Valentina and Markus were dressed all in black, looking European and drinking iced lattes. Gabby looked freshly kidnapped and was talking to her mom on speakerphone at top volume. What in the hell was she doing with her life?
“What is this job anyway? How are the kids handling the change? The divorce and now a new job?” Her mom’s disapproval was coming through loud and clear.
As if she wasn’t worried enough about the kids without sideways comments.
Back at the spy table, Valentina gestured with her hands, looking frustrated. Probably upset about being stuck on a trail all morning. Markus touched her forearm, making Gabby bristle. What was the matter with her? Markus was her handler, not her boyfriend. Not to mention, possibly a mole.
Gabby had never thought she’d be horny as a middle-aged woman, but here she was. It was television’s fault. Sitcom moms were never horny, only the dads. Romance novels mostly featured twenty-year-olds. Hollywood actresses could be sexual only if they looked twenty-five. It was all a lie. Her sexuality had not conveniently expired at the age of thirty, leaving her to tend to everyone else’s needs without conflict.
With a resigned shake of her head, Valentina seemed to give up on whatever point she was making. Finally, Valentina waved, ending the convo with Markus.
“I have to go, Mom.”
“What is going on with you?” her mom said. “Are you dating again? You know the kids aren’t ready for that.”
Now, to get the phone from under the seat. While trying to stay low, she backed up the seat as far as it would go. While reaching under it, she somehow pressed the windshield wiper lever up. It activated the cleaning mechanism. From her spot crouched on the floor, Gabby watched the windshield wiper fluid miss the windshield entirely and arc over the roof of the car.
“What the fuck?” Markus yelled. It must have been a direct hit. She slunk even lower as the wipers on her car squeaked over a completely dry windshield.
“Where did that come from?”
Her mom repeated, “You didn’t answer. Are you dating?”
“I gotta go, Mom.” She hitEND CALLon the console and took a shaky breath.
Because the car truly was the devil, it switched to the last thing she’d listened to on Spotify. The unmistakable opening chords of the James Bond theme song blared: “Dum di-di dum dum!”
“Gabby?” Markus called as he walked over to her car. “Is that you?”
He appeared at the window. “Markus!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Um…” He looked down at her, still partly slunk down in her seat, which was backed up as far as possible. “What are you doing?”
She laughed. “I’m having a moment.” That was the truth. “I was going to get a coffee on my way to work, but I dropped my phone under the seat and my mom called. This little area here”—she gestured to the front seat—“this is the Bermuda Triangle, amirite? Amelia Earhart is probably under the seat with my phone.”
He laughed, seemingly satisfied with her explanation. “Let’s get you a coffee and get you off to work then. You’re going to have to hurry.”
He shook his head. “Today should be better. You did great yesterday, even with all of the obstacles.”
“Really? You think so?” The pain of the last hour was forgotten with one compliment.
“Yeah. You lost your earpiece and still kept it together all day.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Oh, and I ran into Valentina this morning.”
He nodded. “So I heard.”
So she wasn’t hiding anything…
While they were in line grabbing a latte, Markus checked his phone. When he swiped up, probably meaning to check the time or his email or something, a show started playing—a bunch of hot young people, poolside, speaking Russian.
A warning sign flashed in her mind. “Do you speak Russian?”
A little flustered, he said, “I’m trying to become more fluent, and I’ve gotten into some Russian reality TV. This one’s about psychics,Novaya Bitva Ekstrasensov. I watch RussianCopstoo. It’s more fun than DuoLingo.”
“Do all of the agents speak Russian?”
He shook his head.
