"Affirmative. The site has multiple vulnerabilities. I will need to assess each one."
Monica and Dennis exchange another look.
"That's... very thorough," Dennis says carefully.
"I am always thorough."
"Right. Of course." He claps his hands together. "Well! We'll let you two... do that. See you at dinner!"
They retreat.
Fast.
Colletta waits until they are out of earshot, then rounds on me.
"A neurosurgeon." She says that signals impending distress.
I blink at her, uncertain why this is problematic. "Affirmative. You introduced me as such when we arrived."
"No! I mean, yes, but—" She presses both palms against her forehead, fingers digging into that wild tangle of curls. "Kruk, I made that up! Months ago! When my mom kept calling me every single weekend to ask if I was 'seeing anyone special' and wouldn't drop it no matter how many times I changed the subject! I just blurted out that I was dating a neurosurgeon to get her off my back about my love life!"
She drops her hands and stares at me with those wide, panicked eyes that make her look like a startled woodland creature.
"I didn't think I'd ever actually have to produce one!"
"Then the cover story is already established. I simply confirmed it."
"You can't just, you don't know anything about neurosurgery!"
"I know brains are involved."
"That's not—" She stops. Takes a breath. "Okay. Okay. This is fine. We'll just... we'll avoid anyone who asks medical questions."
"Agreed."
"And you'll stop saying things like 'reconnaissance' and 'tactical vulnerabilities.'"
"Those are accurate terms."
"They make you sound like you're planning a military strike, not attending a wedding."
"The distinction is minimal," I state, because operationally speaking, both scenarios require threat assessment, strategic positioning, and the ability to adapt to rapidly changing circumstances.
She makes that tea-kettle sound again, a high-pitched, strangled noise that starts somewhere in the back of her throat and builds until it sounds like steam escaping under pressure. I realize, with some surprise, that I am starting to enjoy it. The sound indicates peak frustration, which means I have said something perfectly logical that she finds completely unreasonable. This happens frequently.
She is chaotic in every sense of the word. Her organizational systems make no tactical sense. She operates on impulse rather than planning. Inefficient in her movements, her decisions, her explanations that spiral off into tangents about things that have no bearing on the current situation.
Emotionally volatile in ways I am still cataloging. She oscillates between anxiety and forced cheerfulness. She laughs at inappropriate moments, like earlier, when I informed her cousin's husband that his approach vector was unacceptable and he needed to maintain a two-foot perimeter. Her giggling made the warning seem far more threatening than I had intended, which was actually tactically advantageous, but I do not think that was her goal.
But she is also mine.
For three days.
I will ensure no harm comes to her.
Even if the primary threat is her own family.
CHAPTER 3
