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“Where are you at with the blueprints and itinerary we found at the train station?” Ned asked.
“What blueprints?” Hud looked at her.
“Long story, but they were things I dropped off a month ago—my first courier assignment.”
“First?” her mother said. Frankly, she’d been quiet during all of Hud’s story, her food largely untouched.
“And last, Mom.”
“Whatever possessed—”
“Really? Look around this table, Mom. My entire life, my brothers have been the tough guys, the heroes, the protectors, and I’ve been…the girl. The one who needed protecting. And maybe I just wanted to prove that I could do cool things too.”
“Are you kidding me?” Imani said. “You’re a professional football official. That is wicked cool.”
Pippa held up her hand. “You ref football?”
“American football.”
“Oh. Blimey.”
Iris didn’t know why, but Pippa’s look of esteem went right to her bones. Still. “Listen. I realized as soon as I did it that it was stupid. I don’t want to be a spy. I like my life. I don’t need to change it. I don’t need more.”
“It hurts, doesn’t it?”
Jonas, quietly, across the table.
“What hurts?”
“Your ribs. You’ve been holding your arm around yourself for the past ten minutes.”
Oh. “Yeah.”
“I know. I broke a rib once chasing a storm.” Jonas leaned forward. “Everybody take a breath. Let’s think. Where are the blueprints?”
“I have them in the office,” Fraser said. He got up and disappeared into the office.
“Let’s clear the table,” Imani said, and stood up. Creed pushed back his chair.
“Sit, son,” her father said, and also got up.
They piled the dishes on the island, then cleared the space for the papers that Fraser retrieved. He laid them on the table. “Sorry. I scanned these in and sent them to Coco, but I haven’t done much with them since you got home.”
Pippa had stood up, was looking over the blueprints. “It’s a futbol pitch.”
“That’s what we thought,” Jonas said.
Imani picked up the itinerary.
“Reminds me of the old Wembley field in London,” Pippa said.
“That’s what I said,” her father said.
“You know, when Lauchtenland built Titus Stadium, they fashioned it after this historical Wembley design.” Pippa pointed to a box at center field. “But this…this is distinctive. It almost looks like the royal—”
“This is my parents’ itinerary,” Imani said. “More accurately, the travel schedule of Prince John. My mom has a couple of other events not on this itinerary.” She looked at Iris. “Where did you get this?”
“An envelope in my mail, no postage. Then a call from a man who identified himself as CIA—”
