This time, she kicked him in the foot and twisted around in his grip without breaking free. It was subpar self-defense.
Markus shrugged. “If all else fails, kick them in the balls.”
Before she left for the day, Markus said, “When you wake up in the morning, there will be a car in your driveway. It’s the one Darcy drove to eStocks. We want to keep things consistent.”
Gabby brightened at the idea of a new car, and Markus said, “Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing sexy.”
“Have you seen my van?” Markus might need a reality check.
“You’re going to need this.” He handed her an iPhone. “This is Camille Walker’s phone. When you get into the office, you’re going to be friendly with everyone, but remember, there are no friends in espionage.”
In the parking lot, she checked the messages.
There were texts from people in the office: Fran, Carmen, Kramer. Happy hour times and lunch orders, nothing interesting.
In the Notes app, she found something a bit juicier.
Fran: Ex got her the job. Hung up on some loser, possibly the ex.
Carmen: Hates Kramer.
Kramer: Enough with the cars already.
Gabby frowned at Darcy’s observations. This wasn’t the kind of intel that would get a woman killed. Darcy, it seemed, hadn’t seen the danger coming until it was too late. The only advantage Gabby had was that she was already scared out of her mind. She might not know how to take down an assailant, but there was a good chance she’d see him coming.
Monday morning, Greene household
It was Monday morning and Gabby’s first day on the job as an undercover spy after three days of training. The EOD made it sound like the easiest thing since sliced bread. It was like the opposite of the Army’s “Be all you can be!” tagline. The EOD was like, “Be a spy, anyone can do it!”
Make coffee, eavesdrop, enjoy her new red hair—that’s all she had to do. Still, Gabby was about to crawl out of her skin from nerves. It was bad enough starting a new job, but a job where the last woman was killed was on another level entirely. She’d watched a special about how they keep the cows calm and happy on their way into the chute to be slaughtered. With every “you got this, girl” or compliment for her pretty red hair, she couldn’t help feeling that everyone was petting her on her way down the cattle chute.
Gabby shoved a water bottle in Lucas’s backpack and handed Kyle an overdue library book. “Don’t forget to turn this in today, and remember, Sienna’s mom is picking you up. I won’t be home until dinner so Dad is going to—” She stopped short of saying “babysit.” That was not the word to use when a parent watched their own child, but that’s how it felt.
“Mom, you told me like twenty times.” Kyle made a face like she just bit into something bad as she grabbed a juice glass from the cabinet, ignoring the one she’d used for milk two minutes ago.
How many glasses could one person use? It wasn’t the time, but seriously, this was getting to be a problem. If Gabby was going to be a spy, Kyle had to start reusing a water glass here and there.
“It’s fine, Mom. Seriously, no big deal.” Nothing like an ungrateful teenager to make you feel worthwhile.
“Okay. Just making sure,” Gabby said. Asking Phil for help rankled. Why couldn’t she just smugly walk past him, successful and radiant, a paragon of virtue and sexiness?
Like Gabby was a fifteen-year-old skateboarder, Kyle said, “Chill, dude.”
Dude—the word bounced off Gabby’s forehead like a Nerf bullet. “I’m not a dude, Kyle. I am your mother.”
“Just go to work, Mom. It’s fine. We’ll see you tonight.” Kyle drank half her glass of juice, setting it on the counter nowhere near the sink. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and called for Lucas.
Elsa was going to be her guiding light. Let it go, Let it go… and she forgot the rest of the lyrics. At one point, Kyle had watched that movie on the daily and had worn an ice blue gown with a cape everywhere. Gabby hadn’t thought she’d be able to forget that song if she tried. Now she could barely imagine Kyle that small.
The kids, that’s all she’d had for fourteen years. Elsa gowns, snacks, playdates—that was literally the fabric of her life. Everyone was so chill about her going back to work, acting like all she did was trivial stuff that anyone with two thumbs and an IQ of seventy could accomplish. She wanted to hang on to her babies and the duties that defined her, even if she hated half of them.
But Gabby had a fake nose to glue on, so there was no time to be moody about a life transition, even if it was major. Before the bus was out of sight, she ran to the bathroom and pulled out the pouch with the fake nose and silicone glue. The makeup person had told her it was easy. Just clean your face with some astringent. Clean the prosthetic, apply a thin layer of glue, hit it with the hair dryer, and voilà! She’d done it three times at the office, no problem.
Her hands shaking, Gabby wiped her nose with a cotton ball and smeared on the glue. A little extra adhesion couldn’t hurt. Just like the time she’d wallpapered the laundry room on her own, and damn if that didn’t look fresh and cheerful. She stuck the nose on and hit it with the blow dryer. If only she put this much effort into her hair regularly, she would be a different woman.
Camille Walker’s gray sedan waited for her in the garage just as Markus had promised. In a blazer, driving a clean car—no wrappers or broken toys on the floor, no stick figure family on the back window—she was an undercover agent for the EOD. She was Darcy Dagger pretending to be Camille Walker. Really, it was a lot to remember.
She searched Spotify for a pump-up spy music playlist. The 007 theme song blasted through the speakers as she headed toward eStocks. It was a little much, but once she hit the freeway, there was no going back. Messing with her Spotify choices while driving in LA traffic was not a risk she was willing to take. A half hour later, she pulled into the eStocks parking lot and grabbed a ticket from the parking meter, the London Symphony Orchestra blasting “Goldfinger” at volumes that seemed normal at eighty miles per hour.
