"Surgeon’s hands," I joke lightly. "Or safe-cracker’s hands. Take your pick."
I slide the wig over her head, adjusting the hairline until it looks natural or as natural as a cheap synthetic wig can look. I tuck the stray red strands away. She opens her eyes and looks in the mirror. Martha stares back. Dull, lifeless and forgettable.
She reaches for the thick glasses, but I intercept her hand.
"Not yet," I say.
I cup her face, turning her away from the mirror and toward me. I look past the wig, straight into those blue-green eyes that have haunted my dreams for months.
"You are going to walk in there," I tell her, my voice steady and low. "You are going to check coats. You are going to move trays. You are going to be invisible. But the moment you step into that executive wing, you are a queen taking back her kingdom. Do not let Thorne make you feel small. You are the giant in that room."
Her chin trembles. "I’m scared, Marcus."
"Good," I say. "Fear keeps you sharp. Use it but don't let it drive. You drive."
I lean in and kiss her. It’s not a hungry kiss, not a demanding one. It’s a seal, a promise. I pour every ounce of my confidence, every bit of my heart into it, trying to fill her up so she has reserves to draw on when she’s alone in the lion’s den. She kisses me back desperately, her hands clutching the lapels of my jacket, holding on for dear life but when we break apart, her eyes are clear. The Martha mask is still there, but the fire is back behind it.
"Okay," she breathes. "Okay, I need something from you."
“Anything.”
She must see in my eyes that I mean it because hers go soft for a split second before they get serious again.
"There’s a good chance when this sets off, shit’s going to go sideways. I need you to be ready to pivot. Thorne’s going down one way or another so the most important thing is that no matter what happens, she gets exposed to the world. They need to know what she’s done, what she’s doing so there won’t be any escape for her. I need you to be ready to make sure that happens… no matter what, okay?”
I narrow my eyes at her as a frown pulls my lips down. It almost sounds like she’s willing to sacrifice herself to make that happen and she’s asking me to go along with that. I’m not going to fight with her about this right before she leaves and pull her focus away from what she needs to do so I just tilt my head down in a slight agreement. I’ll make my own judgement on how to proceed when we’re in it.
With a nod and soft smile she turns away, puts the brown contact lenses in and then slides on the glasses. The transformation is complete.
"Let’s go," she says briskly. "I have a bus to catch."
The living room is awake now. Andre is drinking coffee, fully dressed in his bartender uniform ready to catch the staff bus the servers will use to get to the estate. Marcus is pacing, looking sharp in the expensive suit he’ll wear for his "wealthy investor" cover as he heads to the Auberge maison we booked before changing again into a tux and going to the party.
They both stop when Demi walks in. Or, rather, when Martha walks in.
Marcus winces. "God, I hate that outfit. It’s a crime against fashion and humanity."
"That’s the point," she says, her voice flattening into Martha’s timid cadence.
Andre walks over, handing her a travel mug. "Tea, with honey. For the nerves."
"Thanks," she tells him with a cocky wink and grin. “No nerves here. I’m ready to burn this bitch.”
I pick up Skipper, who is whining at Demi’s feet. "I’ve got her. She’s going to be my co-pilot. We’ll watch the feeds together."
Demi scratches the dog’s head before leaning down and dropping a kiss between her ears. "Be good, Sheriff. Don't eat the comms equipment."
She shoulders her ugly canvas bag. "I guess this is it."
"We’re right behind you," Andre reminds her. "Check your comms when you get on the bus. One tap for active."
"I know the drill, Daddy," she says, a flash of Blue’s sass breaking through the Martha facade for just a second.
Marcus grins. "Give 'em hell, sweetheart."
She nods, takes a deep breath, and walks out the door. We watch her go, the silence in the room heavy and instant.
"I hate this part," Marcus groans, dropping the grin. "The waiting."
