Joining them was the best of her bad options, considering she couldn’t work without a social security number.
And couldn’t get one without a birth certificate.
And had no identity outside the FBI. Because from the very beginning, the government wanted to limit her options to one—working for them. She’d never have more.
Luckily, Con spoke, forcing Sinner’s attention away from her. She dragged her own focus back to the front of the room as Con and the two FBI agents shifted gears from Sinner’s qualifications to the down-and-dirty details of the op.
“We need their backstory in place before they go undercover,” Con said. “Names, history, location, ties to each other. The full cover.”
They.
Meaning her and Sinner.
She was careful to keep her stare away from his so he couldn’t capture it in another of his little staring contests.
Sinner. The name should’ve sounded like a cheap alias chosen by a man with too much ego and not enough imagination. Instead, it fit him with unnerving accuracy.
Dark brown hair with a tiny wave that brushed his collar. Eyes even darker. Olive skin burnished to bronze from the sun. Shoulders so roped with muscle that gripping them would be like scaling a mountain.
He had the kind of physique that didn’t come from gyms or fitness trainers—it came from dangerous ops that didn’t make the news.
Elin, the woman they brought in—Swedish, if Opal had to guess—spoke from the end of the table. “Dante and I will build your full cover immediately.”
Opal scanned the table for Dante. Sharp profile, dark brown eyes, quick fingers already flying across his keyboard before anyone gave the order.
She committed his name to memory along with every other she’d heard so far. Stiffer Collar mentioned Con being a pain in his ass when they entered the base. Mason left to fetch Elin, and from a certain look the pair exchanged, Opal guessed they had a little more going on than a working relationship.
Then there was Sinner.
Elin looked between Opal and Sinner. “We’ll call you in once the details are locked.”
Con shifted his attention to the woman hovering near the exit. “Sophie, she’s going to need supplies.”
The woman in question stepped forward—a fragile-looking brunette with a delicate build and a quick eye that missed nothing. Her looks didn’t fool Opal. Fragile on the outside, steel on the inside.
Sophie waved her over. “Come with me.”
Opal rose, ignoring the prickle of heat from Sinner’s stare. She followed Sophie out into the hall and froze.
More women waited there. Not agents or analysts. Women, on a ghost ops base that made outsiders wear blackout hoods to visit.
They didn’t look like they worked here. These women appeared polished, confident—and the real kiss of death, friendly.
Her spine straightened automatically. Women like this didn’t include her in their world. They didn’t gravitate toward her. And in middle school, they beat her up.
“Let’s get her upstairs,” one said.
“Yeah, we need clothes.” Opal would call this woman Barbie for her blonde hair and designer labels.
Her mind tripped over the word.Clothes?
Opal wasn’t the link-arms-and-roam-the-shopping-mall-in-packs type.
She slapped another layer of armor over the one she already wore as they swept her up in their midst and ushered her up a wide staircase. From the marble floors to the high ceilings and ornate trim, there was nothingmilitaryabout this base. She’d seen some strange things in her life, but a ghost ops team hiding in plain sight in a mansion was one of the weirdest.
Finally, the ladies filed into a huge bedroom. It was decked out like the cover of a home magazine, complete with a walk-in closet she guessed was larger than her last apartment.
Barbie stepped forward, assessing Opal from head to toe. She looked like an editor for a women’s magazine, but the authority in her voice said she was more.
