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I wake Camille by holding a shot of ouzo under her nose.

Her eyes blink open. She looks up at me. For a moment, there’s confusion in her brown eyes.

Then she tilts her head and recognition fills her pretty face. It fades to epiphany. Then fear.

She swallows hard as she looks around the room. She does it casually, like she’s not looking for the laptop, but her eyes light up the moment she sees it on the bookshelf.

“Is it Camille?” I ask, bringing the glass to her lips. “Or do you prefer a call sign?”

“I don’t know. Aphrodite is an awfully obnoxious choice. You might kill me just for that.” There’s dry humor in her voice. Just like Elena’s. And mine.

“How about Sappho?”

“That’s a little cliché, don’t you think?”

Yes, it is. She’s right.

Camille nods to the bottle. “Are you as much of a tease as your best friend or are you going to let me get my lips around that?”

I tilt the shot.

She swallows the liquor in one gulp, then lets out a groan of pleasure. “C’est trop bon. It’s possible the sedatives have me in an agreeable state of mind. I don’t usually like licorice.”

“Do you want another?” I take my own swig. The ouzo is good. The perfect mix of star anise and damn.

“Depends on a few factors,” she replies, scanning the room the way a killer does—checking for exits, weapons, second bodies. She notices the distinct lack of Matteo. “Did you kill your paramour already?”

“Is that why you’re here?” I ask.

She looks to the bedroom. The bathroom. But with the doors closed, there aren’t any clues to location. “You were the image of amor on the footage I saw. I’m sure he’s still on our plane of existence.”

Damn, am I getting predictable?

And what is with the random French words? It’s… a lot.

“Listen, mon amie,” she says, with the same thick French accent. “I understand if you’re angry about my trysts with Elena, but it’s not the torrid affair you imagine. No, that’s not right.” She blinks and looks up at me. “When it started, I was after information. I never found any, so my boss pulled me. Then I went back. It’s not the same as you and Agent Locke.” She motions to the bedroom. “You and Nerdy James Bond have a deeper connection. True love. Elena and I are far more… carnal.” She motions for me to bring the bottle.

I fill the glass and feed her another shot of ouzo.

She swallows it and lets out another sigh of distaste.

“Merci,” she says, as she tests her restraints. The cuffs pull on the chair’s back. The ties pull on the legs.

No doubt, she notices it’s not as tight as it could be.

She’s good at this. She knows what she’s doing. She can break free with a well-timed fall.

“I’d like to have a friendly conversation,” I say as I place my hand on the gun in my pocket. “But I will take this out and point it at your chest, if you start trying to wiggle free.”

“Really? You take out your best friend’s favorite bosom?” she asks.

My laugh releases the tension in my chest.

She’s playing the sassy spy. She’s probably not here to kill us.

There’s no sense in trying to win the favor of someone if you’re about to kill them. That’s a waste of time.

Still. I don’t make it easy for her. “I should kill you for using Elena.”