“Absolutely not. You need to turn around and go back to the safe house immediately,” Luke insists.
“No way,” I snap. “I need to get down there.”
“This is so dangerous, you’re going to get yourself killed and…” Luke begins.
“Luke, I can’t sit at Langley and watch another failed mission over the monitors,” I answer, frustrated tears burning my exhausted eyes. I take a deep breath, forcing them to retreat.
“Reagan, this could be suicide,” Luke says again.
“I know,” I answer. “But if I don’t go, my parents will die. I can feel it, Luke. They are going to die.”
My gut wrenches as the words tumble out of my mouth. This isn’t a scare tactic, a ploy to get Luke to buy me the ticket. Throughout my years of training, I’ve developed a sixth sense, that know-it-in-your gut feeling that so many agents develop over time. And I know the words I’m saying are true.
“Please,” I beg and suddenly feel disconnected from my body; like I’m watching this conversation instead of having it. “Help me, Luke.”
Luke lets out a long sigh. I can hear him typing at his computer.
“Two flights. One leaves in ninety minutes at ten p.m. The other leaves tomorrow morning,” Luke answers, his voice tight with what-am-I-doing worry.
“Book tonight,” I answer. “I need to get down there before the DC team so I can swipe their ride.”
“Done,” Luke answers. “Got to love that Platinum AmEx.”
“Thank you. Be right there,” I say and hang up.
My car turns down New Albany Country Club Drive and races toward the Weixels’. I glance at my clock just before I turn down Landon Lane: eighty-five minutes and counting. I pull into their driveway but before I can put the car in park, Luke is running down their front path, a backpack strapped to his back. He pops open the car door and climbs in.
“Okay, we better get going if we’re going to make that flight,” he says, slinging his backpack off his shoulder and throwing it with my stuff in the backseat.
“What do you mean we?” I ask.
“I bought two tickets to Quito,” Luke replies and fastens his seat belt.
“No way, Luke,” I say, shaking my head with ferocity. “No. Way. I’m not letting you come with me.”
“Well, I’m not letting you do this alone,” he answers, shaking his head back at me.
“It’s way too dangerous,” I reply, throwing my hands in the air. “I’ve been training for this since before I lost my baby teeth.”
“So have I,” Luke insists. “I may not have been trained as a Black Angel, but I’ve been training my entire life to be in the military. Look, I know I don’t know as much as you, but Reagan, it’s suicide to try and do this by yourself. I’m not going to let you. And if you make me get out of this car, I’ll call Sam and tell her what you’re doing.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Yes I would. To keep you safe, I would.”
“Luke, I have to do this,” I say, my voice rising. “You don’t understand what it’s like to sit in a room completely helpless and wait to hear if the people you love are dead or alive.”
“Of course I do.” Luke’s voice surges to match mine. “How do you think I’d feel if I stayed here and let you go?”
His words knock out the last thread of air I’m so desperately trying to keep in my lungs. We stare at each other for a second, but the gravity of the moment pulls our eyes to the floor.
“Look…” Luke says, his voice now calm. “If you’re going to take the DC team’s truck, then we better look like a team. Otherwise, you’ll be put right back on the next plane to Dulles Airport with a half-dozen bodyguards around you.”
My lips are throbbing, pressed tightly together between my teeth. He’s right. I can’t just show up in Quito and expect to get across the border. They’re expecting a team.
“What about your parents?” I ask, looking over his shoulder to his front door. “Won’t they freak out if you’re gone?”
“They’re in DC until Sunday,” Luke answers. “I told them I had JROTC training and overnights the rest of the week and would be hard to reach.”
“Okay,” I finally reply, a heavy sigh passing through my sore lips. “You can come but you have to follow my every order, do you understand?”
“Promise,” Luke answers. I throw him my phone.
“Okay, first thing. I have photos of all the plans on there,” I say and back out of his driveway. “Text every photo to your phone, then delete them off mine. I’m dropping my phone off at Harper’s. Then we’ll go to the airport.”
“Why are we going to Harper’s?” Luke asks as he texts all the photos to his number.