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Authors: Elliott Kay
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reverberated in Amber’s head as she walked to class. She kept her textbook and notebook close to her chest, head down with her newly auburn hair dangling over one side of her face as she walked toward the lecture hall. She couldn’t help but worry that she would be recognized.
Matt Lanier ran a check on literally every class roster from both her high school and the university just to be sure. There were some hits, of course, but none of them came near her class schedule. Nothing set off any warning bells.
Plenty of alarms went off in her head, though, over how quickly Lanier could acquire, sort and analyze all that data. Still more unsettling had been Hauser’s advice: “Exploit any opening you can find. The rulebook for this task force isn’t very thick. CIA deals with more red tape than we do. Short of committing a felony yourself, you’re free to improvise all you want.”
Amber tried not to read too much into Hauser’s choice of words. She reminded herself they were all on the same side.
Students filed into class without ceremony. With most of her college pre-req classes completed while she was still in high school, Amber hadn’t spent much time in UW’s big lecture halls. She checked in with one of the TAs to provide her transfer paperwork.
Without fuss or suspicion, Amber joined the roster of Topics in Sociology. She wished, not for the first time, that she could’ve taken a real science course and not some bullshit class like this, but her target dictated such concerns.
Amber looked out at the audience of students for an open seat and, more importantly, for her suspect. Target. Mark. She couldn’t pick an appropriate term for him, since he wasn’t suspected of a crime yet. Amber considered not worrying about it too much just yet. Settling into her cover would be enough work for day one. Still, it would be negligent not to at least try to get near the guy and watch him.
She spotted Cohen as he entered with his headphones on and his backpack slung over one shoulder. He wore a Green Lantern t-shirt, a plain unzipped hoodie and jeans. Cohen moved up toward the seats in the back without worry or stress in his stride. He seemed to look out at the crowd, at the students taking their seats, and even at those still milling about near the lectern. Amber watched, finding his gait marginally curious, and soon discerned the cause of it.
He was checking out the girls. His gaze didn’t linger long on any one of them, and he took care not to stumble or bump into anyone, but within seconds she found herself drawing imaginary straight lines between his eyes and that girl’s cleavage, and then that girl’s ass, and that one’s legs... She stopped staring when he looked her way, breaking her gaze just late enough to note that he, too, broke eye contact when he realized he’d been busted.
Ordinarily, Amber wouldn’t have known whether to be flattered that he’d been looking her over or to roll her eyes. Today she called it a bonus. Her impression from Cohen’s profile was that he might be shy and reserved around girls—much as she’d been in high school and college with guys. She figured she’d have to be the one to initiate contact. If he thought she was cute, he’d be more receptive.
Several seats in his row remained open. The spots in the row behind his were taken, which spoiled the chan ce of looking over his shoulder. Sitting right down next to him would look weird, but taking up a spot a few seats down seemed reasonable. Amber considered all the advice of her much more experienced colleagues, weighed her options, and decided to trust her gut.
She didn’t look up at him as she ascended the steps toward his row. Best to look like she was minding her own business. She set down her books on an empty chair beside hers, pulled off her jacket to reveal her Blue Sun t-shirt, and settled in for class.
Amber fished a pen out of her pocket. Thumbed her notebook open to a blank page. Turned off her phone.
Matt Lanier ran a check on literally every class roster from both her high school and the university just to be sure. There were some hits, of course, but none of them came near her class schedule. Nothing set off any warning bells.
Plenty of alarms went off in her head, though, over how quickly Lanier could acquire, sort and analyze all that data. Still more unsettling had been Hauser’s advice: “Exploit any opening you can find. The rulebook for this task force isn’t very thick. CIA deals with more red tape than we do. Short of committing a felony yourself, you’re free to improvise all you want.”
Amber tried not to read too much into Hauser’s choice of words. She reminded herself they were all on the same side.
Students filed into class without ceremony. With most of her college pre-req classes completed while she was still in high school, Amber hadn’t spent much time in UW’s big lecture halls. She checked in with one of the TAs to provide her transfer paperwork.
Without fuss or suspicion, Amber joined the roster of Topics in Sociology. She wished, not for the first time, that she could’ve taken a real science course and not some bullshit class like this, but her target dictated such concerns.
Amber looked out at the audience of students for an open seat and, more importantly, for her suspect. Target. Mark. She couldn’t pick an appropriate term for him, since he wasn’t suspected of a crime yet. Amber considered not worrying about it too much just yet. Settling into her cover would be enough work for day one. Still, it would be negligent not to at least try to get near the guy and watch him.
She spotted Cohen as he entered with his headphones on and his backpack slung over one shoulder. He wore a Green Lantern t-shirt, a plain unzipped hoodie and jeans. Cohen moved up toward the seats in the back without worry or stress in his stride. He seemed to look out at the crowd, at the students taking their seats, and even at those still milling about near the lectern. Amber watched, finding his gait marginally curious, and soon discerned the cause of it.
He was checking out the girls. His gaze didn’t linger long on any one of them, and he took care not to stumble or bump into anyone, but within seconds she found herself drawing imaginary straight lines between his eyes and that girl’s cleavage, and then that girl’s ass, and that one’s legs... She stopped staring when he looked her way, breaking her gaze just late enough to note that he, too, broke eye contact when he realized he’d been busted.
Ordinarily, Amber wouldn’t have known whether to be flattered that he’d been looking her over or to roll her eyes. Today she called it a bonus. Her impression from Cohen’s profile was that he might be shy and reserved around girls—much as she’d been in high school and college with guys. She figured she’d have to be the one to initiate contact. If he thought she was cute, he’d be more receptive.
Several seats in his row remained open. The spots in the row behind his were taken, which spoiled the chan ce of looking over his shoulder. Sitting right down next to him would look weird, but taking up a spot a few seats down seemed reasonable. Amber considered all the advice of her much more experienced colleagues, weighed her options, and decided to trust her gut.
She didn’t look up at him as she ascended the steps toward his row. Best to look like she was minding her own business. She set down her books on an empty chair beside hers, pulled off her jacket to reveal her Blue Sun t-shirt, and settled in for class.
Amber fished a pen out of her pocket. Thumbed her notebook open to a blank page. Turned off her phone.
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