Page 23 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

CHAPTER 6

NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH

MILES

After spending most of the night helping tear apart everything we know about Julian Rooke, his clients, and the kind of person Celeste Alati might be willing to stake her reputation on, followed by nowhere near enough sleep, there are only two things I want in the world. The chipotle chicken panini from Black-Eyed Sue’s, and Reese.

Most people notice faces. I notice who looks comfortable together. Who keeps checking over their shoulder. Who smiles because they’re happy and who smiles because they need everyone else to think they are. It makes me good at my job.

And, okay, I notice Reese. She’s wearing a short-sleeved wrap dress in a bright floral print, tiny gold bee earrings, and sandals. The dress fits her in ways I am trying very hard not to catalogue with the same precision I use on surveillance, but I can’t say I haven’t noticed the curve of her waist anyway.

Reese notices completely different things about everyone than I do. Which is precisely why people-watching with her is one of my favorite pastimes. We’re currently eating our paninis at one of a handful of patio tables overlooking Main Street in Cloakwood. The hot summer weather is finally leaning toward fall, so the evening is the perfect temperature, and lots of people are out.

I point at a man in his early thirties carrying a reusable grocery bag. “Gray polo. Grocery bag. Go.”

Reese studies him for about two seconds as she’s wiping her hands on her napkin. Then she says, “He is absolutely proposing to his girlfriend tonight.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“She’s been convinced for months he’s incapable of planning anything romantic because every anniversary gift he’s given her has come from a gas station.”

I chuckle. This game of trying to figure out the backstories of strangers and what makes them tick is something I’ve played since I was young. As a kid, sometimes I played it with my siblings, but usually not. When there are six of you in a public place and you’re all looking at the same person, couple, or family, clearly talking about them, people tend to get a bit uncomfortable.

When Reese and I started hanging out in college, she was actually the one to start this game with me. Apparently, she’d been doing it her whole life, too.

“Okay, what’s your proof he’s about to propose?”

“He keeps checking the grocery bag to make sure the ring box is still there.”

“He could be checking his groceries. Maybe he’s got ice cream he’s worried will melt.”

Reese shakes her head. “Nope. If it were groceries, he’d look once. He’s looked three times in the past—oh, four times now.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that. What else?”

“He keeps practicing smiling. That’s an ‘I’m trying not to throw up from nerves’ smile.”

“And the flowers? Are they in the grocery bag, too?”

She shakes her head. “There aren’t any.”

“He forgot flowers?”

“No. He knows his girlfriend loves penguins way more than flowers. They’re going to the aquarium after dinner because that’s where they had their first date. He plans to propose in front of the penguin habitat.”

“The penguin habitat, huh? And what’s your proof for that?”

She forks a chunk of cantaloupe from her fruit bowl. “He’s wearing sensible shoes, Miles. That is not the look of a man trying to impress someone. That’s the look of a man who’s about to try to make someone he loves feel known.” She sticks the cantaloupe in her mouth.

I smile and take a bite of my panini. Reese has no idea she is the most restful part of my life. Which is ironic, considering she has enough energy for three people.

The nearly five hours of sleep I managed to get before meeting Reese hasn’t been nearly enough for me to untangle everything from last night and this morning. ISID has confirmed exactly which seven asset identities were stolen, six teams are working to keep the surviving assets safe, and we finally have a possible route into Rooke’s sale.

Me.

Or, more specifically, Maxwell Shaw.

I spent the better part of the night doing what I do best—following people instead of just data. Celeste Alati has a history, contacts, habits, preferences, people she trusts, and people she avoids. Databases can tell me all of that. What they can’t tell me is what makes her decide someone belongs in the first category instead of the second. And by Saturday night, I have to figure it out.