Once we’re finished loading a few more things in, Mac and Dimitri climb into the front while Madison and I step into the back. I take my usual seat. I’ve already put another stool in and created some space for her at the wall of monitors so she can plug in her laptop. Not that we need that today—just future planning.
“You and I are going in,” I explain to her as Dimitri putters down the driveway—the slowest, steadiest driver among us.
“You’re not in the van?” Mac asks, surprise in his tone.
“Not today—Dimitri is taking over. I showed him how to operate the equipment this morning.”
“Hey, look at you! You angling to be the new Short Round?” Mac asks, elbowing Dimitri.
“This nickname makes even less sense for me than it does for Wesley,” he replies dryly, leaning forward to check before making a turn onto the main road.
“That’s why it’s funny,” Mac replies easily.
“Then why is it not funny for George to be named Small Dog?” Dimitri demands, like they’ve had this argument before. If they did, I wasn’t there—a damn shame.
“Dunno,” Mac shrugs. “Maybe it’s too…”
“Blunt?” Madison suggests. “I mean, for the record, I don’t really think Mac’s nickname is all that funny either—”
“Thanks for that.”
“—but jokes need to have layers. You can’t just blatantly call a thing something it’s not—people will think you just misunderstand. Like, for example, Short Round is a pop culture reference, too.”
“Hmm,” Dimitri replies, digesting this newest insight into how humor works.
“Anyway…” I reach behind me for the silver hard-sided case and set it onto the limited tabletop space on the fold-down desk. I snap open the clasps and relish in her swift intake of breath, seeing the devices nestled in the foam cutouts. Her eyes follow as I point to each in turn. “I’ve got your standard secret agent package. Watch with a biometric scanner. New ID’s—license, et cetera. Earpieces with built-in microphones.”
She lifts one of the earpieces gently and whistles as she inspects it, cushioning it between thumb and pointer finger and gently tilting it to see all sides. “Built-in microphone? It’s so tiny! Bone conduction?”
Not even surprised she’s familiar with the tech, I nod. “Long tap to turn on and off, short tap to mute or unmute yourself, double tap tomute or unmute these guys. I usually put Mac and Dimitri on different channels so I can have one in each ear because they tend to try to talk over each other.”
She collects her new IDs and replaces the ones in her wallet, handing them to me for safekeeping. Then, she puts in the earpieces.
“One more thing,” I say with a grin, pulling a box out of my back pocket.
“What the fuck, Wes?” Mac interjects, eyes on me in the rearview. His tone is high with alarm. “Are you… are you fuckin’proposingback there?!”
Madison hears Mac’s question and whips her head around, eyes wide. There’s excitement there, but there’s also a bit of fear. It nearly makes me laugh. “No, we’re not quite there, yet,” I tell her, chuckling when she heaves a sigh and relaxes in response. I lean closer and lower my voice. “But itissparkly.”
Her gasp as she lifts the cover makes my chest warm. I let her take the necklace out of the box so she can examine it. It’s the Tiffany’s equivalent of what I won her at the arcade—a buttery soft leather choker with a gold heart pendant. The heart has a single diamond offset in one of the curves that winks at us intensely, even in the low light in the back of the van.
Her eyes lift to mine, and she clears out some thickness in the back of her throat. “You just had that in your pocket, huh?”
“The rest of the tech comes back to the case when we’re done—but not this. This is yours. It’s a personal tracking device, so I’ll always be able to find you.”
Her smile lights up her face, competing with the diamond. “Put it on,” she whispers, handing it back to me, spinning on her stool, and lifting her hair out of the way. The buckle makes a very faint tinkling noise as I slide the prong home, and she shivers as I brush my fingers against the nape of her neck.
She spins back around, fingering the gold, and moves her hand out of the way so I can see how it settles against her throat. “Stunning,” I say, meeting her eye so she knows I mean the whole package.
“I fucking love it,” she beams, radiant.
“Let’s see, Mads,” Mac says.
Eyes on me, she turns her torso and stretches up so Mac can see it in the mirror. I know he’s seen it when he sighs and grumbles, “Showoff. Thanks a lot, man. Making me look bad. Eleanor’s gonna want one of those now. It’s gonna be allhow come my tracker isn’t made of diamonds?Am I right?” he elbows D.
Dimitri grunts. “Nicole does not wear jewelry. Her tracker is something discreet that clips to her bra, which is far more practical. It looks like one of those devices that count your steps.”
“Step counter? Pedometer,” Mac offers with a snap as he thinks of the word.
