G.U.A.R.D. Book #4: Tracked

-13-

9:58, February 9. Somewhere in the desert:

"I told you: I don't know," I said in an agitated voice. Then I glared up at the agent. He was dressed in a wrinkled suit, and he leaned his palms flat on the metal table. The strength of his stare was hard to hold, but I didn't back down. This wasn't my fault. I would make him see that.

Agent Richards straightened with a sigh. He was about to say something when a clear voice came over the speaker, "Agent Richards, Agent Martin is here to relieve you."

The man nodded, grabbing his papers from the table. "Thank you, Lisa."

As he exited, the metal door let out a resounding clang! I breathed in relief, slumping in my chair and rubbing my face. He had been in here since eight, interrogating me for all I was worth. As of yesterday, I was a prisoner of G.U.A.R.D. Hadn't seen the recruits of Station 3 since Richards brought me into this prison. The metal room was barely furnished with an uncomfortable cot aligned to one wall and the metal table in the center. A bag with some fresh clothes sat at the foot of the cot. One corner had a toilet, sink, and shower with a curtain to pull over for privacy.

They had also given me some toiletries: toothbrush, toothpaste, and razor. Even small scissors, which I used to cut my hair until it no longer touched my forehead. My chin and neck were free of any sign of a beard.

The door opened again. Having resumed my stare at the table, I didn't look up. The opposite chair scraped against the floor, and Agent Martin sat down. A clip-com was placed on the table. The agent twisted around and reached back. I heard a click.

"Alright."

I glanced up and found myself staring at a familiar face. One I couldn't place.

"We have exactly two hours before they give you a break for lunch," her darkly-decorated lips said. As she laced her fingers on the table, she gazed at me through green eyes. A single strand of blonde hair curled around her face, free of her low ponytail. "My name is Evelyn Martin. For privacy purposes, you cannot tell Agent Richards or anyone else anything related to the truth. Do you understand?"

I stared at her. "I'm sorry... what?"

"I don't normally do this," she continued, as if I hadn't interrupted. She looked at her clip-com, tapping a few things with a frown, "but when it comes to your family, I would honestly do anything." The woman placed the clip-com to the side and focused back on me. "The only known contact you've had with the League is when Lee Slade recruited you. I need you to recount every encounter you had with them. Do you understand?"

I was still confused. "No."

Martin gave an apologetic smile. "Richards doesn't know about your family. Neither does any of the other agents investigating you. We're trying to keep it that way. Right now, the cameras are off. You are completely free to tell me everything. We have two hours."

"Look, I don't mean... any disrespect or anything, but why should I trust you? How do you know about my family? You're not some secret agent only employed by them, are you?"

She chuckled. "Oh, heavens, no. I'm a G.U.A.R.D. psychologist. Logan... at this moment, I'm unsure how much I can tell you. And Lord knows I wasn't there when your mom was in her legendary team, or when she left. But I've known your family for a while. You can trust me."

I wasn't sure if that made me trust her or not, but Agent Martin seemed unconcerned. She picked up her clip-com again and gazed at the screen.

"When you were first picked up by Agent Slade, what was the situation?"

I blinked. I mean, the question was different from Agent Richards's many "tell me what you know" accusations, but I didn't want to give her anything. Not about the Hunters. Alek. Cindy.