“If you’re Jake West, then you’re who the CIA reached out to. What part don’t you understand?” Poppy’s tone was honey-sweet and upbeat, but her expression was sharp.
“I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but—” Trent began.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on. When I say Marielle has to stay, I mean she must stay. She’s staying.”
“Why?” Marielle managed to squeak.
Poppy leaned forward between Omar and Trent and tapped on the glass divider that separated the driver’s compartment from the rear. It lowered slightly.
“Yes, Ms. Jones?”
“Pull over to the side of the road.”
The limo driver asked no further questions. He raised the divider and slid across more lanes of traffic than Marielle cared to count. Undeterred by the chorus of horns behind him, he eased the long car to the shoulder and stopped, letting the engine idle.
Poppy, like the performer she was, waited until she had everyone’s full attention. Once all eyes were on her, she said, “Do you know who Josephine Baker was?”
“Sure,” Marielle said. “She was a Black American singer, who moved to Paris to escape the racism she faced in our country. She became a French citizen and was probably the most celebrated singer, dancer, and actress of her era. Ernest Hemingway called her the ‘most sensational woman anybody ever saw.’”
Where was Poppy going with this? She supposed her fame might be at the level of Josephine Baker’s, but Poppy didn’t have racism to contend with.
Then it hit her, and her stomach clenched.
“She was also a spy,” Marielle added.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!”
Poppy retrieved her drink and looked around the back seat with an amused smile.
2
The only sound in the back of the limousine was the soft hum of the idling engine. For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Omar broke the silence. “Were you the agent who was supposed to exfiltrate Hanna?”
Poppy scoffed, “Am I CIA? Puh-lease. No.”
Omar felt the shift immediately.
Her bubbly smile stayed, but he understood now that it was a distraction. Her flirtatious eyes still sparkled, but there was a calculating stillness in her gaze. The relaxed, languid posture disappeared. She sat a fraction straighter.
He shouldn’t be surprised. He’d spent most of his career undercover. More than anyone, he understood that an agent undercover had to live their cover, become their cover. Survival was as much a matter of top-notch acting skills as it was of situational awareness and strong instincts. And yet, she had so thoroughly played the part of pop star Poppy Jones that he couldn’t get over the transformation.
She watched him watch her and smiled knowingly. “I am Poppy Jones, Omar. This isn’t a cover. This is my life, which provides the cover.”
Olivia nodded. “It’s brilliant. I’ve read biographies of Josephine Baker. She was so famous, she could move out in the open and nobody ever imagined she was a spy.”
Jake brought them back to the more pressing issue. “Tell me whose operation we just collided with.” He held Poppy’s gaze.
She shook her head. “Not happening. I didn’t screw up your assignment. Your operatives messed up mine. I don’t owe you or your friends in Virginia anything.”
“Was your mission to extract Hanna Ayari, too?” Marielle said.
Poppy blew out a short, irritated breath. “No. But I did need to get close to her, which I obviously couldn’t do once you two got her off that boat.”
Marielle gave her a sheepish, closed-mouth smile.
“It appears we were working at cross purposes,” Omar said, trying to be diplomatic and smooth this over.
