James laughs. “Damn, when did we get so old that a beautiful spring day meant yard work? We should be on the lake, icing down some beer.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Ryan says, but I know if given the option, we’d still leave here and spend the day in the yard, saving the lake and beer for after the work is done.
“Another time,” James says. The small talk lasts a few more minutes while she and I just watch each other. They start to move away, but I put a hand on James’s arm, stopping them. “I was just thinking—do you two have plans for tonight?” I glance quickly at Ryan and then back to them. She’s been dancing just out of my reach for too long. “We’d love it if you came over for dinner.”
She beams at the invitation.
“We’d love that,” James answers for them. “What can we bring?”
“Nothing! We’ve got it.” I look at the woman. “Can’t wait!”
Alias: Izzy Williams—Eight Years Ago
This is the first job where my fake name and background has the backup to support it. I even googled my new name, Isabelle Williams, Izzy for short, and found that I was listed as a member of the cross-country team who competed at state for a local high school a few years ago. Somehow the picture that accompanied the article included a grainy group photo, and I could swear I was the third girl on the right, complete with short blond hair, like the wig I’m wearing right now.
It makes me wonder how many people Mr. Smith has working for him. Not just people being sent on jobs like me but those working behind the scenes, altering images that show up on internet searches and creating identities from thin air.
The only other person I’ve dealt with is Matt, but it feels like whatever this organization is, it’s much bigger than just him and Mr. Smith.
There was a lot to do to get ready for this job. I was given instructions on how to pull my natural hair up and secure it under the wig so that there was no chance any of my strands would be left uncovered. I was also told to apply a thick layer of liquid bandage to the tip of each finger so no matter what I touch while I’m here, I wouldn’t leave a fingerprint behind. I’m to reapply it every couple of hours. I rub my fingers together, still trying to get used to the lack of feeling there. I added the contoured makeup and colored contacts on my own. Mama taught me how a few strokes of powder can change the shape and look of your entire face—although I know she would only have wanted me to use those tricks to enhance my face, not to make it unrecognizable.
It’s the first day of my first job for Mr. Smith, and I have to admit, I’m a little nervous. As far as Greg and Jenny Kingston know, I’m the new nanny for their son, Miles. But in truth, Greg has something in this house that my boss wants, and I’m here to get it for him.
There were a lot of instructions of how to handle items, as well. The second I retrieve the item I’m sent for, I am to drop it at a predesignated spot as soon as possible. It’s harder to get caught if you aren’t in possession of what you stole when they catch you.
Walking up to the front porch, I smooth down my shirt and shorts before ringing the doorbell.
Greg opens the door immediately, as if he has been waiting for me to arrive. He’s wearing a gray suit with a darker gray tie, and his hair looks like it hasn’t changed since he was a young boy. Short and combed to the side, not a strand out of place.
“Isabelle Williams?” he asks, then looks me up and down. I’m dressed exactly as instructed. Khaki shorts that hit two inches above the knee and a pink polo shirt. I look like I’m ready for a round of golf.
My hand reaches out for his and we shake. “Yes, sir. Mr. Kingston. You can call me Izzy.”
He nods and gestures for me to come inside. He checks his watch for the second time since he’s opened the door, then yells toward the wraparound stairs that curve up the foyer wall. “Jenny! She’s here!”
Both of our gazes are trained on the upper landing as we wait for Jenny to show herself.
She doesn’t.
Greg booms her name out again and again we wait.
He’s irritated. And slightly embarrassed. “Excuse me one moment,” he mutters, and then he’s gone. Taking the steps two at a time, he is out of sight within seconds.
“Are you the new babysitter?”
I spin around to find Miles behind me. He’s in the middle of a doorway that leads to the dining room, then eventually the kitchen, according to the blueprints I studied.
Moving toward him slowly, I stop when I’m a few feet away and squat down until I’m on his level. “I am. My name is Izzy. What’s yours?” I ask, even though I already know his name and just about everything about him. Matt gave me a packet that covered every detail about this family when I agreed to work for Mr. Smith. Miles is five years old, an only child, and I’m the fourth nanny that he’s had already this year.