He held up a brooch. “And this will be my eyes.” He stooped to attach the brooch to her crocheted sweater. His face only inches from her, his steady breathing brought her own heart rate down. While his scent did its best to bring it right back up. A hint of citrus hit her nose, probably from his body wash, but there was something raw beneath it. Markus’s pheromones smelled good.
When he flipped the brooch’s hidden camera on and turned a screen her way, Gabby could see his face in high-def. “There’s no telling what could happen out in the field. It’s important that I can see everything you see.”
From the tone of his voice, she could tell he was thinking about Darcy. Had Markus been Darcy’s eyes and ears too?
For a moment, she’d forgotten. This job had real consequences. At home all she could do was burn a pancake, forget to send Lucas with a lunch, or worst-case scenario, get a divorce. A mistake here could get her killed. No matter how much Agent Strong tried to reassure her about the safety of the mission—Darcy was dead.
Markus saw the panic in her eyes and turned off the screen and pulled a stool out for her. “It’s okay, Gabby. I’ve got you. I promise nothing bad will happen.”
Even though she knew deep down that he was promising something he couldn’t guarantee, his reassurance settled her. Markus might be a beefcake, but his eyes were kind and they crinkled with well-worn laugh lines when he smiled.
“How about the cool gadgets?” Gabby loved to distract herself with shopping. Who didn’t? “Is there a lipstick that turns into a dart gun or a compact that is really a bomb that will blast through a steel door?”
Valentina, who had zoned out scrolling through her phone up until now huffed loudly. “Gabby, you are not Jane fricking Bond. We just need you to go to the office, make the guy coffee, and keep an eye on things. End of story.”
Markus smiled. “Well, I have a few cool things.” He pulled out a decoy mobile phone. When Gabby reached for it, he held it just out of reach and tsk-tsked her. “Wait a second. It’s a Taser.”
“Oh.” She pulled back.
He demonstrated how turning the phone on activated the Taser.
“I’ll try not to get my phones mixed up,” she joked.
“And pepper spray is a self-defense staple. Do you know how to use this?”
“Yes.” The canister Markus handed her was a standard bottle of pepper spray. Just a black tube with a red button at the top.
“No need to disguise pepper spray. It’s something every woman should carry.” He handed it over. “Careful with the lid.”
Darcy had died on the job. Pepper spray didn’t seem like enough. “Pepper spray is good, but what about a real gun?”
Before Markus could answer her question about a gun, Gabby accidentally hit the button. A stream caught Markus right in the face, and he doubled over.
Valentina grabbed Gabby’s arm in a viselike grip and whispered, “Drop the weapon.”
The canister clattered to the floor, and Gabby started in with the apologies. “I’m so, so, so sorry! I didn’t mean to—” She waited for a response. “Are you okay?”
Markus shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Val, let her go.”
Valentina shrugged. “Standard procedure when a weapon is fired.”
While he tried to catch his breath, she went on. “I think you should rinse with milk. That’s what I do when I’m making guacamole and I get jalapeno on my skin.”
“I’m fine!” He held his hand up. “No milk, please.”
Markus spent the next five to ten minutes getting his eyeballs hosed out with high-pressure water in the eyewash station while she waited in shame. If she had done permanent damage… She rubbed her temples and stole a glance at the eyewash station. Hopefully, it wasn’t government-strength pepper spray, like ghost pepper spray. Ghost pepper Cheetos were practically weapons.
After what seemed like an eternity, Markus returned. “Let’s hold off on the gun. I’ll start going over some self-defense techniques on Monday.”
Thank god. That gave her the weekend to collect herself.
He looked at her Becky Buckholz baby shower ensemble and said, “You’ll need to wear something you can move in. Do you have yoga pants?”
She smiled genuinely for the first time that day. Boy did she.
Friday, cocktail hour, Justin’s house
It was neighborhood cocktail night on Avocado Avenue. Every Friday, a different neighbor hosted. Thank god it wasn’t her turn. She’d been too busy with national security concerns to even pick up. Everyone’s dirty laundry was on the floor at her house.
