Three days later, I left for the program. Michael was the one who came to pick me up. He parked out at the curb and waited.
โI do not like this,โ Nonna told me for maybe the thousandth time.
โI know.โ I brushed a kiss against her temple, and she cupped my head in her hands.
โYou be good,โ she said fiercely. โYou be careful. Your father,โ she added, as an afterthought. โI am going to kill him.โ
I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Michael standing with his back to a gleaming black Porsche. From a distance, I couldnโt make out the expression on his face, but I had a suspicion that he wasnโt having any trouble interpretingย myย feelings.
โIโll be careful,โ I told Nonna, turning my back on the boy with the discerning eye. โPromise.โ
โEh,โ she said finally. โHow much trouble can you get into? There are only a few students in the entire school.โ
A few students who were being trained to analyze crime scenes, pore over witness testimony, and track serial killers. What trouble could we possibly get into?
Without another word, I hauled my bag out to the car. Nonna followed and, when Michael opened the trunk but made no move to help me with my bag, she shot him a disapproving look.
โYou are just going to stand there?โ she asked.
With an almost imperceptible smirk, Michael took the bag from my hand and hoisted it effortlessly into the trunk. Then he leaned close, into my personal space, and whispered, โAnd here Iโd pegged you as the kind of girl whoโd want to do the heavy lifting herself.โ
Nonna eyed me. She eyed Michael. She eyed what little space there was between the two of us. And then she made a harrumphing sound.
โAnything happens to her,โ she told Michael, โthis familyโwe know how to dispose of a body.โ
Instead of giving in to the mortification and burying my head in my hands, I said good-bye to Nonna and climbed into the car. Michael followed suit.
โSorry about that,โ I said.
Michael arched one eyebrow. โAbout the death threat, or the imaginary chastity belt sheโs fitting you with as we speak?โ
โShut up.โ
โOh, come on, Cassie. I think itโs nice. You have a family that cares.โ
Maybe he thought that was nice, and maybe he didnโt. โI donโt want to talk about my family.โ
Michael grinned, completely undeterred. โI know.โ
I thought back to what Agent Briggs had told me about Michaelโs gift. โYou read emotions,โ I said.
โFacial expressions, posture, gestures, the works,โ he said. โYou nibble on the inside of your lip when youโre nervous. And you get this little wrinkle at the corner of your right eye when youโre trying not to stare.โ
He said all of this without ever taking his eyes off the road. My gaze flitted to the speedometer, and I realized how fast we were going.
โDo youย wantย to get pulled over?โ I squeaked.
He shrugged. โYouโre the profiler,โ he said. โYou tell me.โ He eased off the accelerator ever so slightly. โThatโs what profilers do, isnโt it? You look at the way a person is dressed, or the way a person talks, every little detail, and you put that person in a box. You figure out whatย kindย of individual youโre dealing with, and you convince yourself that you knowย exactlyย what everyone else wants.โ
Okay, so heโd had an experienceโand not a good oneโwith a profiler in the past. I took that to mean that the difficulty Iโd been having getting a read on him was no accident. Heย likedย keeping me guessing.
โYou wear a different style of clothing every time I see you,โ I said. โYou stand differently. You talk differently. You never say anything about yourself.โ
โMaybe I like being tall, dark, and mysterious,โ Michael replied, taking a turn so quickly that I had to remind myself to breathe.
โYouโre not that tall,โ I gritted out. He laughed.
โYouโre annoyed with me,โ he said, wiggling his eyebrows. โBut also intrigued.โ
โWould you stop that?โ Iโd never realized how irritating it was to be the one under the microscope.
โIโll make you a deal,โ Michael said. โIโll stop trying to read your emotions if you stop trying to profile me.โ
I had so many questionsโabout the way heโd grown up, about his ability, about why heโd warned me to stay awayโbut unless I wanted him making an intense study of my emotions, Iโd have to get my answers the normal way.
โFine,โ I said. โDeal.โ
He smiled. โExcellent. Now, as a show of good faith, since Iโve already spent a good chunk of time getting inside your head, Iโll give you three questions to try to get inside mine.โ
The puzzle solver in me wanted to ask what kind of clothes he wore when there was no one around to see him, how many siblings he had, and which one of his parents had turned him into the kind of guy who was a little angry
at the world.
But I didnโt.
Anyone comfortable driving this fast wasnโt going to shy away from a few little white lies. If I asked him what I wanted to know, all I would get was more mixed messagesโso I asked him the only question I was fairly certain heโd answer honestly.
โWhatโs with the Porsche?โ
Michael took his eyes off the road just long enough to flick his gaze over to me, and I knew that Iโd surprised him.
โThe Porsche?โ he repeated.
I nodded. โIโm pretty sure itโs not standard FBI issue.โ
The edges of his lips curved upward, and for once, there was no dark undercurrent to the expression. โThe Porsche was a present,โ he told me. โFrom my life before. Getting to keep it was one of the conditions I gave Briggs for joining up.โ
โWhy wouldnโt he have let you keep it?โ I asked, realizing belatedly that Iโd just burned question number two.
โTax fraud,โ Michael replied. โNot mine. My fatherโs.โ
From the tightness in his voice, I got the feeling that keeping the Porsche probably hadnโt been the only condition of Michaelโs participation in the program. Whether heโd asked for the government to overlook his fatherโs crimes or his father had bartered away his son in exchange for immunity, I wasnโt sure.
I didnโt ask.
Instead, I stuck to safer ground. โWhatโs it like? The program?โ
โIโve only been there for a few months,โ Michael said. โBriggs sprung me to come get you. Good behavior, I guess.โ
Somehow, I doubted that.
Michael seemed to sense that I wasnโt buying it. โAnd also possibly because Briggs needed someone to read your emotions and figure out whether or not youโre a secret bottle of rage who shouldnโt be granted access to confidential files.โ
โDid I pass?โ I asked, a teasing note making its way into my voice. โUh-uh-uh,โ Michael replied. โThatโs four questions.โ
With no warning, he jerked the steering wheel to the left, pulled a U-turn, and then took a fast right. A few seconds later, the two of us slammed into a parking space at what appeared to be some kind of airport hangar.
โWhat,โ I said, my eyes widening as I took in the sleek hunk of metal in front of us, โis that?โ
โThat?โ Michael repeated. โThatโs the jet.โ
โLet me guess,โ I said, only half joking. โYou made getting to keep your private jet a condition of your acceptance into the program?โ
Michael snorted. โSadly, it belongs to the FBI. When Briggs isnโt out roping the young and impressionable into doing his dirty work for him, he belongs to a specialized team that works with law enforcement across the country. The jet cuts down on travel time. For us, itโs just a perk.โ
โCassie,โ Agent Briggs greeted me the second I stepped out of the car. Just my name, nothing else.
Michael hit a button, and the trunk popped open. I went to retrieve my bag, and Michael shot Briggs a very good imitation of Nonnaโs scowl. โYou just going to stand there?โ he asked the FBI agent.
Briggs helped me with my bag, and Michael caught my eye. โAmused,โ he whispered. โAnd also some residual embarrassment.โ
It took me a second to realize that Michael wasnโt interpreting Briggsโs facial expression. He was interpreting mine.
Iโll stop trying to read your emotions if you stop trying to profile me. Liar.
Without another word, Michael turned and sauntered to the jet. By the time I climbed aboard, he was already lounging in the back row of seats. He looked up, his posture inviting, his eyes telling me to stay away.
Tearing my gaze from his, I took a seat in the row in front of him, facing the cockpit. Weโd see how good he was at reading my emotions based on nothing more than the back of my head.
โTell you what,โ Michael whispered, his voice loud enough to reach my ears, but not Briggsโs. โIf you promise not to give me the silent treatment, Iโll give you a fourth question, free of charge.โ
As the plane took off and the city grew small behind us, I turned around in my chair.
โYouโre leaving the Porsche in Denver?โ I asked.
He leaned forward, close enough that his forehead was almost touching mine.
โThe devilโs in the details, Cassie. I never said that Porsche was my only car.โ
YOU
Itโs been days since the last time, days of reliving your failure, over and over again. Each minute has been torture, and now youโre on a schedule. You donโt have the luxury of hunting for the perfect girl. The right girl. Thereโs nothing special about the one youโve chosen, except for the color of her hair.
It reminds you of someone elseโs hair, and thatโs enough. For now.
You kill her in a motel room. No one sees you enter. No one will see you leave. You put duct tape over her mouth. You have to imagine the sound of her screams, but the look in her eyes is worth it.
Itโs fast, but not too fast.ย Itโs yours.
Youโre in charge. You decide. You slide the knife into the flesh under her cheekbone. You carve the heavy makeupโand the skinโoff of her face.
There. Thatโs better.
You feel better. More in control. And you know that even though you donโt have time for pictures, youโll never forget the way the blood looks as it stains her hair.
Some days, you think, it feels like you have been doing this forever. But no matter how many there are, no matter how proficient youโve become at showing them what you are, what they are, there is a part of you that knows.
It will never be quite right.ย It will never be perfect.
There will never be another one like the first.