It was Markus’s turn to give Betty an up-and-down. Betty was taller than Markus, especially in her heels.
Markus handed her the vase unceremoniously and barked at Gabby, “Camille, why don’t you come help me with the boxes?”
Outside, Markus took a deep breath and slowed down. “I need a minute to catch my breath.”
“Sorry Betty was bossing you around.”
He laughed. “She would not make it as a government employee.” After a pause, he said, “It’s not her. This is my first fieldop since losing Darcy.” His voice almost powered down at the end. He could barely get the words out.
“That wasn’t your fault, Markus.” Gabby couldn’t explain why, but it really wasn’t his fault. Darcy had been a double agent, doing double agent things. There was no way Markus could have protected her from something he didn’t know was happening. Assuming he wasn’t also a double.
“She was my partner, my best friend.” He looked at her. “Now it’s you. You’re only here because of me. I argued for you. I trained you.”
“Markus.” Gabby looked at him. “I appreciate all of your support more than I can say, but I am my own woman. I chose to accept the job. I chose not to quit. I am responsible for my own decisions and the risks that I have taken. I don’t need you to take that on for me.”
Funny, but she might as well be talking to herself regarding the kids. They were their own people. She needed to let go just a little. How many times had Granny told her that roots-and-wings proverb? It took this for her to finally get it. “There is a saying about parenting. You need to give your kids roots and wings. I think you are in the same position. You taught me hand-to-hand combat skills, and you have to trust that I can use them.”
He gave a light chuckle. Admittedly, it was a bad example. They both knew Gabby was not the one to bet on in a fight.
With a confidence she only started feeling after Betty helped her with a costume change, she said, “And you did a damn fine job. Look at me.”
Markus gave her a glance that made her feel like a morsel he would be more than happy to gobble up. “That’s part of why Idon’t want you in a dangerous position.” In a voice like butter, he said, “I like you, Gabby Greene.”
“I like you too, Markus. That’s why I gave you a coffee card and not Valentina.”
He laughed and said, “I knew that. I liked your little excuse about me being your main teacher, though.”
“And I thought I got away with that one,” she said.
“You look… nice, by the way.” He might have said “nice,” but from the look on his face, he meant more.
Gabby took a deep breath and stepped into the darkness of the speakeasy like she was diving into the deep. She greeted guests while Lady Eleganza Le Tuck crooned along with the piano, ice cubes clinked in glasses, and the hushed murmurs of conversation filled the room. Justin had knocked it out of the park, and he’d been right. Everyone loved the cheeky theme. The password and secret back room—the guests were relaxed and enjoying themselves.
Sergei Orlov, a man with a narrow frame and slicked-back hair, made a beeline for Kramer the minute he arrived. Innocuous and talking about financial things she’d always ignored, Sergei and Kramer could be Phil and any of his partners. Just like tonight, her life had hinged on what Phil had been doing too, and she hadn’t paid attention. She wouldn’t make the same mistake this time.
It was time to enact her half-baked plan.
With the party just starting to simmer, Gabby stepped outside to make a call on the burner phone Smirnov had given to her.
“Smirnov, I have the codes. I’ll text you my location.”
Saturday evening, Velvet Underground Speakeasy
Waiting to enact the most high-stakes, last-ditch, Hail Mary plan of her life, everything hinged on Smirnov. He said that he’d be there in half an hour, and Gabby couldn’t tear her eyes from the door.
“Waiting for a hot date?” Betty whispered in her ear.
Gabby laughed nervously.
Everyone else was worried about where the ice cubes were. This was the bad part of being undercover. Guaranteed the guys who dropped out of a plane to kill Osama Bin Laden weren’t being harassed about cocktail napkins and ice cube dimensions, but here she was hostessing at T-minus the end of her world.
“Camille, should Kramer do his presentation before or after the dessert rolls out?”
Who the fuck cares. I’m about to die.
“Camille, where do we put our coats?”
Light them on fire if you want.
