Page 65 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

“You’ll say something poorly. She’ll misunderstand something. You’ll realize afterward that there was a clearer explanation.” He gives me a pointed look. “But don’t perform honesty so perfectly that it stops sounding honest. Honesty isn’t a maneuver. You don’t deliver the right line and produce the desired response. You tell the truth, and then Reese gets to decide what that truth means to her.”

I let out a long breath. That might be the most terrifying plan anyone has suggested yet.

It’s also the first one that feels right. No performance. No reveal. No operation with rehearsed contingencies and carefully managed variables. Just me telling Reese the truth.

“You know all this,” Abraham says. “You’re good with people, and you know Reese better than anyone. Just listen to your gut.”

I nod as I think things through. I’ll invite her over tomorrow night. No murder mystery playing in the background. No family waiting nearby. I’ll tell her before I can lose my nerve or bury the truth beneath an explanation.

Then I’ll answer every question I’m allowed to answer and let her decide what happens next.

“Thank you,” I say. “That was helpful.”

“Good luck, have fun, and don’t die.”

I stare at him. “I’m telling my best friend the truth, not infiltrating a hostile organization.”

“You appear significantly more frightened of telling her, though.” He stands and picks up the darker pair of glasses. “Now that we’ve established that you’ll tell Reese the truth while wearing your own face, we should discuss the face you’ll be wearing at the private aviation hangar.”

He holds the glasses toward me, and I take them. “These are part of Maxwell now?”

“They are tomorrow.”

“I thought Maxwell already had a face.”

“He does. And the people evaluating him need to see the same man Celeste Alati met on the yacht.” Abraham gestures toward the pieces laid out across his worktable. “But Saturday, Maxwell needed to survive a crowded party. Tomorrow, he needs to survive scrutiny.”

That sounds significantly less enjoyable.

Abraham points toward the chair. “Same age. Same bone structure. Same hairline. Same details Celeste could describe if Rooke’s people ask her. But they may spend considerably more time looking at you from considerably closer.”

I study the glasses. “And these help?”

“They make Maxwell look like a man who considers commercial aviation a personal failure.”

“Good. I was worried we were losing the essence of him.”

Abraham grins and gestures toward the chair in front of the mirror. I sit and take a long breath in and out.

For the first time since receiving clearance, telling Reese doesn’t feel like another role I have to construct. It feels like taking one off.

CHAPTER 14

SIGNS YOUR BEST FRIEND IS A SPY

REESE

My phone buzzes on the nightstand before I’ve opened my eyes enough to confirm that it is morning. I reach toward the sound, knock over a lip balm, miss the phone twice, and finally pull it beneath the covers with me, looking at it through one mostly open eye. The message is from Miles.

Miles: Can you come over tonight at seven? There’s something important I need to tell you.

I sit up much too fast for the number of seconds I’ve been awake. No sentence has ever contained more breakup vibes, and it’s coming from a man I am not technically dating. I quickly type a response.

Reese: Why? Are you moving?

Three dots appear.

Miles: No.