The analyst tried to figure out how an operative from another country could've found out who Kris was and tracked her to Virginia. None of what happened the previous evening made any sense. No closer to finding answers than she had been the night before, Shelby's thoughts turned to what she was going to tell Kris when she got back.
She knew the operative was going to ask her why she had insisted she wear her sunglasses. What do I tell her? There was no evidence that Kris was Blue, yet she'd felt the need to protect her from the prying eyes in the building just in case.
Shelby was barely able to stifle a snort at that thought. Protect Blue? Protect an operative with a reputation for deadly ruthlessness and success? What's gotten into me? Kris hadn't looked like she needed any help at all last night. In fact, she had been coolly efficient. Logically, it was unlikely that Blue or Kris would ever need her help. So, what do I tell her?
Well, uh, you see, I heard this rumor about Blue being in headquarters so I thought you should put your sunglasses on. Yeah right! Maybe it would be best to just tell Kris about the rumor and let the operative draw whatever conclusions she wanted. She's gonna know I think she could be Blue and what if I'm wrong? What will she think of me? Shelby decided the only option she had was to play it by ear and turned her attention back to the documents spread across her desk.
Kris made sure she wasn't being tailed and then pulled into a service station that had a public telephone. She dialed the number she had already memorized.
"General Pyetsky."
She had expected the voice of her contact, not him. She slowly hung up the phone and walked back to Shelby's car. Mechanically climbing into the driver's seat, she tried not to think, but the memories that voice elicited wouldn't be held at bay.
It was a cold, overcast winter morning. She was eight years old. A car pulled up in front of their apartment.
She turned to her mother. "He is here."
"This is an honor, Natasha. You are going to a school for gifted children. I am so proud of you."
But she had heard her mother softly crying every night that week and she didn't want to go. She didn't want to be gifted. She wanted to be normal and live with her mother and her cat, Sasha.
Tears rolled down her face. "I don't want to leave, Mama. Please don't make me."
Her mother hugged her. "I will write you a letter every day. And you get to come home for every holiday. I'll make your favorite dishes and invite all of our friends."
"What will happen to Sasha?"
"Don't you worry about Sasha. I'll take good care of her."
She watched out the window as the man walked up to their door and knocked.
"Mama, please don't open the door. I don't want to go."
"Natasha, it will be all right." She opened the door.
He walked in and asked, "Is this Natasha Lubinyenka?"
"Yes, this is my daughter."
She saw a tear in her mother's eye and glared at the man. "I am not going."
He laughed at her and tried to grab her arm. She jumped back. "My mother needs me to help her. I am staying."
His smile faded, and he suddenly had a grip on her arm. "You will learn obedience at the institute."
His hand was steadily squeezing her arm tighter and tighter. She cried out, "Mama, he's hurting me."
"Let go of her. She will walk to the car with you."
The stranger had hit her mother so hard, she stumbled back against the table. Then he half carried and half dragged her from the house. Her mother came running after them, begging the man to quit hurting her.
She had finally been able to grab hold of her mother and she hung on for dear life. As she watched in horror, the man brutally punched her mother in the stomach and shoved her into the car. The last thing she saw as they drove away was her mother lying crumpled on the ground.
CHAPTER 8
GREGOR CLOSED THE file one of his sources had provided on Shelby Carson and sat back in his chair, mentally reviewing the contents.
Shelby's father died when she was a toddler and her mother, Lisa, and stepfather, Jonathan Whiteman had reared her. While little information had been gathered on her biological father, there was a thick dossier on Whiteman, who had recently completed three years of parole after being convicted of domestic violence. Shelby's only sister had married and moved to Seattle and two teenage half brothers lived with her mother in Arlington.
She had done well in college, graduating with a 3.7 grade point average, and had worked for two years as a computer analyst while concurrently obtaining a Master's degree in Psychology, before joining the CIA. It was after she joined the Agency that the file got interesting.
Her rise to top-level analyst had been nothing short of meteoric in the brief time she had been there. With her promotion had come the awarding of the highest security clearance the Agency granted, and the background search that usually took nine months to a year had been expedited and completed in only four months.
A slow smile warmed Gregor's face. He picked up the phone and began dialing.
Sitting on one end of the couch after changing out of her work clothes, Kris tucked up a leg and shifted to face Shelby. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "So, why the sudden interest in my wearing sunglasses?"
Shelby thought she'd gotten away with not offering an explanation. Kris had been usually quiet since her return from lunch and had rebuffed her questions with noncommittal answers. Wanting to lighten the atmosphere, she quipped, "I already told you. They look good on you."
She smiled, but her eyes remained serious and she sighed in the wake of Kris' unwavering gaze. "There's a rumor going around that one of the operatives on our list is at headquarters."
"And...?"
"I don't know if they're talking about you, but I suspect they have no idea what the operative looks like, so just in case, I thought you should be more disguised."
Inwardly roiling, Kris took a deep breath. "Shelby. Who is the operative?"
"Blue."
"And you think that's who I am?"
Grinning, Shelby countered, "I don't know that it's not."
The corner of Kris' mouth turned up. She was trying to protect me. Why should she care? "Thanks for looking out for me."
Shelby smiled shyly and looked away. "You're welcome."
Kris searched for something light to say. She was usually adept at casual conversation when necessary, but Shelby's concern had touched her and she was still trying to come to grips with that.
"Do you see your aunt and uncle very often?"
Kris glanced at Shelby, surprised at the question. "No. You could say we're estranged."
"Oh."
The operative was curious about Shelby's family, and wanted the focus of the conversation off her own past, but understood that if she expected the analyst to be open with her, she had to be forthcoming as well. "What's your family like?"