Chapter 16

Brandon wondered to himself if he was crazy, if he’d lost his mind or the trauma of getting beaten a few days prior had knocked a few screws loose. Eve just looked at him, wide eyed, mouth agape, a slight expression seeping past the shock that verged on disgust. It was like he was watching all of the paranoid concerns a young woman has about meeting a man flash before her eyes in an instant like a feature film starring her mother and titled, “I told ya so.” Brandon immediately didn’t know if going any further was a good idea or not, or rather, he knew it was a bad idea, but felt so strongly about Eve that it seemed worth shattering her view of the world. It was his most meaningful gesture of trust, the most powerful means by which he could convey his feelings for her… while also an incredibly selfish act. A good man would have told her to go, a good agent would never be in this position to begin with. If Brandon was neither of those, then what was he? He wasn’t sure anymore.

“My name is James Carter. I’m from Connecticut, I’ve never even been to Toronto,” Brandon continued as though his mouth had decided to let all his secrets go while his brain debated about what to do next. Eve’s look of shock gave way to a wide eyed terror. Brandon assumed she was picturing his next admission to have something to do with ax murder.

“You lied to me?” Eve put one of her hands over her mouth.

“I had to, Eve. There’s a lot going on that you don’t understand… but if you’ll let me, I’ll try to explain it all to you.” As Brandon resigned himself to full disclosure, his internal monologue was justifying his actions, scrambling to make him feel as though he was doing the right thing and somewhere, in the midst of the chaos of his mind, the word “love” popped into his head.

“Okay,” tears were welling in her eyes, “then you explain it to me.” Her sentence ended with a twist of anger.

“Not out here. Let’s get inside, okay?” Brandon gestured toward the door behind her. Eve glanced back at it, then at him again as though she was sizing up the threat. After a second of trying to decide how much danger she was in, she relented and replied with a teary, uncertain nod. Brandon stepped past her with unsure feet, unlocked the door and stepped inside out of the rain. Once Eve was inside as well, she shut the door and locked it behind her as she has seen Brandon do a half dozen times before, then suddenly paused and awkwardly unlocked it again, glancing at Brandon as she did. His training demanded the door be locked behind him for security reasons, but his training had also demanded that this conversation never happen to begin with. Brandon didn’t say a word.

“Okay, so let’s hear it Brandon, or James? Whatever the fuck your name actually is.” Eve spoke as though she had already decided not to believe what he had to say next. It didn’t bode well for Brandon as he was only now starting to realize that the chances of this cute college girl from Massachusetts believing him when he explained that he was actually a secret agent working for the United States via a third party private contracting intelligence agency were remote at best. He took a minute to collect his thoughts. “Well?” She was already impatient.

“You might want to sit down,” Brandon began. Eve crossed her arms and stood her ground, “okay… well, uh…” Brandon knew he must already seem like he was lying, finally he decided to just go the direct route with the truth, “I work for an agency that’s contracted out by the federal government of the United States. I live within a foreign community under the guise of someone with pertinent business to conduct in the region and collect primarily unquantifiable information about the culture: things like popular opinions on geo-politics, foreign trade, and any threats to the US and her allies.” His definition was practically out of the manual he’d had to read a hundred times in training. Eve smiled, which was both a relief and a little frightening to Brandon, did she believe him? Was she laughing at who she had just decided was a lunatic?

“Sure. Okay, so you’re a secret agent and what does that make me? A Bond girl?” Well, that answered that question.

“Well… secret agent is a pretty broad term, and not one that we generally use…” Brandon suddenly felt like he may be ice skating up hill.

“Oh, I’m sorry, well then what do you call yourself Bra… James?” Her hands were planted firmly on her hips now.

“I’m a cultural analyst. I don’t chase bad guys or get into gun fights. I just read the newspaper, talk to some locals, write reports and send them to my superiors.” Brandon answered her with a disappointed tone. Partially, because he knew she didn’t believe him, but partially because describing the reality of his “secret agent” job was as depressing as ever in the face of a beautiful woman whose heart he’d just ripped out.

“Ohhhhhhhh, well why didn’t you say so? It makes perfect sense that they’d send a white guy to Honduras to infiltrate their culture! I guess they couldn’t find any Hispanic people in the United States?” It was a question Brandon had asked when given his assignment two years ago. It didn’t take a graduate degree to notice Brandon stood out on Roatan Island.

“People from this culture are particular about which countries in the area can be trusted. A shift in politics and a Dominican or Puerto Rican man may no longer be welcome here. Canadians are rarely at odds with Latin American countries and working for the cruise lines makes me likeable, or at least tolerable, to a community that’s so dependent on tourist money.” Brandon gave her the answer they’d given him. His serious, seemingly rehearsed delivery almost seemed to convince Eve for a second. Her eyes softened a bit, but her hands stayed where they were.

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me that if I start going through your kitchen cabinets I’ll find all your guns and spy gadgets?”

“No gadgets,” Brandon sat down on the bed, even though all the turmoil, his aches and pains were getting the better of him, “just me.”

“No gadgets, what about guns?” Her eyes were wide again, as though the idea that he was telling the truth had only now crossed her mind.

“Just one.” Brandon slid the drawer on his nightstand open to reveal the black metal box that contained his pistol. The painted steel contrasted against the dilapidated wood strongly, making the reveal a bit more dramatic than he expected.

“Show it to me.” Eve took her hands off her hips and crossed her arms.

“I don’t think taking a gun out right now is the best idea…” Brandon never liked the idea of introducing firearms into heated conversations, another difference between himself and a better spy named James.

“Show it to me.” She repeated her statement. Brandon sighed and unsecured the Velcro straps around his broken hand. He slid the brace off gently revealing the wrinkled, purpled skin that his hand was now made of and placed his palm on the box. After a second, the flashing red light turned green and the familiar whir of the deadbolts retracting let him know that he could return his fragile hand to the painful comfort of its brace. As he slid his hand back inside, the lid to the lockbox popped up ever so slightly and he paused his Velcro work to open it and reveal the pistol inside. It was a subcompact nine millimeter, though at first glance it looked more like a twenty-two. The handle extended further than the barrel, allowing the small weapon to still fit comfortably in James’ rather large hands. Eve stepped forward and looked down into the box, then glanced back up at him unimpressed. Once Brandon had secured his brace, he removed the pistol from the box with his good hand, removed the magazine and pulled back the slide to confirm that there wasn’t a round in the chamber before passing it to her.

“There’s my gun.” He stated as though it should put the entire subject to rest.

“Having a gun doesn’t make you a secret agent,” Eve spoke to the pistol as she rolled it around in her hands to look at it from every angle. Her tentative way of holding it lead James to believe that she’d never touched a firearm before.

“Well they stopped giving out decoder rings in the seventies, so I’m not really sure what else I can do to prove it.” Brandon stood up and placed his hand on the pistol. She relinquished her grip and he placed it back in the box and closed the lid.

“Well,” she said looking into Brandon’s eyes again for the first time since she’d come inside, “you do kiss like a secret agent.” She stepped closer to him. Her change of tone caught Brandon by surprise, “I guess you have that going for you.”

“Not sure I can chalk that up to training,” Brandon leaned in for a kiss, but Eve turned away.

“I’m still not sure I believe you,” She spoke off to her right.

“That’s okay, I’m still not sure I should have told you.” Brandon looked down to the floor.

“No… I’m glad you did… James.” She said his name for the first time without any animosity sullying it.

“I usually go by Jimmy,” he whispered.

“Jimmy Carter? Gimme a break,” she replied as she reached up and pressed her lips against his. When the kiss ended she spoke again, “You can’t be lying, no one is dumb enough to make that shit up.” Brandon smiled and they kissed again.

Over the span of the next few hours, James continued to explain the set of circumstances that brought him to Roatan Island and her belief of his story seemed to increase as he continued to paint the mundane truth of his profession into his explanation. Surprisingly, lying to her didn't seem to have bothered her particularly. "Come on, this isn't a movie, I'm not an idiot, I get it." Was her response when he asked why his dishonesty was of such little concern. She explained that she simply assumes a guy is lying in the early stages of a relationship and this was a relief as compared to being an ax murderer or the star of a reality TV show. James' primary obstacle in explaining the situation was that for all of the intricacies of his life, he'd never had to explain it before. He had never even thought about HOW to explain it before. It simply wasn't something he anticipated ever doing. His awkward bumbling of the explanation, he worried, would make him seem like he might have been making it up, but slowly, Eve started to accept that James might actually be telling the truth. The conversational explosion that was James' admission had derailed their dramatic moment and postponed, in a way, the conversation that they needed to have, but to James, sharing this secret was much more profound than he wondered if Eve knew. He had just placed his career in danger and worse, may have even placed both their very lives at risk... But something about that was liberating. He found himself reveling in his honesty, like a teddy bear he'd loved as a child and hadn't seen in too long. The truth wrapped around him like a warm blanket and for the first time, Eve wasn't a distraction from his constant misery, she was its very cure. He wondered if this was what it was like to come out of the closet for a homosexual. Eventually though, James ran out of truth and they were left with nothing but a mutual fear of rejection and uncertainty as to how to steer things back toward what was actually going on between them. "So... Have you ever told anyone who you really are before?" Eve seemed like she was longing for him to say no. He could see that she wanted to be important, the first, written across her face. Fortunately, she was. "I've never told anyone before." He stated concretely. "I guess that means you must..." She trailed off as she tried to think of the appropriate words. "Really care about you." James finished the sentence for her and crossed his hands on his lap. He felt painfully vulnerable and didn't quite know how to act. "You promise I'm the first?" Her eyes twinkled as she asked. "Seems like a pretty silly time to start lying now." James smiled, though she may not have been able to see. He was still looking at his hands. "That's kind of a big deal," Eve said out loud to herself. She turned her head as the weight of the realization finally hit her. "Yeah... I guess it goes without saying that you can't tell anyone or else I'd get into a lot of trouble..." "Would they kill you?" Eve looked fearful, as though she didn't want to be burdened with that kind of power. "I don't think so... Probably just pull me out of here, or cut me off and strand me here as Brandon Webb. I'm honestly not sure." "Could you quit?" Eve sat down next to him on the bed. "I'm not really sure how that works either... But I think so." They didn't cover resignations in training. "Would you, well I mean that like, if something happened that seemed like it might be... Christ. I don't know what I'm even saying." Eve slapped her hands down onto her lap in frustration. James could relate; it was a delicate balance between finding the words that show you care and not coming on too strong, or crazy, or whatever else you might be afraid to sound like at the early stage of a relationship. "You said you needed me... But you didn't know the real me." James felt as though he was explaining why he told her, then realized it must have sounded as if it came from out of the blue. "I know you, Jimmy Whatever. You're not a name or a job or a hometown. You're the guy that fought five assholes to try to save me. You're the guy that brought me on the best date of my life. You're the guy that makes me feel butterflies in my stomach when I think about you." She was staring into him with the honest, blue eyes. James was sure he was in love. "That sounded like a line from a TV show," he kidded her and put his arm over her shoulder. His braced hand hung over her right arm. "That coming from the guy who's a spy." James had to admit, it was a good point. "So what now?" He hesitated a bit to ask. "You kiss me, I kiss you back, we make dinner?" Her coy smile was a weapon she clearly knew how to use. "That's it? It's that simple?" "Nothing is simple Bran... Jimmy: not by a long shot, but I'm in. I don't even know what IN means, but whatever it is, it's with you. That's good enough for me." His heart rate was comparable to an astronaut during reentry. It had never crossed his mind that he could get the girl. "It's not going to be easy... I'm not allowed to have a... a..." "You think I'm your girlfriend already?" She stood up off the bed, "it takes more than one date for that kinda thing, mister. You spies think you're SO good with the ladies!" She put her hands on her hips and faced him, a big smile let him know she was kidding. "I was going to say secretary." James waved her off. "Oh really?" She announced dramatically, "what if I told you that I'm a bad guy spy and I've been playing you for your important newspaper secrets?" She leaned down until their noses were almost touching. "They teach us how to pick those out at spy school, obviously." James lowered his voice as their lips came closer. "So what's the test?" Her voice grew breathy as she lowered hers. "Make them say 'moose and squirrel' and check for an accent." He whispered before pressing his lips into hers. She reached over and wrapped her arms around his neck. She leaned into him as they kissed and slid her knees onto the bed on either side of his legs. She kept her arms wrapped around his neck as he leaned back toward the bed to help him lie down gently before pressing her chest into his and hurting his ribs anyway. James couldn't care less, he wasn't even sure he had ribs anymore.