Sam looks over her shoulder at Luke standing in the doorway then turns back to me. “Take a minute to say good-bye,” she says, her voice low. “You’ll probably never see him again.”
The weapons room’s dense air burns my lungs as I take in a deep, noisy breath. Sam pats my arm, giving me a weak, closed-mouth smile before walking back into the situation room.
Luke stares at me, his pale eyes tired and worried. I press my lips in a thin line and move toward him, taking him by the wrist and leading him into the darkest corner of the gun range, out of Sam’s earshot.
“They’re taking you home,” I tell him, my voice low and my heart pounding painfully beneath my breastbone, each beat begging: Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.
“What about you?”
“They’re taking me to Langley tonight.”
“What happens from there?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. New name, new life. The way it’s always been.”
“So … will I ever see you again? Is this good-bye?” Luke asks, his eyes glassy and searching my face.
“We’re leaving in one minute, Luke.” Sam pokes her head into the room then disappears.
My arms wrap around Luke’s neck and pull him toward me. “I don’t want to say good-bye to you,” I whisper, tears stinging the back of my throat and muting my voice.
Luke puts his arms around my waist and pulls me closer to him. I take a mental note of the way his body feels against mine: strong and warm and safe. I bury my face in his shoulder and take in his scent. Soap and cinnamon and something metallic I don’t recognize.
“I can’t imagine not seeing you again,” Luke says into my ear, his hands running up my spine, rubbing a smooth spot on the back of my neck with his fingertips.
“Reagan,” Sam says from the doorway. “I’m sorry. But it’s time.”
I rise on my toes and brush my lips against his smooth cheek. Luke’s arms tighten around my waist, and my body tingles and aches all at once.
“Stay by your phone,” I whisper in Luke’s ear. “I’m going to need you.”
I squeeze Luke’s neck hard for one more second and then let him free. I watch in silence as Luke follows Cooper up the steps. When they reach the top, Luke turns around and looks down at me, his right hand rising in a silent good-bye. His lips turn up into a small, sad smile. I take in the way his long lashes frame his kind eyes. The way his dimples crease into his creamy cheeks. I file him away as he turns around, walks through the door, and disappears.
TWENTY-TWO
“Okay, is everyone dialed in who needs to be?” I can hear Thomas’s muffled voice on the other side of the situation room door. As soon as Cooper got back, they closed the door, refusing to let me in to hear any part of the plan. It’s classified. Even though it’s my parents.
I shrugged, acted like I understood. But here I am, my face pressed to the cold door as I rack my brain trying to figure out how to get all the intel I need.
I imagine Thomas standing in the situation room at Langley, the live feed of CORE’s bunkered conference room broadcasting onto one of the large monitors in front of Cooper and Sam. I know I’ve seen inside CORE’s headquarters before. I know exactly what it looks like. Where have I seen it? I rub my hands over my scrunched forehead as my brain scrolls through years of training. I close my eyes as jagged half memories pulse into my mind, a half a second at a time. Then my brain lands on a memory from a year ago. Mom on her tablet during our middle of the night ride from Philadelphia to DC. She had pulled up the situation room at Langley and was listening to a briefing on the hitman in our house.
How did she get there? Think, Reagan, think. I draw a deep breath through my pursed lips, almost hoping to hypnotize myself and pull out a long-buried memory.
My brain focuses on the moments before she pulled out her tablet. She told Dad she needed coffee. He said he’d pick up some once they crossed out of Pennsylvania. She pulled the tablet out of her go-bag, typed in a series of numbers, and pulled up the conference.
The Black Angel code.
I tear across the room and open Mom’s go-bag. I rifle through her stuff. Her favorite sweater, pictures of me as a kid, letters from Dad, and I find it. Her Black Angel–issued tablet. It’s not like anything you can buy at Apple.
I turn on the screen. It commands a six-digit passcode. My fingers type in the Black Angel number I memorized. 1-7-8-2-2-9.
As soon as I break in, a message pops up on the screen:
CORE Conference In Session.
Below that message bubble, there are two options.
Join as Elizabeth. Join Anonymously.
Join Anonymously. Duh.
Thomas and the situation room at Langley take over my screen. I’m in.