Jack Mars - Target Zero

Reid sighed and closed the door behind him. He locked it and activated the security alarm again (which was becoming a ritual every time he opened or closed the door), and then turned to find Maya standing behind him in the foyer.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing. Mr. Thompson just wanted to say hi.”

Maya crossed her arms again. “And here I thought we were making such good progress.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Reid scoffed at her. “Thompson is just a harmless old man—”

“Harmless? He carries a gun everywhere he goes,” Maya protested. “And don’t think I don’t see him watching us from his window. It’s like he’s spying on—” Her mouth fell open a little. “Oh my god, does he know about you? Is Mr. Thompson a spy too?”

“Jeez, Maya, I am not a spy…”

Actually , he thought, that’s exactly what you are…

“I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed. “Is that why you have him babysit us when you leave?”

“Yes,” he admitted quietly. He didn’t have to tell her the unrequested truths, but there wasn’t much point in hiding things from her when she was going to make such accurate guesses anyway.

He expected her to be angry and start throwing accusations again, but instead she shook her head and murmured, “Unreal. My dad is a spy, and our next-door nut-job is a bodyguard.” Then, to his surprise, she hugged him around the neck, almost knocking the pizza boxes from his hand. “I know you can’t tell me everything. All I wanted was some truth.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Just risking international security to be a good dad. Now go wake your sister before the pizza gets cold. And Maya? Not a word of this to Sara.”

He went into the kitchen and took out some plates and napkins, and poured three glasses of soda. A few moments later, Sara shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Hi, Daddy,” she mumbled.

“Hey, sweetheart. Have a seat. Are you sleeping okay?”

“Mm,” she murmured vaguely. Sara plucked up a piece of pizza and bit off the tip, chewing in slow, lazy circles.

He was worried about her, but he tried not to let on. Instead he grabbed a slice of the sausage-and-pepper pie. It was halfway to his mouth when Maya intervened, snatching it out of his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“…Eating? Or trying to.”

“Um, no. You have a date, remember?”

“What? No, that’s tomorrow…” He trailed off, uncertain. “Oh, god, that is tonight, isn’t it?” He nearly smacked himself in the forehead.

“Sure is,” said Maya around a mouthful of pizza.

“Also, it’s not a date. It’s dinner with a friend.”

Maya shrugged. “Fine. But if you don’t go get ready, you’re going to be late for ‘dinner with a friend.’”

He looked at his watch. She was right; he was supposed to meet Maria at five.

“Go, shoo. Get changed.” She ushered him out of the kitchen and he hurried upstairs.

With everything going on and his continual attempts to elude his own thoughts, he’d nearly forgotten about the promise to meet with Maria. There had been several half-baked attempts to get together over the past four weeks, always with something getting in the way on one end or another—though, if he was being honest with himself, it was usually his end that made the excuses. Maria had seemed to finally grow tired of it and not only planned the outing, but chose a spot halfway between Alexandria and Baltimore, where she lived, if he would promise to see her.

He did miss her. He missed being around her. They weren’t just partners in the agency; there was a history there, but Reid couldn’t remember most of it. Barely any, in fact. All he knew was that when he was around her, there was a distinct feeling that he was in the company of someone who cared for him—a friend, someone he could trust, and perhaps even more than that.

He went into his closet and pulled out an ensemble he thought would work for the occasion. He was a fan of a classic style, though he was aware that his wardrobe probably dated him by at least a decade. He pulled on a pair of pleated khakis, a plaid button-down, and a tweed jacket with leather patches at the elbows.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Maya asked, startling him. She was leaning against the door frame to his bedroom, munching casually on a pizza crust.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it is that you look like you just stepped out of a classroom. Come on.” She took him by the arm back to the closet and began rooting through his clothes. “Jeez, Dad, you dress like you’re eighty…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” she called back. “Ah. Here.” She pulled out a black sport coat—the only one he owned. “Wear this, with something gray under it. Or white. A T-shirt or a polo. Get rid of the dad-pants and put on some jeans. Dark ones. Slim fit.”

At the behest of his daughter, he changed his outfit while she waited in the hall. He supposed he should get used to this bizarre role reversal, he thought. One moment he was the overprotective father; the next he was caving in the face of his challenging, astute daughter.

“Much better,” Maya said as he presented himself anew. “You almost look like you’re ready for a date.”

“Thank you,” he said, “and this isn’t a date.”

“You keep saying that. But you’re going for dinner and drinks with a mysterious woman that you claim is an old friend, even though you’ve never mentioned her and we’ve never met her…”

“She is an old friend—”

“And, I might add,” Maya said over him, “she’s quite attractive. We saw her get off the plane in Dulles. So if either of you are looking for something more than ‘old friends,’ this is a date.”

“Good god, you and I are not talking about that.” Reid winced. But in his mind, he was panicking slightly. She’s right. This is a date . He had been doing so many mental gymnastics lately that he hadn’t paused long enough to consider what “dinner and drinks” really meant to a pair of single adults. “Fine,” he admitted, “let’s just say it’s a date. Um… what do I do?”

“You’re asking me? I’m not exactly an expert.” Maya grinned. “Talk to her. Get to know her better. And please, try your best to be interesting.”

Reid scoffed and shook his head. “Excuse me, but I am plenty interesting. How many people do you know that can give an entire oral history of the Bulavin Rebellion?”

“Only one.” Maya rolled her eyes. “And do not give this woman an entire oral history of the Bulavin Rebellion.”

Reid chuckled and hugged his daughter.

“You’ll be fine,” she assured him.

“You will too,” he said. “I’m going to call Mr. Thompson to come by for a while…”

“Dad, no!” Maya pulled away from his embrace. “Come on. I’m sixteen. I can watch Sara for a couple of hours.”

“Maya, you know how important it is to me that you two aren’t alone—”

“Dad, he smells like motor oil, and all he wants to talk about is ‘the good ol’ days’ with the Marines,” she said exasperatedly. “Nothing is going to happen. We’re going to eat pizza and watch a movie. Sara will be in bed before you’re back. We’ll be fine.”

“I still think that Mr. Thompson should come—”

“He can spy through the window like he usually does. We’ll be okay. I promise. We have a great security system, and deadbolts on all the doors, and I know about the gun near the front door—”

“Maya!” Reid exclaimed. How did she know about that? “Do not mess with that, do you understand?”