Afew months later, everything in our world had somehow settled into a rhythm that made sense—if you squinted, tilted your head, and accepted that “normal” for us now included deck repairs, shared morning coffee, weapons drills, and an internationally recognized model curled up on our laps while we ran surveillance.
Grace had gone back to work in carefully curated, heavily secured, strategically limited bursts. She’d also discovered—much to my suffering and her absolute joy—that she could weaponize myonesecret against me:
My real name.
Which is how we ended uphere, in the middle of an op, with her currently holding that damn secret hostage while I monitored from the safe house with Bones, Lunchbox, and Voodoo on the ground.
They had just finished a sweep of the backstage areas when her voice lit up my comms—sweet, playful, and dangerous.
“AB,” she sing-songed, “I think you owe me something.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Gracie, I thought you promised toedgeit out of me.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” she chirped.
I choked. Loudly.
“Gracie,” I hissed, “you realize we’re on comms, right?”
“Yes,” she answered cheerfully. “And you’re the eyes in the sky. So… watch me.”
“Oh, hell,” Bones growled.
“Oh, this should be fun,” Lunchbox said, far too delighted.
And Voodoo? He didn’t say a word.
Of course, he didn’thaveto. Because the second Gracie stepped into the camera frame, he stepped into view right behind her, muttering something that looked a whole lot likeyou little menace.
From my vantage point, I watched her strut through the venue with a confidence that could bring empires to their knees.
People were cheering. Cameras flashing.
A beat later, it hit me: There was a show happening.
Alingerieshow.
“We talked about this,” I groaned into the mic.
“No,” she corrected, grinning at one of the girls who winked back, “you talked. I listened. Now, I’m doing whatever I want.”
“You’re supposed to be the distraction,” I muttered, “not the whole damn show…” But that got me nowhere so, I tried, “Gracie, come on. Let’s discuss this later.”
“Okay,” she agreed brightly, but continued to head straight for the side of the stage and reached behind her waist.
To untie her dress.
“Dollface…” Bones warned, murder and devotion mixing in his tone.
Grace kept going.
The hoots and whistles doubled. Models laughed. And Gracie—my sweet, chaotic, beautiful nightmare—shimmied the top half of her dress down.
Thank every deity ever invented that she was wearing the lace setandthe silk cami we’d insisted on. Still didn’t do anything good for my blood pressure.
“Tell her,” Bones ordered. “Or I will.”
“Nope,” Grace said sweetly. “Doesn’t count if he doesn’t tell me.”
