Page 93 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

I look up from my phone to see Emerson watching me. “What?”

“You’re smiling.”

“The data has been particularly engaging.”

He looks at the spreadsheet between us. “One of Rooke’s suspected client companies dissolved fourteen months ago.”

“Fascinating.”

His gaze drops to my phone. “Reese?”

“Yes.”

“How is she?”

I shrug. “She’s texting me.”

“You were worried she wouldn’t?”

“A little bit.” I turn the page in front of me. “Can we return to Meridian Charter Holdings?”

Emerson nods and returns to the spreadsheet.

At 2:38, I’m the one to text first.

Miles: Ledger wants to know if you’ll testify that you reached the hangar through a surveillance blind spot rather than because he failed.

Reese: Tell him I’m willing to lie for a fee.

Miles: What’s the fee?

Reese: He has to subtract three from his current score against Zoe.

Miles: He declined.

Reese: Coward.

She isn’t pretending Saturday didn’t happen, and neither am I. The truth is present in every spy joke and every reference to the hangar. But it hasn’t swallowed everything else. We are still us.

At 3:21, my phone buzzes again.

Reese: Are you free tonight?

I read the message twice.

Miles: Yes.

Her reply comes immediately.

Reese: Excellent. I’m considering three options.

Reese: A) Burgers and a murder mystery.

Reese: B) Pasta and bookstore wandering.

Reese: C) Tacos followed by a new version of people-watching where I invent backstories for your cover identities in your fake passports.

I lean back in my chair.