Page 20 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

“First part, no problem. Second part? Sounds a little ambitious, but I’m willing to try.”

I brush bees gently back into the hive, then set the frame into the box I brought for transport.

Charlie lowers the lid quickly, as instructed, then looks at me as if she just assisted in surgery. “I was magnificent.”

I grin at her, then I check the brood pattern, spot eggs and larvae, and make sure the queen is laying well. I don’t see her, but I don’t need to. Her presence is written everywhere—in the neat pattern, in the steady work, in the calm hum of the colony.

Charlie lasts exactly seven minutes as a beekeeper before her first security incident. To her credit, she does not scream.

“Reese,” she says, her voice sounding wary, “we have a perimeter breach.”

I lower the frame very, very carefully.

Charlie has gone still beside the south hive, one gloved hand still hovering in the air, her whole body locked in the posture of a woman who has just discovered that her courage was only theoretical. Her eyes are enormous behind the mesh. A single honeybee crawls along the inside of her veil, wandering across the screen in front of her nose.

“Huh,” I say.

“We need an extraction plan,” she hisses.

“Okay, just don’t swat at it.”

“I would never.” Her voice is reverent with terror. “I respect her work. But I also need her to leave my face room.”

I press my lips together.

“Do not laugh,” Charlie says.

“I’m not.”

“Your shoulders are laughing.”

“Only because I’ve never heard it called a ‘face room.’ But I like it.”

The bee crawls higher, and Charlie inhales sharply. In what could only be called a terrified whisper, she hisses, “She’s advancing.”

“She’s exploring.” I get the frame back into the hive and close the cover enough that the bees won’t be offended by our drama. “And she can tell when you’re freaking out even if it’s not loud.”

Charlie takes a few slow breaths in an attempt to calm herself. “She has rejected the terms of our border agreement.”

“I know. Just step back slowly.”

Charlie takes one exaggeratedly careful step backward, as if the entire yard has become a laser grid. “Tell my mother I was brave in the face of an airborne assailant with a built-in weapon system.”

“You are being very brave.”

“Tell Owen I died with excellent posture.”

“I will tell him about the excellent posture. But you are not dying.” I guide Charlie away from the hive and unfasten the veil at the back of her jacket before lifting it gently. The bee floats out as if she has simply finished touring the facility.

Charlie’s eyes follow it across the yard. For three full seconds, neither of us moves as Charlie breathes heavily. Then she points at the departing bee. “That was psychological warfare.” I can feel Charlie’s eyes on me as I’m finishing up with the south hive. Eventually, she says, “You’re different out here. With them. You’re very… settled.”

I nod slowly. “That’s because bees reward inner peace and punish flailing about.”

“They’re like tiny flying therapists.”

“With stingers.”

“Well, the best therapists do set boundaries.”