“You, Camille.”
Fran had never wanted to be a personal assistant. She didn’t give a damn about eStocks Enterprises. She wanted Darcy’s job, to get a cut for selling the codes.
“How long have you been working for Smirnov, Fran?” Gabby asked.
“How long has it been, Eduard, four years? And I’ve been waiting for a real assignment.”
Gabby winced. Fran wasn’t getting love from any of her bosses. “That must have been a slap in the face when Darcy walked in off the street and was about to make some real money stealing codes.”
Fran smiled tightly. “You think?”
Gabby said, “Okay, Fran. You have the gun. You’re in charge. What do you want?”
She shook her head. “It’s your call, Eduard.”
“Do you have the codes? For all this talk, you are no better than her.” He pointed to Gabby. “Also, un-fucking-tie me, right now.”
Fran walked over to Kramer. “Let me get the codes first.” With a smile, she said, “Mr. Kramer has them memorized.”
Gabby flashed back to her code research. She’d learned two things: 1) a code was just a bank’s address, and 2) men were still struggling to accept that women preferred larger penises. She said, “I’m just thinking of this now, but if Mr. Kramer hasn’t laundered Mr. Orlov’s money yet, then the codes are no good, right? There’s no way he’ll move it to a location you know about.”
Smirnov said, “He already moved it, right?”
Fran nodded yes.
“Okay, so if you steal it while Kramer and Orlov are still tied up, you’re good to go.” When everyone else seemed to already know that, she held her hands up defensively. “Just catching up.” This was her first money-laundering party.
Gabby looked around the room. It was only a matter of time before Fran untied Smirnov, and they took off. When they left, they would probably kill the rest of them, either here or at a secondary location. Probably the latter. She, Markus, Alice, and Orlov were some very big loose ends. After spending a week working with Smirnov, she suspected he wouldn’t be leaving any of those around. As the only person who wasn’t tied up, she had to do something.
While her wheels were spinning, Fran had approached Kramer. “Don’t be coy, George. I’ve been at this company for five years, and I know it better than you. Those codes aren’t in that safe that everyone and his brother knows about.”
Ouch.
“They’re not on a Post-it note. They’re in your head. This can goone of two ways. I can make you tell me. Or—this would be the less painful option—you could just tell me.”
“Yes. Yes,” he relented. “I memorized the codes.”
“Thank you,” she said, all ladylike.
Guaranteed he wouldn’t be calling her Jan anymore.
It was just Gabby and a woman who was trying to get in deeper with the Russian Mafia, all the actual trained operatives inconveniently zip-tied and drugged thanks to her. Why had she ever thought Markus could be the mole? He was an absolute heartthrob of a man, in evening wear no less—and what had she done? She’d tied him up. He’d been in her ear all week with nothing but the best intentions. He’d asked her out. This proved it—Gabby Greene was an idiot.
She caught his eye and softly mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
He gave her an almost imperceptible nod, a “you can do this, Gabs” nod of approval. He trusted her. For whatever incomprehensible reason, he made her feel it.
“Does anyone have a pen and paper?” Fran asked, apparently to write down the codes.
And that is when she knew the answer. “I do.” Gabby smiled and reached into her back pocket. She handed Fran Lucas’s spy decoder pen that she’d confiscated earlier.
Except for a discreet “Spy Kidz!” label, the pen looked completely normal. It wrote normally at first, but within an hour the ink fully disappeared, only to reappear some days later and be harder than hell to wash. If Gabby had to repaint her bathroom to cover up decoder ink butts, she might as well get something out of it.
Fran shifted her gun to her left hand to accept the kiddie decoder pen and said, “I’m waiting, Kramer.”
He blew out a defeated breath and looked around the room. Gabby almost felt bad for him. If he shared the codes, Orlov would probably kill him. If he didn’t, Fran would. Effectively reminding him that she was the more immediate threat, Fran trained her gun on him.
His voice too high and cracking like a preteen boy’s, Kramer croaked, “How is a guy supposed to get ahead in this world? All I wanted was a nice house for my family and a couple of cars?”
