Page 11 of Code Name: Admiral

Worse, why had I sent an encrypted message to the Feds who’d attempted the bleed last night, saying I wanted to meet with Pershing Kane—the man I was tailing? My hands were still shaking from typing out that message as the weight of what I was getting myself into settled in my chest. The encrypted channels I’d set up weren’t foolproof—nothing ever was—but they were the best I could manage on short notice.

While he hadn’t picked up on me tailing him, I knew I was also being followed. I’d felt it all morning. That distinct prickle at the base of my neck that Sarah had always teased me about, calling it my “spider sense,” hadn’t let up since I left the coffeehouse. It was like an itch I couldn’t scratch, growing more intense with each block I walked.

When we got in the vicinity of the building housing the FBI field office, I ducked around a corner and watched as he went inside. The glass-and-steel structure loomed above me, its windows reflecting the gray sky. A steady stream of peopleflowed in and out through the revolving doors, most in suits, and all with the same purposeful stride as Pershing’s.

I zipped my jacket up all the way to ward off the chill of the winter wind whipping around the corners of buildings, carrying the scent of hot dogs from a nearby cart and the ever-present undertone of exhaust fumes that marked New York City.

Figuring I had some time before he came out again, I decided to play a little game with whoever they had watching me. Having grown up in this neighborhood with an older sister who’d been my unwanted shadow, I’d learned where and how to hide. Which now I felt like shit about. The memory of Sarah trailing after me through these same streets hit harder than expected, making my throat tight. I pushed the feeling down, channeling it into determination. Through her, I’d learned as much about hiding as I did about losing a tail.

I squared my shoulders, determined that, rather than wallow, I’d have fun eluding these assholes.

I ducked from inside one skyscraper to another, hopping on elevators and escalators, sometimes going up, sometimes down, but always out through a different entrance than I came in. My footsteps echoed off marble floors, joining the symphony of clicking heels, rolling luggage, and murmured conversations that filled these corporate temples. The familiar dance of urban camouflage came back easily—timing my movements to blend with groups of office workers, adjusting my pace to match theirs, becoming just another face in the crowd.

It took until the third building for me to notice two of the guys following me. I was up on the mezzanine level, hiding behind a column, when I spotted them below. The problem was they weren’t agents. They were street thugs. They stuck out like bruisers among the suits and tourists—too muscular for their poorly fitted jackets, shoulders tight with contained violence. One had a neck thick enough to make his collar strain, while theother’s sleeve rode up enough to show the edge of what looked like a gang tattoo. I took a couple of photos with my phone before hurrying in the direction of the bank of elevators, slipping into one right before the door closed.

“Floor?” an older, silver-haired man standing closest to the panel asked. The expensive suit he wore probably cost more than all the clothes I’d owned in my life combined.

“I thought this was going down,” I muttered, noticing the security block that required a key card to operate. I rode it up to the forty-third floor with the occupants going that far, then all the way down to the first level of underground parking.

Once there, I sent the photos I’d taken to Tex, pulled my hair up, shoved it into a beanie, turned my reversible jacket inside out, then took the stairs to the street level and sneaked out a side door. The jacket transformed from black to navy blue, a subtle change that might make the difference between being spotted and slipping away. The beanie was dark gray, anonymous, and perfect for blending into the urban landscape.

Huddling as close as I could to the outside wall of the same building, I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat, wondering how the fuck Castellano’s guys knew I was onto Bobby Kane already? Because I was certain that was who the two I’d gotten photos of worked for. Or were they tailing me just because I was Sarah’s sister? The thought of her made my stomach clench tighter. Eight days felt like eight years without her steady presence and the way only she could soothe me. I shook my head. I couldn’t allow myself to get lost in memories right now. I had to keep my wits about me.

No longer cursing myself for sending the message about meeting with Pershing Kane, I hoped to hell he’d respond before Bobby or one of his fellow enforcers put me six feet under. My hand instinctively went to my side, where I usually carried, finding nothing but empty air. Amateur move, leaving all myweapons at home, but I hadn’t planned on this day turning into a game of cat and mouse.

By continuing to blend into the crowds on the streets of New York, I was able to get close to my building, but I was too afraid to go inside. I watched the entrance from behind a newspaper stand, scanning faces and looking for anyone who seemed too interested in the door or who’d been standing in one place for too long. Why hadn’t I just gone home after leaving the coffeehouse? There, I knew I was safe. Out here, not so much, especially since every weapon I owned was inside my apartment, where I wasn’t.

I stood a block away, tracking everyone I saw. Each person who passed was a potential threat—the woman with shopping bags could be concealing anything, the delivery guy on his phone might be calling in my location, and the old man walking his dog could be a spotter. I was just about to race across the street when I saw an alert on my phone. Pershing, or whoever worked for him, had responded via the secure app I’d developed and gave them access to when I sent the meeting request.

Rather than crossing the street to my building, I went in the opposite direction, ducking into a bodega. The bell above the door chimed as I entered, and the familiar smells of coffee, cardboard, and overripe fruit enveloped me. When I found an empty aisle, I stood near the middle and pulled out my cell.

When and where?the message read.

Right fucking now, in the pharmaceutical aisle of Yafa’s Deli-Grocery, would work well for me. My fingers trembled as I typed, adrenaline still coursing through my system. I raised my head when the familiar scent of someone’s cologne wafted in my direction. It was expensive, something I’d smelled before but couldn’t place. The combination of sandalwood and maybe vanilla triggered a warning bell in the back of my mind. I looked right and left, but there was no one in my aisle. I put my headdown, raised the collar of my jacket, and hurried out of the bodega. It was dark enough that, rather than stop to scope out my building, I could dart across the street and inside.

Once on the elevator, I tapped my key card to the security block and hit the button for the fifteenth floor. When it started to move, I leaned against the wall, then slid down into a crouching position, burying my head as I did. The elevator’s soft hum did acoustic battle with the buzzing in my head, and the mirrored walls reflected infinite versions of my huddled form. Each one looked as lost as I felt.

That I was orphaned had never been more apparent than it was tonight. Eight days ago, it was my sister and me against the world. Now, it was just me. The weight of that solitude pressed down on my shoulders like a lead blanket, making it hard to breathe. I wiped my tears with my sleeve and exited when the door opened on my floor. After the last couple of hours—coupled with several days with very little sleep—I didn’t bother looking up or down the hallway. My usual security protocols felt distant and unimportant, as overwhelmed by exhaustion and grief as I was. I walked to my apartment, went inside, and slid down with my back against the door I’d closed and locked behind me. I lay on the rug, curling my body into the fetal position, and sobbed.

I heard both my computer and phone chime with incoming messages, but I didn’t have any interest in looking at them. Each chime felt like another demand I couldn’t meet, another responsibility I couldn’t handle. The world could burn, for all I cared right now.

What I needed more than anything was a good night’s sleep. It meant I’d have to take something, but if I didn’t, I’d be one of the walking dead by tomorrow. The last few nights had been a blur of nightmares and half-conscious paranoia, leaving me more wrung out with each passing hour.

After finding the bottle of sleep aids in the bathroom, I dumped a few in my palm, swallowed them without water, then went into the bedroom. The bitter taste of the pills lingered on my tongue, but I couldn’t summon the energy to care. I toed off my boots, climbed under the covers without bothering to remove my coat, and slept.

I had no idea what time it was when I woke up again. That it was dark meant I should still be sleeping, except I was sweating. My coat had turned into a personal sauna, plastering my clothes to my skin. After removing every stitch of clothing from my body, I was chilled enough to get under the covers again. I doubted I’d pulled them up to my chin before I was back to sleep.

When I easedmy eyes open, sunlight streamed in through my window, high enough for me to guess it was close to nine. The light painted golden stripes across my bed, dust motes dancing in the beams. I stretched my arms over my head, only remembering I was naked when my boob popped out from under the blanket and my nipple immediately hardened. With the cool air raising goosebumps on my exposed skin, I snuggled into the warmth, knowing I couldn’t sleep any longer but not quite ready to get out of bed.

I reached for my phone, afraid to see how many messages I’d missed. Five from Tex. Nothing else. The lack of others should have been comforting, but somehow, it just emphasized how isolated I’d become.

I opened the one I’d received via the secure server last night, hoping I hadn’t dreamed it. Knowing there was someone out there, close enough that I could see them face-to-face if I wanted to, was the lifeline I needed right now. Wrapping the top blanket around me, I got up and went into the bathroom. I barely recognized my image in the mirror. The stranger looking back atme was gaunt, with dark circles that looked like bruises under her eyes. I turned the shower on extra hot. Like with sleep, I couldn’t recall when I’d last bathed. Maybe the day before.

It was the least I could do before venturing out again, but after yesterday, I wasn’t sure how good of an idea that would be. Just going for a Matcha was too much of a risk. My favorite coffeehouse, usually a sanctuary, now felt tainted by paranoia.

I needed a pet. At least then, I wouldn’t feel completely alone. Something alive and breathing that would care when I walked in the door after being terrified someone would kill me like they had Sarah.

Dogs were out. No way could I take one for walks several times a day. Besides, dogs barked. Maybe a cat, but then, there was the whole litter-box thing. I gagged just thinking about it. My apartment was small enough without dedicating a corner to a box of sand and shit. While I didn’t know for sure, my guess was birds were also stinky. And noisy. Probably more so than dogs. A fish hardly constituted a pet, and any kind of reptile was a definite no. The thought of feeding anything live prey made my stomach turn. Hamsters and gerbils were literally classified as rodents, and I couldn’t think of any other living creature who wasn’t human that I’d be willing to let inhabit my apartment. Not that there were any people I’d consider, either. The walls I’d built around myself felt both suffocating and necessary.

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