickering shadows across the walls.
My mind was racing. I couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened since we got here. I’d started thinking about other stuff in order to get my mind off David and why the line clicked off.
I knew
my
cell phone hadn’t cut off. I’d had a full battery
and
all my bars. Believe me, I immediately checked as soon as we got disconnected.
my
cell phone hadn’t cut off. I’d had a full battery
and
all my bars. Believe me, I immediately checked as soon as we got disconnected.
So that meant
his
phone went dead. But did it go dead because of his battery or his bars?
his
phone went dead. But did it go dead because of his battery or his bars?
Couldn’t be his battery. David always had a charged battery.
Which left bars. That didn’t make sense, though. Anywhere we went we had full bars. Even underground. It was one of the benefits of being members of a high-tech, secret organization.
Two-thirteen A.M.
He wouldn’t have hung up on me, would he? Right after telling me he missed me? Was the “miss you” part getting too deep?
Gggrrr. Shut up, GiGi. You’re driving yourself insane.
I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on not talking to myself. I needed to sleep. Think code. That always relaxed me.
<=*ptth*= /!attstli!/ %csorrtetat%>
Three twenty-one A.M.
Why didn’t he call me back? I’d tried calling him back and had gotten his voice mail. In fact—I lifted my cell phone from my stomach and checked the display—no missed calls. No voice mails. No nothing. Nada. Finito. And if I had Parrot’s linguistic skills, I’d give it in sixteen other languages, too.
Four forty-two A.M.
Surely lying on my back this long would give me bed sores. Or a flat butt.
Rolling onto my side, I stared at the back of Beaker’s head . . .
"GOOOd morning, barracuda key, Florida!”
I shot straight up in bed.
“It’s six A.M. on this beee-u-ti-ful day!”
One of the twins slammed her hand over the alarm radio. “Shut up.”
Six A.M.? I must have fallen asleep and gotten exactly—I quickly calculated—one hour and eighteen minutes of sleep.
With a groan, I dropped my head into my hands. This day hadn’t started and it
already
sucked.
already
sucked.
One of the twins opened the curtains, allowing the morning sun to pour in. Squinting, I held my hands up to block the glare shooting straight into my skull.
Beaker stretched. “What are you, a vampire?”
No, but I felt like one.
Beaker swung her legs over the side of the bed. “You look like somebody broke you into pieces and didn’t quite get the puzzle when they put you back together.”
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