Page 141 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

I stay at the hospital for another hour, which is long enough to watch Heidi inspect all ten of Grace’s tiny toes and to compare her three-year-old hand size to Grace’s newborn size. It’s also long enough for Mackenzie to tell me that she is never going through labor again, and then immediately look at her daughter like she would do it a hundred times over.

By the time I head for the parking garage, the hospital has quieted. My body is exhausted, but my mind is full. I just experienced the birth of a brand-new baby. And I got to do it alongside Miles.

Halfway to my car, I hear footsteps behind me. It’s just a man in a dark jacket who’s also in the parking garage. I keep walking. When I’m two rows from my car, I reach into my purse for my keys and turn at the sound of footsteps to my right. It’s a woman stepping out from between two vehicles, which isn’t abnormal, yet something in me still goes on high alert.

Just then, the man who’d been behind me grabs my arm.

I twist hard, driving my elbow backward, but another hand catches my wrist. I yell for help, but the woman moves fast. Like, professionally fast. My purse hits the concrete, and a hand clamps over my mouth. My heart is slamming against my ribs, and I can’t take in enough air.

They drag me between the cars toward a dark van with tinted windows. I kick with all I’ve got. Eventually, I connect with something, and someone curses. Good. I twist again, trying to drop my weight the way Miles once showed me during a drill with Charlie, and for half a second, the grip on me shifts.

Then the woman catches my other arm. “Stop fighting.”

Yeah, not likely.

The van door slides open, and they force me inside. I catch one last glimpse of my purse lying beneath the fluorescent lights before the door slams shut.

The man is sitting across from me, and the woman is between me and the door. My breaths are coming fast, and my brain is moving even faster. My eyes are darting around the space, looking for anything useful.

The man just looks directly at me. “We just need you to answer a few questions.”

I don’t stop frantically looking for a way to escape.

“About your little visit to the airplane hangar two weeks ago.”

I freeze as every part of me goes cold.

“Do you know a man named Maxwell Shaw?”

CHAPTER 25

THE ONE I CAN’T GO AFTER

MILES

Iam standing on the floor of the CSA while Emerson projects the terms of Maxwell Shaw’s winning bid across the big screen at the front as the director, Ledger, Charlie, Nora, and I stare up at it. It’s late enough that anyone not tied to this case has already gone home for the day.

My niece is less than four hours old. Both Reese and I held her today. And now six other people’s lives depend on me successfully purchasing from a criminal the information that could get them killed. Sometimes, the range of my life feels a bit excessive.

“Payment will stay controlled until the package is authenticated,” Emerson says. “Once we have confirmation that the roster is complete, the funds will move through Maxwell’s established channel.”

“Once you’ve visually confirmed all seven records,” Nora says, “give us the confirmation phrase. We’ll be listening.”

“And if Rooke follows his usual pattern with first-time clients,” Ledger says, “we take him.”

If everything goes through, we should finally have what no agency has managed to build against Rooke before—a case. Not intelligence that everyone knows is true but can’t prove, but actual evidence.

My secure phone vibrates, and Nora checks her screen at the same time. She says, “Transfer instructions,” and every person in the room goes quiet.

I open the message, and my pulse accelerates.

Final transfer: 21:30. Location to follow. Buyer only. Standard security protocol. Confirmation required within ten minutes.

“That gives us two hours,” the director says.

Finally. After building Maxwell Shaw, earning Celeste’s referral, surviving the yacht and the hangar, and passing every round of vetting, Rooke is going to hand Maxwell the thing we’ve been trying to recover since Radomir was killed.

My personal phone starts vibrating on the table. I glance at it long enough to see that it’s Annette, and then send it to voicemail. She knows I’m working. If she’s calling about Grace, I can check after⁠—