“J. Edgar Kalamazoo,” Moira growled in her fourth grade teacher rendition of sailor talk. “Where the h-e-double hockey sticks have you been?”
“I was helping Uncle Norm, why?” I was telling the truth.
“Have you heard the news?”
“No.” Again the truth. It was as if I was given this incredible opportunity to make up for all the lies and half-truths I’d been telling the past twenty-four hours. Was it possible yesterday’s events actually made the news? And if so, how much, to what detail? Guessing from the look on Moira’s face, my gun-wielding, forehead drilling, blood spilling, life sucking activities were left unknown. But it wasn’t John Q. Public I was worried about.
She shifted and glanced up towards Jeff, then eyed me using her super secret mind-melding powers. Completely unnecessary, I got the hint, but at that moment, Jeff was my only ally.
“Everything okay?” he chimed in, possibly sensing the girl code of non-speak. “Moira was worried. I told her you probably had a lot of errands to run, but she insisted–”
“I did. And I was worried.” Moira rammed her fists into her sides, her elbows winging out. It was meant to look authoritative and pissed off. In her defense, how was she to know that stance wouldn’t withstand her adversaries’ blows?
“I’m here now, so relax. What was so important anyway?” It was dumb of me to have asked. We both knew why she was so nervous and upset.
Rule 2 of undercover agent work: When, during the commission of a federal felony, do not — I repeat — do not engage or otherwise involve civilians. Here was my prime example of why not.
The preceding is an excerpt from a current novel-in-progress. All rights are reserved. (c) 2010-2013 Kathie Leung