“I know you trusted her, Markus, but Darcy was a double agent, working for the EOD and Smirnov.”
Markus’s expression turned to stone. “There’s no way. Darcy was the best of us.”
“I’m not saying she wasn’t a good friend. She probably just needed the money. I don’t know why she did it, but I have had the week from hell dealing with you.” She leveled her gaze at Smirnov.
Smirnov cleared his throat. “I’m not following.”
“I told you the other night. I just happen to look like Darcy Dagger. Until last week, I had nothing to do with any of this, which is why I don’t have the information you want.”
She looked at the group and said, “So this is where I need you all to start filling in some facts.”
She looked at Smirnov. “My first question is for you. Who is the mole? Does anyone think it might be Valentina?”
Markus flashed an annoyed look at her. “Come on, Gabby. You know it’s not Val. You should have just come to me a week ago.” He looked around the room. “You didn’t need to do all this.”
“Oh, I did, Markus. I wanted to trust you, but how could I?” She looked right at him. “No matter how I feel about you, I couldn’t risk my family’s safety.”
He shook his head like he couldn’t believe her.
“Don’t pout. I still want to get a coffee with you.”
He laughed. “For real? You just tied me up, and not in a good way!”
“I’m sorry, Markus,” she said, keeping it professional. “We just have a few things to clear up first.” She gestured to the room.
At this point, a voice from the kitchen called, “Camille, where are you?” Then more sharply, “Camille.”
Gabby groaned in defeat. She only needed a couple more minutes. After all this effort, she hadn’t found out anything yet. This is why she should have gagged everyone.
The door handle turned.
The door swung wide open. Fluorescent kitchen lighting streamed in. When Gabby’s eyes adjusted to the brightness, she saw Fran. The nosiest co-worker ever pushed her way into the room and looked around with surprise.
Gabby retracted all her thoughts about being sad not to see Fran anymore. The woman had cornered the market on wrong place/wrong time.
In a voice as flat as her love life and career prospects after today, Gabby said, “Hi, Fran.”
Instead of screaming in shock at the sight of six people zip-tied in a back room, a sinister smile spread across Fran’s face. “What’s this? The VIP room?”
Saturday night, still in the storage closet
Fran stood in the open doorway, fluorescent kitchen lights silhouetting her like a woman in the opening sequence of a Bond movie, but in a pair of pleated khaki pants that would give even the skinniest supermodel a front butt.
Fran raised a gun. “Hello, Camille. Or should I say… Gabby?”
For a moment, it didn’t compute. Why did Fran have a gun and know her name? The answer was obvious, but it didn’t make sense. Fran was annoying and frumpy and approaching middle age before her time. Could someone so worried about making sure no one ate her yogurt be the bad guy?
“Jan!” Kramer called out. “So glad you found us.”
“It’s Fran!” she said. “You idiot.”
Fran was the mole.
Fucking A. After the initial shock passed, a wave of relief hit. It wasn’t Markus. She hazarded a glance his way, and her heart squeezed. Just an innocent heartthrob, tied up for no good reason.
Confirming it, Fran smiled at Smirnov and said, “Eduard, I’m sorry this happened. Give me a minute, and I’ll get you out.” Her tone of voice was sweet, almost tender. Gabby recalled Darcy’snotes about Fran being hung up on an ex. She was willing to bet it was Smirnov and that Smirnov could give a shit about Fran.
Smirnov grunted. “Hurry up, would you?”
