Page 84 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

“Limited to a narrow, sanitized update about the operation you already witnessed. You’ll be allowed onto the main floor after all other active information has been secured. No sublevels. No operational files. No access to secured systems. You’ll have to stay with me and my mom the entire time.”

“That sounds perfectly reasonable.”

His eyebrows rise, like he expected me to argue.

“I’m capable of respecting boundaries.”

“You tracked your purse to an active intelligence operation this afternoon.”

“That was before I knew there were intelligence-operation boundaries to respect.”

“You knew there was a restricted-access sign.”

“Hey, I respected that one.”

He looks as though he wants to say more.

I hold up a hand. “We have already established that I made a questionable choice. Can we focus on the part where I get to visit a secret government agency?”

“One time,” he says. “Tonight’s approval doesn’t give you ongoing access.” He grabs his keys. “You’ll also need to leave your phone, smartwatch, purse, and anything else electronic with security.”

I glance toward the garage. “My purse is still in your trunk.”

“So I’ve heard. You’re going to need your ID from it.”

The drive takes less time than I expect. Or maybe my brain is moving so quickly that twenty minutes feels like five. I have passed some of these roads before without realizing that a secret intelligence agency was tucked among the fields and trees. Now every turn feels significant. Every unmarked road looks like it could lead to an underground bunker. Every dark SUV we pass appears suspicious.

Miles catches me watching one through the side mirror.

“That’s a family coming home from a soccer tournament.”

“You don’t know that.”

“There are three children in uniform in the back seat.”

“They could be tiny operatives.”

“They’re eating fast food.”

“Maintaining cover requires commitment.”

Miles shakes his head, but he’s smiling. A minute later, the smile fades, and his hands tighten slightly around the steering wheel.

Oh. He’s nervous. Miles has escorted people into dangerous buildings, met criminals while wearing false faces, and apparently survived a vehicle rolling during an extraction. But bringing me to his office makes him nervous.

I want to ask why. Instead, I look out the window and let him drive.

We turn into an area where a lit sign beside a tall gate reads Lancaster Business Solutions. A guardhouse stands just beyond it.

It’s dark, but there is enough decorative lighting for me to see that beyond the gate, the road passes by meticulously maintained grounds toward a mansion that looks less like a business and more like a place where an eccentric billionaire would gather a team of superheroes.

I lean toward the windshield. “You work in a mansion? Does it have secret passageways?”

“Yes.”

My head snaps toward him.

Miles glances at me. “You asked.”