The Ghost

Chapter 8

Could things be worse?

Kirsten has been poisoned, Keith is in another country, there's a possible mole in the Facility, and I'm teamed up with the number one suspect.

I'm down in the training room, taking my frustration out on an unfortunate punching bag.

Kirsten.

Keith.

Jared.

Mira.

I punch the bag five times for each of them, and then roundhouse kick the bag with such force that it flies off the hook that held it suspended, and lands on the other side of the room.

I raise an eyebrow. Can I seriously kick that hard? Surely not. It had to have been something else... Right?

Someone whistles in astonishment. "You know, I knew you had strength, but I didn't think you could do that."

I look around, part of me silently hoping it was Keith. The rational part of me knows it's not, but hey, one can dream, can't they?

I see who it is, and force down the irrational surge of disappointment that swells in my heart as I realize it's Zander.

"Yeah," I pant, "neither did I." I shrug. "I guess I don't know my own strength." I glance back at it. "But, you know, I think the hook it was suspended off broke." I point up at the ceiling, where there's a small piece of metal protruding from the ceiling, that seems to have broken.

He smiles, ignoring my clarification. "What did the poor bag ever do to you?"

I shrug. "A lot of things. But, most recently, it was making fun of how crappy life is right now."

He grunts. "The worst way to insult someone, is it not?"

"Very much so." I nod. "As you can see, it got what it deserved." I gesture to the bag on the floor, a small smile on my face.

He nods. "I'm glad I haven't done anything to incur your wrath," he says.

"Yet,"I say. "You haven't done anything to incur my wrath yet."

"Do many people do that, then?"

I nod. "Too many." I pick up my duffle-bag and sling the strap over my shoulder. "So, why are you all the way down here?"

"Well, I haven't ever actually seen the Capital Facility."

I nod. "It's a lot more regal, isn't it?"

"It is," he agrees.

"Have you seen the Medical Department, yet?"

He looks away. "Yes."

I mentally slap myself. Idiot! Only I would be so stupid as to ask that when it's partly his fault he had to see it.

No, I remind myself. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. If anything, it's my fault for not moving out of the way.

Then again... He may be the double-agent, so I shouldn't feel too bad about it.

I sigh. "God, I can be so brainless sometimes," I mutter, shaking my head.

He looks at me. "It's not your fault," he says.

"No, and it's not yours, either. By God, if I have one more man fret over me because I get injured, I'm going to lose it." I roll my eyes in exasperation.

This brings an amused smile to his face. "Most women would be saying the exact opposite of that, you know."

I shrug. "But then again, most women aren't fighting crime for a secret organization, or, Heaven forbid, threatening men who don't consider them dangerous, now are they?"