Immediately Forgettable

Chapter 12

Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!

A 20-second voicemail for Sloane is all it took to destroy my I'm-sure-would-be-perfect new life. Sleep was now out of the question as my overactive imagination took over.

How bad could it be? Maybe the Homeland guy just really liked it here – like me – and decided to stay. Suuuure. Maybe someone other than King was doing something bad. Some underling with delusions of grandeur. Maybe King has no idea, and I could increase my value to him by putting an end to it! And Jen would be really impressed, too.

Oh no.

What if Jen is in on it? Heck – what if she is the evil underling? Damnit!

It was late back in New York. Sloane would be home or wherever else he hangs upside down for the night. It would probably be best to wait until the morning to call him...but he did say to call when I got the message, and I did just get the message.

I looked around the room at all the pictures of King and remembered my earlier concern that there were cameras behind them. I also noted how he discovered my power by monitoring me. I was still hoping that he was innocent, but couldn't take the chance.

I removed my pajama pants and sleep shirt from my bag and threw them on the bed – right on top of where I had left my phone. I casually walked around the room a bit, trying not to look anxious. Kicked off my shoes. Worked my neck a bit like I was ending a rough day, then nonchalantly scooped my pajamas off the bed – with the phone – and headed to the bathroom.

Once inside, I turned on the shower and grabbed my phone. Maybe the show was for nothing, and maybe it wasn't. This was not a time to take chances — this is my future we are talking about. Either a happy one working for King the genius, or risking life and limb to take him down. Or, even worse, stopping the plans of an evil Jen. The shower sound masking is the oldest trick in the book, but that doesn't mean it doesn't work.

Sloane picked up on the fifth ring. He must have found one of my Polaroids.

"What the hell are you doing at King Consortium?" Sloane barked at me.

Well, "hello" to you, too.

"My job," I shot back, then returned to my typical stammering-with-Sloane self. "Well, m-my other job. The writing one."

Silence.

I continued, "King is doing some amazing stuff for agriculture...and biofuels."

"He is doing more than that."

"What is he up to?"

"Not sure exactly. We're supposed to share intel, but that only goes so far. But it can't be good – they got a little strange when I asked about King. Told me nothing. I told them I had a man in there, pretending like I knew more than I did, but they didn't bite. Not until a few days later, when they told me they had their own guy in there, but lost contact."

"They give you any idea what he was investigating?"

"Nope, but they did give me the agent's name, and the name of his contact inside King's organization. I need you to dig around and report back to me on what happened to him. Do not – and I repeat – do not engage with any hostiles. Just do some digging and some recon and let me know if I need to send a team in. Got that?"

So, the usual. "Yes, I got it."

"Great," but the way Sloane says "great" makes you think that everything is anything but. "The agent's name is Jonathan Dagger. I'll be sending you his picture in a moment."

Jonathan Dagger. What a great spy name. Jon Dagger. Wait...Jack Dagger. Perfect. I bet he looks like James Bond, too, lucky bastard. Well, except for the whole missing part.

"Who's his contact on the inside?" I asked, wondering how I was going to find him in the sea of employees here at King Consortium.

"Some woman named Jennifer Holt. She's a technical writer there."

Well that was easy. And, more important, took her off the "evil" list.

"She's actually my contact here, too," I replied. "I'll try and get her to talk to me about Dagger tomorrow."

"Your contact, too," Sloane said skeptically. "Okay, but watch out for her. It may be a coincidence, or maybe you are being set up."

I hadn't considered that, but that would be an amazingly smart move on King's part. Still, I had to take the risk to both find Dagger and to make sure Jen was indeed one of the good guys.

"Okay, I'm on it," I said, and Sloane hung up without another word.

I thought a moment. Maybe I should contact Jen tonight. I had no idea where the tour would take me tomorrow, and I may not get the chance to talk to her in private. But first, I'll shower — both to complete my ruse and to be fresh for Jen.

Like most people (naturally, as there is nothing unique about me), I do some of my best thinking in the shower. My mind started pouring over the possibilities and the probabilities. I tried to focus on my immediate plans.

I'll text Jen tonight and see if I can meet her in her room. If we are being watched, that is the most seemingly innocent situation. King knows that I am fond of her, so making an excuse to see her won't seem suspicious. If she agrees, I will go to Jen's room and pull her close — I can fool the cameras, but I need to be careful of microphones picking up our conversation.

The thought of holding Jen close triggered a whole other set of anxieties — far more intense than the ones I get when spying. What if she feels the chemistry between us like I do? Could I work up the nerve to kiss her? I can't remember the last time I was that close to a woman, let alone kiss her.

Oh wait — yes I can. It was the only time I was close to a woman and kissed her...

I went to my prom with my 19-year-old cousin. My mother had set the whole thing up with her sister because she thought it was important that I go. It didn't matter to me either way, and I did get noticed for an evening if only for being next to my really attractive cousin.

The night was memorable for me for another reason — Uber-jock Scott Burke was after my cousin all night and got her drunk on some beer he had smuggled in. He didn't get anywhere, but got her to the point where she could barely stand. At the end of the night, I managed to get her into the passenger seat of my 6-year-old Nissan hatchback.

I drove her around for a while, not wanting to drop an inebriated daughter off at my aunt's house. She babbled and dozed and, after two hours of driving around a shut down suburban town, I pulled up to her house.

I went around to the side to help her out. I helped her stand and threw her arm around my shoulder while I placed mine around her waist for support. Her face was close to mine and — despite the stench of beer breath — she still looked and felt good. The same thing must her been going through her mind because she opened her mouth and jammed it over mine.

People will say that you can't be excited and repulsed at the same time, but I can without a doubt say that they're wrong. After one passionate, hops-filled kiss, she pulled away, her eyes half shut.

I led her to the door and helped her get inside and lay down on the couch. Fortunately, no one else in the house was awake.

When I got home, I couldn't sleep — what if my aunt found out. She'd tell my mom and all hell would bust loose. I'd be mortified beyond belief. As it turns out, my worry was for nothing — it was never brought up and, although we didn't discuss it, I don't think my cousin remembers anything.

I'm still not sure if it was from the beer or my powers.

Hopefully this time would work out better.