Speaking openly about her feelings with Yardley still made KC feel exposed, but it was getting easier. She curled and released her toes a few times inside her high heels to release the tension.
“What is plan B?” Yardley asked.
KC’s knuckles brushed against Yardley’s wool trousers. “A year ago or so, I start sharing more of my life and feelings with you, and you start believing you can have what you want.”
Yardley let go of KC’s hand to cock her arm on KC’s shoulder. It was a Max Konstantopoulos gesture, but the deep dimple and the sparkle in her eyes were all Yardley. “Okay, but we don’t have a time machine. Plan C?”
“I tackle you in the middle of a delicate intel mission in a Capitol Hill Starbucks, blow your cover, and we have a laugh in the van and start sharing all of our tenderest feelings in front of Atlas.”
“Hmm.” Yardley scanned the room as the path through it shifted. A new round of servers had arrived with fresh small plates. “We missed the mark there. What plan are we up to now?”
“D through Z. That’s where the plan is to be willing to keep changing the plan. You know that sometimes the new plan will be scary and risky, but you’re willing to lose everything but each other.”
“Yes.” Yardley guided KC through the throng like a prize, capturing just enough interest to remind everyone what was going down. “That’s the plan that sounds worthy of the Unicorn and Tabasco. Who knew making a relationship work would be harder than driving a motorcycle off a boat ramp to land on a yacht?”
She stopped suddenly, whirling around with a smile that caught KC off guard and made her tumble forward. Yardley’s hands found her waist, steadying her in the tall shoes. The warmth of her palms made KC conscious of her wisp of a dress, as though she wore nothing but sparkles and thread.
“Everyone who’s lucky,” KC murmured.
Yardley wasn’t smiling anymore. “We have to move,” she said, but her eyes were full of heat to match the hit of desire that gripped KC, and her cupid’s bow lips parted.
“You’re killing me.” The words rasped from KC’s throat.
Yardley just pressed her lips together, her eyes sparkling with humor, and towed KC into the crowd.
They were halfway across the room, under a central chandelier draped in what must be thousands of amber crystals, when KC felt a tap on her shoulder.
She had the presence of mind to glance at Yardley, who could see who wanted KC’s attention. Yardley gave her a silent nod of assurance that it wasn’t Miller.
KC turned. A server handed her a business card with thick black writing on the blank side.
We have business. Don’t finalize with M.K. until we can talk.
The embossed side carried a monogram of David Miller’s initials.
Sonofabitch.
KC slid the card back onto the server’s tray with a little pat. “Tell him to stick around, and I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”
When she turned back to Yardley, she noticed that space had cleared around them during the interlude with the server. KC couldn’t risk scanning the crowd to see if Miller had been watching and, if he had, whether he’d recognized her.
Yardley hooked her arm in KC’s and guided her past another cluster of people as if they would join them in conversation, butin fact she was moving them toward the cover of a series of more plinths with flower arrangements. They would only have to get past a final cluster of people to obtain the cover, and then they could weave between the plinths to the door.
An alarm in her hindbrain went white-hot. She risked a glance behind her.
Miller was behind them.
“He’s at six o’clock, on a direct course and gaining.” KC’s heel slipped on the marble floor, making her ankle wobble treacherously. She grabbed onto the sleeve of Yardley’s tuxedo shirt to steady herself.
“He saw the server give you the note, but your back was to him.” Yardley’s voice was smooth as a Carolina breeze. “I don’t think he’s made you.”
A woman moved out of the way in her periphery, looking offended. Miller was right behind them.
KC started imagining all the plausible lies she could tell him that would explain the presence of his daughter’s childhood pal in a London banquet hall full of bad actors and spies while also preserving her cover, but before she could come up with anything, she felt the presence of someone directly behind her. Yardley looped her arm around her waist as KC started to hiss in warning, “He’s—”
Then her back was pinned to one of the plinths, roses draped in her hair, and Yardley’s mouth was over hers.
One hand cupped her face. The other splayed over her throat, holding her in place.
