Page 70 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

“And if he is?”

“I replace him.”

“Not the route?”

“The route isn’t the problem.”

The man holding the tablet makes a note.

I stare. Maybe this actually is client relations. Very, very strange client relations involving mystery items and compromised couriers.

The woman asks, “The client insists on using him.”

“Then the client isn’t paying me for my judgment. He’s paying me to take the blame when his goes badly.”

The corner of her mouth moves.

Miles is watching her hands. Her shoulders. The angle of her feet.

He’s reading her.

Just like he reads strangers when we’re people-watching.

The man with the tablet speaks next. “Someone approaches you after the transfer and offers twice your fee for the name of the client.”

Miles barely pauses. “Then I know two things.”

“What?”

“They don’t know the client’s name, and someone involved in the transfer talks too much.”

Another note goes onto the tablet.

The woman circles him slowly enough that it feels less like a conversation and more like an inspection.

“What would you do with that information?”

“Find the person who talks too much.”

“And then?”

“That depends on why they were talking.”

She studies him. Something about this is definitely not normal.

She steps closer to Miles as she asks another question I can’t hear. Her shoulder brushes his arm as she moves past him. Miles doesn’t react.

A few seconds later, the woman checks her phone, and something in her expression changes. The man in the maintenance uniform across the hangar straightens.

Miles sees both.

The woman takes a step back. “This meeting is over.”

“Is there a problem?”

“You’ll be contacted if we decide to proceed.”

She turns sharply toward the opposite side of the hangar.