Page 83 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

“Fair enough.”

“Can I see your fake passports?”

“Maybe sometime.”

“Have you ever parachuted into another country?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Have you ever been shot?” Her voice is quieter now.

The question stops both of us. I hold her gaze. “Yes.”

She draws in a breath.

I don’t explain. I don’t give context she didn’t ask for or rush to make the answer easier. I let her absorb it.

After a moment, she nods slowly and then sits on the couch. I sit beside her, leaving enough space that she doesn’t feel trapped. Her crooked mustache has begun peeling away again, and she presses it down absently.

Then she turns toward me. “Okay,” she says. “Start at the beginning.”

“The beginning of the CSA?”

“The beginning of you.”

I look at the woman who knew me beneath darkened hair, a beard, glasses, someone else’s nose, and a voice that wasn’t mine. Then I begin telling her the truth.

CHAPTER 16

WELCOME TO THE CSA

REESE

Miles calls Evelyn while I rub the last of the mustache adhesive from my upper lip. I had been planning to keep the mustache on because entering a secret government agency while wearing a disguise feels thematically appropriate. But Miles pointed out that if he does get permission for me to enter the CSA, I’ll have to pass through security equipment designed to detect suspicious things.

I pointed out that a crooked mustache attached with two-year-old costume adhesive is unlikely to defeat the federal government. He didn’t disagree. He only looked at me until I peeled it off and stuck it across the top of my notebook.

I wait in his kitchen while he stands in the living area, talking to his mom on the phone. He doesn’t lower his voice, but I can only hear his side of the conversation.

“She wants to see it.”

A pause.

“Yes, I explained that.”

Another pause.

“No, I didn’t promise.” His gaze flicks toward me. “I told her I would ask.”

I raise both thumbs. He looks away like my encouragement is not helpful.

“I understand. Thank you.”

When he ends the call, I’m gripping the edge of his kitchen counter. “Well?”

“My mom approved a limited visit.”

“She did?” I release the counter. “Limited how?”