Barking Up the Wrong Lead - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

 PLACES WHERE IT IS NOT ACCEPTABLE FOR AN OPERATIVE TO CRY

-     In front of her dad.

-     In front of Charlotte Woods.

-     In front of the near entirety of the MI6 data analysts team.

PLACES WHERE THIS OPERATIVE DID CRY

-     In front of her dad.

-     In front of Charlotte Woods

-     In front of the near entirety of the MI6 data analysts team.

Baring Cross Station is home to very few shadows.  Rightfully so.  There can’t exactly be an abundance of hiding places in a building that holds so may of the world’s secrets.  Everything had to be clear-cut.  Clean.  True.

But I knew from experience that when something appeared to be clean, it was because the dust had been sent to gather someplace else (which was exactly how I managed to ruin all of my white shirts).  There is always dust.  There is always a shadow.  Even when you can’t see it.  And as long as there were shadows, I would always find them.

It took me a while, but eventually I found a shadow that was leaning up against a wall on the fourth floor, just behind the men’s bathroom.

I was starting to get real sick of crying.  A girl could only shed so many tears before she started to forget what they were for.  But even still, I couldn’t make myself stop.  The sobs seemed to consume me, throwing my entire body in every direction.  I felt like the crumpled up piece of paper that someone kept missing the trash can with.

I had tried to be quiet, but I must not have been quiet enough because it wasn’t long at all before someone found me.  “Jesus, Goode.  Quit being such a girl.”

I hastily wiped the various liquids from my face, hoping that he couldn’t see.  “Screw off, Collins.”

He was standing with one shoulder against the wall, shadows covering his face.  The pale light of Baring Cross outlined the silhouette of his crooked nose, reminding me that I was responsible for at least one of the bends in it.  “See,” he said.  “I’d love to do that.  In fact, I have people waiting for me in Oxford right now, but here you are, looking absolutely tragic, and now I’ve got to deal with you.”

“What do you care?” I spat, turning away. 

“Your daddy's my Fieldwork teacher now,” he said simply.  “And I need a letter of recommendation.  Can you imagine what kind of letter CIA legend Zachary Goode would write for someone who so valiantly returned his daughter to him?”

“You’re unbearable,” I told him.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” he responded.  Then he took a few steps closer and held out his hand to me.  “And you wont be the last.  Now come on.”

“No way.”

“Goode.”

“No. way.”

He let his hand fall with a scoff.  “I could just pick you up and carry you out, you know.”

“You do that and I’ll add another crook in your nose,” I warned.

There was a long, frustrated sigh as Collins began to realize that this would be harder than he had originally planned.  He grumbled as he joined me, sliding his back down the wall until he was sitting right at my side.  A slash of light struck his eyes, highlighting the bits of gold hidden within the sea of brown.  It was all I could see of him in these thick shadows as he said, “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know.”