Page 12 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

“It sounds like they need everyone to pitch in.”

Her expression shifts to something less playful. “That sounds… not great.”

“It’s probably just a time-sensitive thing.” I am already heading for the stairs. “Be right back—I’m going to change.”

“Good idea,” she says. She makes another sound that makes me think she was about to say something else, so I stop and look back. Her mouth twitches.

“What is it?”

“I’m just torn between reminding you to take off your mustache and letting you walk into Lancaster Business Solutions like the client relations department has finally embraced villainy.”

Despite the call and the worry knot forming in my chest, I laugh. That’s Reese. She can make even the toughest moments better. “Thank you for not staying silent.”

“It was touch-and-go for a moment.”

I hurry upstairs, strip off the hoodie, joggers, and mustache, and change into a suit—because I always wear a suit to work— in less than three minutes. When I come back down, Reese has the dip and pita chips packed, the TV turned off, and the throw blanket she’d been using folded.

When she sees me, she raises an eyebrow and says, “Well. That suit is having an excellent night.”

I look down at myself, then back at her. That’s twice today I’ve caught her checking me out. The first one probably doesn’t count, since I was shirtless—it’s an attention grabber even if the person isn’t trying to check you out. But I like that she noticed. “I’ll pass along the compliment.”

“Please do. It deserves to know.”

“Come on,” I say as I grab her bag with the snacks. “I’ll walk you out.”

The night air is cool, the driveway quiet under the porch light, with the exception of crickets chirping somewhere in the dark edges of the yard and a dog barking a street over.

Reese unlocks her car and turns back to me with one hand on the door. “Tell Charlie I said good luck.”

“I will.” I hand her the bag.

“And tell her that if she doesn’t make it back by morning and needs me to dramatically tear a link off her countdown chain for her, I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

“I’m sure she’ll find that very comforting.”

Reese gives me a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It tells me she’s picking up on the gravity of the situation, even if I’m trying not to show it. “And you…” she says a little quieter. “Be careful doing whatever urgent business solutions thing requires a suit at ten o’clock at night.”

I hold her gaze for half a beat too long, just taking in how beautiful she is in the moonlight before I have to go hunker down with work stuff. “I will.”

She gets into her car, and I wait until she’s pulled out of the driveway before I turn to my garage, enter the code to open the door, and get in my own car. Then I pull out of my garage and head to the CSA and the briefing that is serious enough that they’re calling us all in.

I drive past the fields and empty roads leading out of town and to the Clandestine Services Agency’s headquarters. Eventually, I get to the sign that reads Lancaster Business Solutions, marking this building that appears as if it’s a billionaire’s mansion as our cover business. I turn into the drive, over the scanners that check the undercarriage of my car, and stop at the gate, where Bill comes out to greet me.

Normally, I see Moss manning the gate. It’s not often that I work in the office at the hours when Bill is here. The man is big and tough, and has the shaved head and tattoos one might expect from a guy who is the security detail for a mob boss or something. But it’s the little things that tip off that he’s not exactly as he appears. Like the ghost of purple on a couple of his cuticles that tells me he recently let his four-year-old daughter paint his nails, and a teddy-bear softness that he can’t quite bury beneath the guard-dog stare.

Bill scans my badge. I ask him how his new baby is doing (the little one is already grabbing everything, which means Bill’s beard now lives in fear), and he tells me he hopes that whatever emergency is bringing us in tonight goes well. He opens the gate, and I go down the long cobblestone drive and park under the building before taking the elevator up to our floor.

I’ve done plenty of late-night missions. Plenty of middle-of-the-night ones, too. Many have to be done at very specific times on very specific days. But having a briefing at this time is rare.

When I step onto the main floor, only about one third of the lights are on, and only two people are at their desks. Charlie, Emerson, and Nora are already waiting, standing near one of the conference rooms at the back. It’s so much quieter than usual. It just feels wrong being here this late.

Well, for me, it does. If I’m working at this time of night, I’m in the field. But when I do, Nora is here at her desk with her multiple monitors, guiding me. I hadn’t really thought about the place feeling like this for her.

Jace and Ledger arrive shortly after, and the six of us head into a conference room and sit around the table. Director Lancaster appears a few minutes later, walking with purpose across the floor to the conference room.

She shuts the door behind her and sets her tablet and stack of things at the head of the table, but she doesn’t sit. It’s rare to see Evelyn Lancaster rattled in any way—whether she’s acting in her title of CSA Director here or as my mom outside of the CSA—but I can tell she is right now. She rests one hand on the conference table and looks around the room. “When I call a meeting this late on a Monday night,” she says, “it’s because something has fundamentally changed.”

To my left, Nora opens her laptop and immediately starts typing. Probably bullying the emergency into a spreadsheet. My brothers are already settled into their usual crisis positions. Emerson has his tablet out, stylus poised over the screen. Ledger leans back in his chair with his arms crossed. Jace is beside him, posture relaxed enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know him.