“Works a treat,” Flynn said. “No notes.”
KC finally looked at Yardley, her cheeks scarlet. “We can kill it. We get that other drive, dump them both in the Söderström or burn them in a fire, and it’s over. Even if Mirabel uses it before we can do that, the damage is contained to the city it’s deployed in. Bad, but not an ongoing threat. And then, as long as we keep this one safe or destroy it, it’s over. For good.”
Yardley held KC’s gaze as a thought sank its teeth into her brain.
How had Mirabel known to grab Flynn, of all the code jockeys in the world, to find and reassemble the weapon?
This weapon was absolutely connected to KC. Maybe KC had been involved in Toronto, maybe KC and Flynn had neverstopped working together, maybe it was only that a bad actor knew enough about KC and Flynn’s connection from back in the day to exploit it. But Flynn had never been a coincidence, and even the president of the United States was surprised to learn that KC knew her, despite KC’s claim that Flynn’s name was in her files from the EPA hack.
This mission was finally cooking with gas. All it had taken was unraveling the massive lie that Yardley and the love of her life had been telling each other and breaking up almost three times. Didn’t feel like a fair trade.
“I vote for getting into Mirabel’s place and finding the thing,” Yardley said in the doomed silence that had settled over the three of them. “Before someone else does.”
KC let out a long breath. “Yeah.”
“That sounds impossible.” Kris bit into her banana. “Best of luck there.”
“Easy.” Yardley smiled at the woman next to her—complex, secretive, brilliant, in-over-her-head KC. “No one else has Tabasco.”
CHAPTER TEN
Street corner, Norrmalm, Stockholm
In the wee morning hours, Yardley pulled her stocking cap down over her ears and adjusted her round, dark-framed eyeglasses, stomping her feet against the cold.
She’d done her best impression of a cat burglar when she snuck out of the dark safe house, leaving KC asleep in the same room with the asset it was Yardley’s shift to guard—all so she could make a phone call over an unsecured international long-distance line.
She listened to the long series of hums and clicks from the black receiver pressed against her ear. She’d found it dangling from the round, red, coin-operated housing of what was probably the last functioning Swedish pay phone, but thankfully it still worked.
Yardley had used this phone before, tucked around the corner from one of the newer, automated twenty-four-hour convenience stores that were popping up everywhere.
When the call connected, her heart grew warm at the familiar voice. “I was just getting ready to sit myself down with a sweet tea, Miss Yardley, so it’s a good moment for a yak.”
It was very late in North Carolina, but Yardley hadn’t been worried about waking up her nan, who was a night owl and liked to sit outside in the dark with a glass of tea, taking the air.
“Nan.” Yardley breathed out tension she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “I can’t talk too long.”
Her nan laughed. It was a laugh that could have just as easily come from an eighteen-year-old debutante as from a tiny senior lady—feminine, musical, and schooled, but warm enough to make anyone smile. “Well, I don’t imagine you can. You’re not dodging gunfire right now or hanging from a wire somewhere?”
“No, ma’am.” Yet Yardley could not claim to be exercising immaculate judgment.
She didn’t think the pay phone was bugged, any more than she thought a pregnant woman who was wanted by multiple international interests but had deliberately sought out both KC and the CIA was likely to take off, but she couldn’t be sure.
What Yardleywassure of was that she didn’t have a prayer of working through the mess in her head without help. She’d told KC it was dangerous to bottle up her feelings on a mission, and she’d felt that same danger building inside her all through yesterday afternoon as they’d pumped an exhausted Kris Flynn for every scrap of useful information. By nightfall, Yardley had made up her mind to call her nan for a private talk at the earliest opportunity—even if she had to make one.
“Well, get to it, buttercup.”
“KC,” she said, squeezing the receiver.
“Is a peach. Smart, makes a nice income, treats you right, doesn’t annoy me, can deal with your mama.”
“Yes.” Yardley bit her lip and poked at the coin slot.
“What’s got you twisted up? You’re going to have to tighten your girdle and come out with it.”
Yardley had never told her nan she and KC were having trouble, much less that they’d reached the end of their road. TellingNan something was what made it real. “I found out we’re in the same line of work.”
“Well. You didn’t know that?”
