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I expect him to offer to spend the night by my side. Or talk about what this means, that we’re making each other come while we work together.

Or at least promise this is only physical, Jamie. Don’t get any ideas.

He doesn't.

And I don’t know what that means.

In the morning, he’s gone. So I fly to Paris, crash with Elena, spend my days enjoying the sites, and my nights watching old movies (Paris has tons of theaters that play cinema).

I put Matteo out of mind.

Mostly.

Four days later, he gets in touch.

Fuches is ready. He replied to our blackmail email. But he’s not agreeable to our terms. He wants to deliver our information in person, so there’s no trace.

Matteo requests my assistance, though I’m not sure if he really needs it. Or if he knows I’ll insist.

I need to be there, of course. I have to make sure the information is the dead end Hera promised it is.

We arrange the details via text. A trip to a neutral country in four days.

Which gives me three days to watch him in London.

I book my transit and wander out from the guest room of Elena’s Paris apartment.

Her space is beautiful and it’s totally Elena. An old school flat with white walls, crown molding, and plenty of surfaces for sex. (Fake sheepskin rug, cream leather couch, sturdy dining table).

She’s on the balcony, of course, and she’s her usual vision of calm with a cigarette in one hand and her cell phone in the other. Wide leg slacks, crisp button up shirt, her short, dark hair tucked behind her ear.

She watches her latest target on the screen. She set up surveillance in Berlin last weekend. An executive who pissed off a rival company. Or something like that.

She posed as a maid. That’s her go-to. Seduction isn’t her thing. Not with men, anyway.

She just can’t hide her disinterest. But she can pretend to soft. She’s much better at that than I am.

“How’s your boyfriend, doll?” she asks through a cloud of smoke.

I keep my eyes on the city behind her. Another block of the Latin Quarter and the Seine beyond it. Paris in all her glory.

“As talented as ever,” I say.

She chuckles and offers me a cigarette.

I shake my head no thanks and motion toward the video on her phone. “How’s the unit working?”

“Like a charm. Why? Are you finally going to do it?” She draws a line across her neck in the universal gesture for death.

“I haven’t gotten what I need from him yet,” I say.

She makes an ahem noise. Oh, you haven’t fucked him yet?

I haven’t. And I won’t kill him until I do. So, uh… “I don’t have the files.”

“Is that what the straight kids are calling it?” She winks.

I flip her off.