Dangerously Devoted

Mack’s P.O.V.

I see the box in front of my apartment door, and I look around to see if anyone is watching me. As always, no one is in sight. I have been receiving anonymous gifts with notes that make no sense on the first Monday of every month since my twenty-first birthday, three and a half years ago. Sometimes it’s flowers or candy, and other times it’s jewelry or even lingerie, which is always the right size. I hesitate before picking up the box and look around one more time. Once I get inside, I toss the box onto my kitchen table along with my purse and keys. I’ll get to the box in a minute. 

I go into my bedroom, kick off my heels, and remove my black dress. One of my co-workers had a freak accident and was hit by a bus. We weren’t particularly close; in fact, Shelly hated me because she was sleeping with the bank manager, yet he kept asking me out even though I constantly turned him down. We’re tellers at one of the largest banks in Boston. Well, at least that’s what I am right now.

I remove the blonde wig I’m wearing, take out the contacts that make my gray eyes look blue, and run my fingers through my long black hair. My name is Mackenzie Wells, and I am a hired spy or infiltrator, depending on the person who hires me. I was abandoned as a toddler at a hospital in Chicago. I learned really quickly that the best way to survive the foster care system was by becoming whatever the people who were my so-called caregivers wanted me to be. I still got hit sometimes, or food was withheld, but I survived, and I was never molested. I know there were others who weren’t so lucky. I push those thoughts out of my head as I change into my pajamas. 

When I graduated from high school, I didn’t go to college. Instead, I went onto the deep net and offered my services to be an undercover infiltrator. I do my homework on what is required for every position I apply for, including education, experience, and any other pertinent details. That’s when I begin working on the fake documents and set up burner phones so I can take the calls that come for my references. The only thing I draw the line at is doing something that can hurt an innocent person. For instance, I’m not going to pretend to be a nurse or a doctor, but I have worked as a medical receptionist or clerk. I change my name for each new position, and I have someone who I pay well to make me a fake ID and social security number to match my documents. It takes a lot of hard work to become someone different every few months, but I have found that the best way to get the information is to get a job and access to the target company's computer systems. 

I return to the kitchen and look at the box on the table. With every new job I take and new identity I become, the person who leaves me the gifts and notes finds me in whatever city I happen to be in. No one knows my real name, not even the people I have working for me, but the cards on the boxes always say Mackenzie on them. I untie the red ribbon on the small white box and open the lid. There’s a blue jewelry box inside. I open it and take out the delicate sterling silver ring with a ruby birthstone. I slide it onto my finger, and it fits just like I knew it would. I pick up the note. 

Mackenzie, the clues will lead you to the truth.

What clues? Were there clues left with the gifts? I open my purse, pull out the envelope where I have kept all the notes, and dump them onto the table. I have the dates I received them written on them, so I sort them from the first one I received to the one that came with the ring. At first, I don’t see anything as I read them from beginning to end. It seems like gibberish. I go to the kitchen, get a cold slice of leftover pizza out of the refrigerator, and a can of soda. As I eat the cold pizza, I keep studying the notes. I have to be missing something.

I remove the note from today because it’s a direct message, unlike the others. I begin rearranging the notes, and still nothing pops out at me. Maybe the first letter of each word means something. I go through each note and write down the first letter of each word. When I arrange them into a sentence, I drop the pencil and begin shaking. Can this be true?