seamstress who refused payment for the job because her daughter was at the same school as Ellie and she knew Ellie’s father had it tough. He was wearing a bow tie and old tuxedo, one that would have looked good on him when he was younger but now was shiny with wear. She remembered smiling at him and noticing a few flecks of dandruff on the black shoulders of his jacket. Poor Dad; he’d made such an effort to look smart for her, but had forgotten to brush down his suit. Her mother would never have let him go out like that. But she had died the year before and they were here to commemorate the anniversary of her death by attending her favorite ballet, Giselle .
Inside the box was a plain nine-carat necklace with a heart pendant. As she’d held it with her fingers, he’d leaned toward her and said, “Your Mum told me that I had to be smarter than usual when you got to the teen years, that I wasn’t to get all awkward just ’cause you were becoming a woman, and that I needed to buy you pretty things.”
He’d sat back in his chair, pretending to watch the performance, but Ellie could see that he was tense. No doubt he’d rehearsed what he’d said to her, and was now wondering whether he’d used the right words. Ellie had placed the necklace around her throat and kissed her dad on his cheek. His rigidity vanished, replaced with a big grin and look of utter relief.
He’d died when she was in college, and it was sometime then that she’d lost the necklace. The guilt over losing it made her hang on to the necklace’s box, as if doing so made everything okay. Over the years it had sat on mantelpieces or in the corners of drawers. But all the time, she’d known that the box had meant nothing to her father. He’d wanted her to feel pretty; boxes don’t do that.
So tonight, while rummaging through her hotel room in D.C., looking for a suitable container for the job, her eyes had settled on the box and she’d made a decision. It was time for the box to go.
Odd, though, that she wasn’t just throwing it away; instead, she was giving it to another man. Did that mean she wasn’t really letting go?
She walked out of Chinatown, south along Seventh Street NW, staying close to buildings to avoid the spray from passing vehicles. Less than a mile to her right was the White House. Twelve years ago, she’d stood in front of the building with a letter of employment from the Central Intelligence Agency inside her jacket, marveling at the center of power and feeling pride that she was being brought into its inner circle of trust. Like all college graduates about to embark on life in the real world, she’d been naive back then. Doubly naive in her case, because upon completion of her Agency training, Ellie was told that she had to resign and set up her own Agency-funded consultancy so that she could be a deniable undercover operative. One without the name Ellie Hallowes, because the real her would be kept at arm’s length from the inner circle.
High-ranking Agency officers had told her that she’d been selected for the task because she’d displayed an exceptional ability to operate alone and make independent decisions. She’d believed them, and in fairness they were being truthful. But a year into being undercover, she’d realized that another reason she’d been selected was because she had no one in her life. There’d be no big Thanksgiving family dinners for Ellie, ones during which she might look around and think, I can’t live this lie anymore.
She moved into a dark side alley, wondered if someone was waiting in there, and briefly recalled what she’d been taught by an ex-Delta unarmed-combat instructor at the Farm. Fancy ninja moves don’t work. Go crazy. Hit eyes, throats, and balls. Do it fast, then run.
But the narrow alley seemed empty and quiet.
She stopped in the exact same spot she’d reconnoitered yesterday during daylight. After withdrawing a tiny flashlight, she cupped her hand over the beam to
Inside the box was a plain nine-carat necklace with a heart pendant. As she’d held it with her fingers, he’d leaned toward her and said, “Your Mum told me that I had to be smarter than usual when you got to the teen years, that I wasn’t to get all awkward just ’cause you were becoming a woman, and that I needed to buy you pretty things.”
He’d sat back in his chair, pretending to watch the performance, but Ellie could see that he was tense. No doubt he’d rehearsed what he’d said to her, and was now wondering whether he’d used the right words. Ellie had placed the necklace around her throat and kissed her dad on his cheek. His rigidity vanished, replaced with a big grin and look of utter relief.
He’d died when she was in college, and it was sometime then that she’d lost the necklace. The guilt over losing it made her hang on to the necklace’s box, as if doing so made everything okay. Over the years it had sat on mantelpieces or in the corners of drawers. But all the time, she’d known that the box had meant nothing to her father. He’d wanted her to feel pretty; boxes don’t do that.
So tonight, while rummaging through her hotel room in D.C., looking for a suitable container for the job, her eyes had settled on the box and she’d made a decision. It was time for the box to go.
Odd, though, that she wasn’t just throwing it away; instead, she was giving it to another man. Did that mean she wasn’t really letting go?
She walked out of Chinatown, south along Seventh Street NW, staying close to buildings to avoid the spray from passing vehicles. Less than a mile to her right was the White House. Twelve years ago, she’d stood in front of the building with a letter of employment from the Central Intelligence Agency inside her jacket, marveling at the center of power and feeling pride that she was being brought into its inner circle of trust. Like all college graduates about to embark on life in the real world, she’d been naive back then. Doubly naive in her case, because upon completion of her Agency training, Ellie was told that she had to resign and set up her own Agency-funded consultancy so that she could be a deniable undercover operative. One without the name Ellie Hallowes, because the real her would be kept at arm’s length from the inner circle.
High-ranking Agency officers had told her that she’d been selected for the task because she’d displayed an exceptional ability to operate alone and make independent decisions. She’d believed them, and in fairness they were being truthful. But a year into being undercover, she’d realized that another reason she’d been selected was because she had no one in her life. There’d be no big Thanksgiving family dinners for Ellie, ones during which she might look around and think, I can’t live this lie anymore.
She moved into a dark side alley, wondered if someone was waiting in there, and briefly recalled what she’d been taught by an ex-Delta unarmed-combat instructor at the Farm. Fancy ninja moves don’t work. Go crazy. Hit eyes, throats, and balls. Do it fast, then run.
But the narrow alley seemed empty and quiet.
She stopped in the exact same spot she’d reconnoitered yesterday during daylight. After withdrawing a tiny flashlight, she cupped her hand over the beam to
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