“Remember, there’s a six-hour difference. I’ll call you tomorrow. It will be too late for me to do it when I get there tonight.”
It was Monday morning, and Jack’s flight was leaving later that day, but she’d be gone before Alex got home from school. They were saying their good-byes now, embracing each other tightly, neither one wanting to be the first to let go.
Mr. Harris was waiting out front in the car, watching them patiently, his son Tom sitting in the passenger side. Tom Harris was Alex’s best, and only, friend at Brookland. In nice weather, Alex would ride his bike to school, but when it was snowing or cold, Tom would have his dad drive over to Alex’s house and give him a ride.
Finally Alex broke away, Jack looking at him sadly. “I wish you’d reconsider spending the holidays with Tom. You know his mother wouldn’t mind,” she told him.
“I know, Jack, but Tom doesn’t get to see her much anymore, not since the divorce. He really misses her, and I wouldn’t feel right being there.”
“Okay then. But if anything comes up, call me. I don’t care what time of day it is – you call me,” and she gave Alex a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Yeah, I will. I have to go. I don’t want to be late to school.”
Jack waved at them as they drove away, then went back into the house, closing the door quickly to keep out the cold. She was almost finished packing, so she could take her time cleaning before she left. She knew Alex didn’t want to decorate for Christmas, but she wanted to put something festive out, as a reminder that she cared and was thinking about him even though she wasn’t able to be there.
She’d found the table centerpiece when she’d been stocking up on groceries. Red was her favorite color, and it had caught her eye as she’d walked past it. It consisted of three candles of different sizes, surrounded by bright red poinsettia blooms. She was surprised to see that the blooms were actually artificial; they’d looked and felt so real. She’d bought it on an impulse, knowing that it wouldn’t die from lack of water while she was gone.
She set it out now, arranging it in the middle of the kitchen table where Alex was sure to see it.
With a sigh, she sat down and rubbed her hands over her face, wondering if she was doing the right thing by leaving him alone now. She’d called Mrs. Jones on Saturday evening to let her know that she had to travel to the States for a month, and why she had to go. Technically, even though Jack took care of Alex, MI6 had legal guardianship. Jack wasn’t sure how that all worked, but she was required to keep them informed of anything concerning Alex. Mrs. Jones was the one Jack disliked the least, so that’s who she always called. Jack was certainly not going to call Alan Blunt, especially about this. If he knew she was leaving, he’d be on their front doorstep to steal Alex away as soon as Jack was out of the picture.
Just then, the door alarm chimed, indicating someone had opened the front door. Alex must have left something behind – he did that every now and then - and had come back to retrieve it.
“Alex,” she shouted, “what did you forget now?” She walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, but instead of Alex standing there, it was a stranger.
For a fraction of a second, she was confused. She knew this man. He was attractive – blond hair, blue eyes, about her age. She couldn’t remember where they’d met, though, which was unusual. She was good with names and faces.
Then she inhaled sharply, and stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief.
“You’re Yassen Gregorovich,” she managed to say in a small, hushed voice.
The man held out his arms to his side, showing her that his hands were empty, and said, “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you, about Alex.”