“I told you I did.”
“And I wanted to ensure she’s satisfied with?—”
“You’re checking up on me.What did she tell you?”
“Only that you contracted her services and confidentiality is a part of your agreement.”
“Which has made you wildly curious about what I’ve cocked up.”
“Tommy isn’t saying.”
That’s because Tommy doesn’t know the specifics.
“You do understand I left the family business?”
“You left the building,” she counters.“Not the brand.”
“I’m not the brand.”
“Yes, brother dearest, you are.And that ‘little investment’ of yours is global.It will pull more coverage in Italy and France than here.Whatever’s happening will come back around.”
She’s right, and the truth tastes metallic.I could fire Eddie today and shutter the investigation.Crawford won’t leak—admitting a threat invites questions about how votes are made.But the longer I let this run, the more likely it is that someoneelseis threatened—someone who won’t keep the source under wraps.
“You’re going to need to trust me,” I say, ending the call.I thumb over to my mother, catching a glimpse in the mirror that stills me: Brie in a wig cap, her golden hair gone.
I move closer, dialing.Mother’s call drops to voicemail—the usual: afternoon swim, phone abandoned to a locker or boat bag.“Maman, I missed your call.Papa’s, too.Everything’s fine.I’ll ring you later.”
I hang up as Brie juggles with a mousy black wig with a thick braid down the back.When I step closer, I notice her blue eyes are now a murky brown and she’s in loose jeans, running shoes, and an unflattering top that loosely hangs below her waist.
“A disguise?”
The transformation is jarring—the same woman, yet removed, like a painting turned to the wall.
“I’ll wear a hat and sunglasses too.”Practical.Clinical.“From a distance I won’t be recognizable.”
Up close, of course, she’s unmistakable.But then she studs earrings up and down her lobes, and with the small loop in her nose she becomes someone I would overlook in a crowd—some New York student or Jersey kid on an errand.
“What are you up to today?”
“Surveillance.Are you heading into the office?”
“I am.”Captivated, I watch her assemble herself—and feel something cold when she reaches for a gun, checks the chamber, tucks it into a backpack.
“Surveillance of what exactly?”The sight of her armed and disguised trips a switch I didn’t know I had.Protective isn’t a word I’ve used for myself.It fits now, uncomfortably well.
“It’s routine,” she says, not meeting my eyes.The distance is professional, and it stings anyway.
“You’re not wearing a vest.”My voice holds steady; my pulse does not.
“A vest would show under these clothes.”She tweaks the fall of the shirt.I want to touch her, tokeepher.“It’s unnecessary.Boring day, most likely.We’re rotating shifts.”A breath.“Do you think we can have dinner tonight?”
“I’d love that.”I take her in again, the vanishing act nearly complete.“This look is…” I let my mouth curve.“Not to my taste, but we could have fun with it.”
She snickers, amused but busy.The message is gentle and unmistakable: clear the field.
“Is this all for Eddie?”I ask.
“No.This is for the organization Eddie sells to.”
