Page 112 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

Nora transfers the surveillance records while Ledger and I report what we saw. Emerson adds three new photographs to the network. “The woman is an emergency-room nurse,” Emerson says. “No criminal history. No financial irregularities. The delivery driver has two traffic citations and a small business loan. Neither has any apparent connection to Acer, Rooke Strategic Services, or each other.”

“Someone recruited them,” I say.

Emerson nods. “Or someone recruited the person who recruited them.”

Ledger rubs one hand over his face. “That sentence is why I should’ve become a dentist.”

Evelyn arrives during the final ten minutes of the debrief. She listens, asks three questions, and orders us all home. “Recovery will handle the vehicle,” she says. “You’ll receive an update after you’ve slept.”

I retrieve my phone and see two messages from Reese. The first came at ten eleven.

Reese: I assume the pending task will remain pending until further notice.

The second came at midnight.

Reese: No need to answer. Just checking that my important relationship question hasn’t been lost beneath international crime.

I type while walking toward the elevator.

Miles: Back at the agency. Safe. The question is still at the top of the list.

I don’t expect her to be awake, but her answer arrives before the elevator doors close.

Reese: You’re back?

Miles: Yes. Debriefing is finished.

Reese: It’s almost six a.m.

Miles: I’m aware. When can I see you?

Reese: After you’ve slept enough that you can remember the answer to my question.

Miles: I already remember it.

Reese: Sleep anyway, Agent Lancaster. Don’t worry about me—I’ll just be thinking about you all day long while I’m at the library.

I smile. It’s ridiculous how much one text can do to my pulse. For years, kissing Reese has lived firmly in the category of things I wanted and couldn’t have. Now, it’s only a matter of when.

Miles: Tonight?

Reese: Tonight.

I go home, drink some beet juice to hopefully give me back some of what the day took from me, and sleep. When I wake, Charlie has sent a brief operational update. I read the message, then put the phone down. Rooke’s network will still be there tomorrow. The question Reese asked has already waited too long.

I shower, shave, and spend several minutes trying to decide on a shirt to wear before recognizing the absurdity. Reese has seen me covered in mud, blood, paint, bee pollen, and once an entire bowl of guacamole. She is unlikely to revoke permission to kiss her because of my choice of shirt.

I choose a gray sweater anyway because she once said it makes my eyes look unfair. Then I drive to Reese’s townhome and park out front. As I’m walking up her stairs, I send her a text.

Miles: When can I see you?

Her answer pops up immediately.

Reese: Right now.

So, I knock on her door.

Reese pulls the door open so quickly that the wind from it moves her hair. She’s standing there in leggings, an oversized sweater, and socks covered in tiny books. Her hair is twisted into a loose knot, and she is wearing bee glasses. She looks cozy, rumpled, and so attractive that my attention catches for a second on the curve of her legs before I force it back to her face.