Page 66 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

Reese: Dying?

Miles: No.

Reese: Getting bangs?

This response takes slightly longer.

Miles: Absolutely not.

At least there are still a few reliable things in my life.

Reese: Does an angry mob boss have your name on a list?

The dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Miles: Why is that your fourth guess?

Reese: Because in my awakened-alarmed state, it’s the fourth possibility that came to mind.

I hesitate before typing the next one. At Ledger and Zoe’s engagement celebration two days ago, I heard Miles say that he wanted what they had. That he was ready to go out and find it. At the time, horror hit me. Since then, I’ve discovered that knowing your best friend is ready to go find someone feels remarkably similar to having someone slowly lower a rhinoceros onto your chest.

What if he already found her? Miles is excellent at locating people. Apparently, it’s part of client relations. It’s a hard question to ask, but I have to know.

Reese: Did you find someone?

The three dots don’t appear this time. I wait. And wait. And keep waiting until my phone screen dims. I tap it awake.

Reese: Miles?

Miles: You’re not losing me. I have to go. We’ll talk tonight. Not over text.

That is not a no. That was not a no.

I fall back against my pillows and press the phone to my forehead. It isn’t even seven a.m. yet, which means I have more than twelve hours to wonder whether my best friend is… I look back at the responses… being hunted by organized crime or announcing that he has found the woman he plans to spend the rest of his life with.

Getting bangs, moving, and dying have been eliminated, at least.

I put on my glasses, drag myself from bed, and head downstairs. If I’m going to be emotionally destroyed all day long in anticipation of tonight, I’m going to need breakfast.

Charlie is already in the kitchen, fully dressed in black pants and a dark green sweater, with her hair pulled back and her work bag sitting beside her chair.

I stop in the doorway. “Why do you look ready to participate in society? It’s Saturday.”

“I have to go into work.”

“So does Miles.”

Her gaze flicks toward me before she picks up her travel mug. “Yeah. A few of us do.”

“Is it the same client who made you all work most of the night a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes.” She gives me the answer too quickly, which is suspicious. Everything feels suspicious this morning.

“Do you know what Miles needs to tell me tonight?”

Charlie’s fingers tighten around her mug. It’s barely a movement, but I know Charlie. She has a face that usually announces every feeling she has before she can decide whether she wants to share it. Right now, her expression goes blank in a way that is much more alarming than if she had gasped and dropped her coffee. “He should be the one to read you in,” she says.

I blink. Charlie freezes.