Ariella hurries up out of her chair, her heels clicking over the floor. I know it’s her, because she’s the only one in the office right now.
The guys who work here are all out running some type of job.
I’m not privy to it.
Apparently, it’s above my paygrade, which I’m lucky to even be making minimum wage since I’m getting college credit too.
“Are you okay?” Ariella comes around the corner, offering me a hand.
The stacks of papers I was holding on my knee are tossed on the floor.
“Yeah, just got dizzy for a minute.”
“You look a bit flushed.” Ariella smiles and bends down. “Maybe you should sit for a minute.”
“I’m fine.” I brush off my embarrassment and get back on my feet, grabbing all the pages that scattered. At least the files are still stapled, and I don’t have a bigger mess on my hands. “I’ve got it. Thanks, Ariella.”
“If you need anything.” She points at her desk to remind me where she sits.
“I know. I appreciate that. Thank you.”
Smiling, she stands and retreats to her desk.
I run a hand through my hair and wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead. It didn’t feel overly warm when I came in this morning, but the longer I’m on my feet, the hotter I’ve been getting lately.
Weird.
Maybe it’s something I ate?
I ignore the strangeness and get back to the files. Opening the drawer, I sift through the last names—Russell, Russe, Russo. I’m supposed to be filing a Johnathan Russell, which is a ten-page background check. I pause at the name Russo, Ashleigh.
That’s my bio mom’s name.
Emerson is my mom, for all intents and purposes, but I didn’t even meet her until I was six. She raised me. She’s “Mom.”
But Ashleigh, Dad never speaks about her.
I glance over my shoulder, making sure that Ariella isn’t anywhere around, and I grab the folder, tucking it under the pages I still have to file.
When I have a little more privacy in the filing room, which offers a closed door where almost no one ever enters, I collapse on the floor, a filing cabinet at my back, and I retrieve the folder regarding my biological mother.
I open the contents, glancing them over, curious who requested and ran the report.
Request Made By: Emerson Ryan
That’s my mom who works for Eagle Tactical. She’s worked for them as long as I can remember. A few months ago, she transferred to Breckenridge to work out of their field office instead of the New York location. Emerson is more of a field agent, running surveillance ops. I’ve also seen her on the news as a bodyguard detail for one of Dad’s clients in New York, the girlfriend of one of his hockey players. She wasn’t being interviewed or anything, there was just a quick glance of her in the audience next to one of the hockey girlfriends in the stands.
No one else would have noticed, but I have the uncanny ability to overhear my parents’ discussions.
Okay, I like to eavesdrop. Sue me.
I glance over the file. It doesn’t offer too many details that I care about. It lists everything from her rental property, where she lived, the cars she owned. It’s pages of complete and utter crap to me.
I keep scanning, looking for something juicy.
It’s not like I’ve been dying to meet Ashleigh.
The whole not wanting to be in my life part is a downer. I wasn’t adopted. I have an amazing father and a fantastic mother, Emerson.