In the end, they settled on a pair of skinny jeans and a short pink sweater beneath one of Emily’s down-filled coats that reached Vivienne’s ankles. She had borrowed a pair of black snow boots from Emily’s closet as well.
On their way out of the apartment, Deacon handed her a ball of knitted fabric. “Here. Put this on.”
It was a black beanie. Before she realized what she was doing, she lifted the soft material to her nose and inhaled. It smelled so good. Would it be weird if she asked to keep it? Friends gave friends hats, right?
He tilted his head to the side, reminding her of a curious puppy.
“It smells like you.” She bent her head to conceal the warmth rising along her throat and pulled his hat over her hair. “What do you think?”
“Depends.” A grin. “Are you wearing the pink bra?”
She rolled her eyes at him and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
A message buzzed through to Deacon’s phone as he and Vivienne staked out Walmart from the comfort and seclusion of his car. A moment later, her phone dinged.
“Be sure to turn your mobile on silent,” he said, skimming the message from Albert.
Vivienne pressed the buttons on the side. “Done.”
“It looks like we just need to buy this shampoo.” He leaned over to see a matching photo on her screen.
“Sounds simple enough.” She shoved her phone into her coat pocket.
“Yes, but we don’t know who we’re up against or when they’ll arrive.” He lifted his hand to tuck a lock of her hair beneath the knitted cap, but stopped. She’d made it clear she wasn’t into him anymore. He needed to let it go. “Come on. We should go inside.”
Deacon followed Vivienne into the store and straight to the colorful, fragrant aisle. “I’ve never understood why there are so many,” he said, picking up a bottle of purple shampoo claiming to make blonds blonder. “It’s just hair.”
“Now that you’re blond maybe you should buy it.” She yanked a bit of his wig.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“Come on.” Vivienne pulled his sleeve. “What we’re looking for is over here.” She found the bottle with ease, and they weaved their way to the Customer Service desk at the back of the store to swap purchases.
“Keep an eye out for anyone you recognize,” he said, pointing toward the cavernous shop. “And let me know if someone gets close.”
Deacon handed the clerk the CD and the receipt along with the bottle of shampoo. The transaction took less than three minutes; the entire time, his blood thrummed in his ears and his adrenaline threatened to lift him straight to the ceiling.
He loved playing tag.
“Thank you for shopping at Walmart,” the girl behind the register said with what seemed like a forced smile.
He thanked her, took the bag from the counter, and returned to Vivienne’s side. “See anything suspicious?”
Vivienne shook her head. The knitted cap slid forward, nearly covering her eyes. She shoved it back. “All clear.”
“Good. Let’s get out of here.” Before he realized what he was doing, his fingers were laced with hers and they were racing toward the nearest exit. When they rounded the corner by the children’s bikes, Vivienne froze.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered, crouching to untie then re-tie his shoe, scanning the area.
“I think Ethan’s by the fishing poles.”
He peeked around the tire of a pink princess bike and swore. A man of Ethan’s height was wearing a lumpy green army jacket and a pair of tight navy sweatpants tucked into black combat boots. When the man turned his head, Deacon recognized his profile. “Yeah, that’s him.” He stepped back, and she followed him.
“How do we know if he’s on our team or not?”
“We don’t.”
Her hand came to rest on his wrist. “What should we do?”
Main entrance? Too far.
Garden Center? No. They’d have to pass Ethan to reach it.
The only option was Tire and Lube.
When Ricky wandered into the toy aisle to their right, Deacon knew there was no way they would make it out together.
“Take this and run to the Tire and Lube.” He shoved the bag into her arms. “You should be able to get out of the store there.”
“What about you?” The worry in her eyes made him want to take her into his arms and kiss her until they forgot the game altogether.
“The more of us HOOK can capture to soak for information and DNA,” he said, pulling the brim of his hat lower, “the closer those bastards get to unlocking the key to the Nevergene. We have an experienced extraction team whose sole responsibility is to get us out of sticky situations.”
“But this isn’t real. It’s a game.” She pointed to the puzzles across the aisle. “There’s no extraction team coming to save us from tag.”
He put his hands on her slim shoulders and squeezed. “I refuse to see you lose your first game. When you get out, go to the rendezvous point and give Albert the mark.”
“But—”
“Go!”
Once she rounded the corner, he pulled his collar around his neck, tucked his hands into the deep pockets, and walked between the spare tires and life preservers toward the fish tanks.
“Tag!” Ethan jumped from where he had mistakenly believed he had been concealed between a canoe and kayak and slapped Deacon’s back.
“Dammit, Ethan, take it easy!” He was unbearable when he won anything. Deacon would be hearing about this for the next year.
“Sorry, Dash.” Ethan wrapped his arms around Deacon’s chest and lifted him off the ground. “I always knew I’d be the one to end your perfect run.”
Deacon pushed free, knocking Ethan into a rack of novelty T-shirts. “I let you catch me.”
“Ah, ah.” Ethan waved a finger in his face. “No one likes a sore loser.”
“I’m not a sore loser.”
“Where’s Vivienne?” Ethan called to Ricky when the recruiter approached from the opposite direction.
“Didn’t find her,” Ricky said, putting his empty hands in the air.
Deacon checked his watch. “I imagine she’s taking the mark to Albert right about now.”
Ethan growled but rebounded quickly. “Ah, well. I guess I’ll have to make do with knocking you from your pedestal. Has anyone ever told you that you make a pretty blond?”
“Has anyone told you how obnoxious you are?” Deacon murmured. The two faux agents escorted him to the main entrance near the pharmacy.
“Not today, my friend,” Ethan laughed, squeezing Deacon’s neck in excitement. “Not today.”
Two weeks later, when Vivienne and Deacon partnered for an impromptu round of tag at the mall, she was ready.
The mild weather meant they couldn’t hide beneath large coats and winter hats.
“I could get into the redhead thing,” Deacon said, pulling a black leather jacket from his back seat.
“I kinda like it myself.” Vivienne fluffed the ends of her expensive auburn wig and checked her hairline in the rearview mirror. “Our last game of tag inspired me to get more creative.”