brain wouldn't kick-start the memory.
Nick was a product of the same CIA indoctrination. Maybe he could figure out this whole storm of trouble she was in.
Maybe she'd show him the message in person and deal with his dislike for her methods. But the memo mentioned Backgammon was back in the game. What did that mean? Were they setting up a sting using Alex's former contacts? She mulled that possibility around her head. But would that information be worth killing her over? Even though Nick had acted like a total dweeb when she'd talked to him the other night, she had more trust in him than she did Jake, a perfect stranger. But Nick wasn't responding to her message.
She chewed on the nail of her index finger and tried to keep the surge of paranoia at bay. Patience had never been one of her strong points. The Farm had been intense and kept the three of them on their toes, never knowing whom to and whom not to trust. She didn't understand it at the time, but later figured out they'd prepared her well for a life filled with uncertainty and watching her own back. Of course, that fed into her paranoia perfectly.
After waiting for five minutes without a reply, she knew she couldn't wait any longer. Getting out seemed to be the best option for the time being. A known enemy was always preferable to an unknown one.
Peeking into his bedroom door, she spotted Jake sleeping, fully dressed, on top of the bed. He commandeered the bed like he seemed to commandeer everything else. His arms and legs were flung wide, covering nearly the width of the bed, while snoring filled the air.
For a minute or two she felt kind of bad. He'd been good to her so far. Saved her butt back in Alexandria. But early on she'd learned she could only help herself.
No doubt he wouldn't be sleeping so peacefully if he worried she might be able to escape. She spotted the blinking light and easily found the alarm system hidden inside the front closet. It was trickier than the normal run-of-the-mill alarms. It had a fingerprint-driven mechanism to both disarm and arm, which had her stumped for a second or two. This wasn't the CIA's sophisticated eye reader, so she should be able to lift a reasonable print from the coffee cup he'd been using, transfer it onto tape, and then use that to deactivate the machine. The worst that could happen was half the building would be awakened by an obnoxious noise.
Less than five minutes later, she had it disarmed. Piece of cake.
* * *
Jake got out of the shower and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. "Tessa."
Nothing. Not a sound.
His shoulders tightened as he walked toward her room. Why did he think he could trust her?
He'd become complacent. In a strange city, with the bad guys breathing down their necks, he figured she'd cling to him. But he'd overestimated her need for independence. He should have figured that with her background, she'd feel the need to strike out on her own.
Undecided whom he might be angrier at, her or himself, he slipped into his boots and yanked on his coat. He naively thought she'd fallen for his charm. Instead she'd been pretending.
At least he'd planned for this contingency and inserted a needle-sized tracker in the interior of her backpack. That would be assuming she didn't find it first and destroy it.
He grabbed his go bag and threw in an AR-15 pistol, a couple rounds of ammo, a flashlight, some flexi-cuffs, and a first aid kit. As he walked out the door, he turned on his phone and accessed the program to track her progress. While berating himself would serve no good purpose, he couldn't help but think he should have put a little more Tylenol PM in her drink.
From what he could tell, it looked like she was on the Lower East Side where her friend Nick Stamos lived, and was still moving. The guy had been in Afghanistan with her when everything went down. It would make sense that she might want to give him a heads-up if she truly believed the people after her were somehow connected to that
Nick was a product of the same CIA indoctrination. Maybe he could figure out this whole storm of trouble she was in.
Maybe she'd show him the message in person and deal with his dislike for her methods. But the memo mentioned Backgammon was back in the game. What did that mean? Were they setting up a sting using Alex's former contacts? She mulled that possibility around her head. But would that information be worth killing her over? Even though Nick had acted like a total dweeb when she'd talked to him the other night, she had more trust in him than she did Jake, a perfect stranger. But Nick wasn't responding to her message.
She chewed on the nail of her index finger and tried to keep the surge of paranoia at bay. Patience had never been one of her strong points. The Farm had been intense and kept the three of them on their toes, never knowing whom to and whom not to trust. She didn't understand it at the time, but later figured out they'd prepared her well for a life filled with uncertainty and watching her own back. Of course, that fed into her paranoia perfectly.
After waiting for five minutes without a reply, she knew she couldn't wait any longer. Getting out seemed to be the best option for the time being. A known enemy was always preferable to an unknown one.
Peeking into his bedroom door, she spotted Jake sleeping, fully dressed, on top of the bed. He commandeered the bed like he seemed to commandeer everything else. His arms and legs were flung wide, covering nearly the width of the bed, while snoring filled the air.
For a minute or two she felt kind of bad. He'd been good to her so far. Saved her butt back in Alexandria. But early on she'd learned she could only help herself.
No doubt he wouldn't be sleeping so peacefully if he worried she might be able to escape. She spotted the blinking light and easily found the alarm system hidden inside the front closet. It was trickier than the normal run-of-the-mill alarms. It had a fingerprint-driven mechanism to both disarm and arm, which had her stumped for a second or two. This wasn't the CIA's sophisticated eye reader, so she should be able to lift a reasonable print from the coffee cup he'd been using, transfer it onto tape, and then use that to deactivate the machine. The worst that could happen was half the building would be awakened by an obnoxious noise.
Less than five minutes later, she had it disarmed. Piece of cake.
* * *
Jake got out of the shower and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. "Tessa."
Nothing. Not a sound.
His shoulders tightened as he walked toward her room. Why did he think he could trust her?
He'd become complacent. In a strange city, with the bad guys breathing down their necks, he figured she'd cling to him. But he'd overestimated her need for independence. He should have figured that with her background, she'd feel the need to strike out on her own.
Undecided whom he might be angrier at, her or himself, he slipped into his boots and yanked on his coat. He naively thought she'd fallen for his charm. Instead she'd been pretending.
At least he'd planned for this contingency and inserted a needle-sized tracker in the interior of her backpack. That would be assuming she didn't find it first and destroy it.
He grabbed his go bag and threw in an AR-15 pistol, a couple rounds of ammo, a flashlight, some flexi-cuffs, and a first aid kit. As he walked out the door, he turned on his phone and accessed the program to track her progress. While berating himself would serve no good purpose, he couldn't help but think he should have put a little more Tylenol PM in her drink.
From what he could tell, it looked like she was on the Lower East Side where her friend Nick Stamos lived, and was still moving. The guy had been in Afghanistan with her when everything went down. It would make sense that she might want to give him a heads-up if she truly believed the people after her were somehow connected to that
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