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“I’m in New York now,” I say, pleased with having placed in a top twelve field office. “How’s Seattle treating you, Lambros? I forget, was that on your wish list?”

“We go where we’re needed most. Seattle needed me,” Nathan says. “We may not be the largest office, but we’re making a big impact.”

How diplomatic.

Hall looks at her watch. “It’s time to get ready,” she says. “Lambros, you got the costumes?”

“Of course,” Nathan says, rolling the trunk he brought with him into the middle of the room. He removes four garment bags and hands one to each of us, saving the fourth for himself.

I take the bag from him without saying a word and head to the bathroom.

“You going to be okay working together?” Lewis asks us, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“That’s a better question for Lambros,” I call back over my shoulder. “Because I’ll be fine. I’m a professional.”

I’m a professional who looks like a lamp. Specifically, the leg lamp from A Christmas Story.

When I imagined dressing up for undercover work, this is not what it looked like. The costume is complete with fishnet stockings, black heels, and a gold dress that flares out like a lampshade on the bottom half. I pull my hair out of its ponytail and fluff my wavy brown strands to cover my earpiece.

I give myself a once-over in the mirror and decide to own this. A hooped skirt is good. Great, even. I can conceal my weapon without any chafing, and no one can rub up against me at the party.

I squeeze through the bathroom doorframe. “Just curious, who picked these out?” I say, my eyes flicking over to Nathan, who for a second seems surprised that I’m actually pulling off this lampshade look. I catch his eyes cataloguing my face and the way my hair falls. “Wait. You did this.”

Why did I even bother asking? This has Nathan written all over it.

He shrugs, his oversize jacket lifting with the movement. “I didn’t have a lot of options last minute,” he says innocently. I can’t take him seriously with his stick-on facial hair while he swings a crowbar around. Hall, the other half of this Wet Bandit duo from Home Alone, complements him in a brown peacoat covered in feathers.

“Why do you get to wear something normal…” I ask right as Lewis comes out covered head to toe in a blue and white, furry Abominable Snowman costume. He’s even giddier now. “I see we got stuck with the unique costumes. Fun.”

Ten minutes later, after double-checking our wires and touching base with the team monitoring this exchange, we’re out the door. Before we walk into the party, I sidle up next to Nathan and whisper, “I get it. You wanted to see me in something sexy because you’ll never see it otherwise. This doesn’t even fit the theme.”

Nathan scoffs as he looks me up and down. “This isn’t sexy, and you’re wrong. This leg lamp is loathed by Ralphie’s mother in the movie. I was simply trying to find something relevant for each of us. Make it as believable as possible.”

I feign terror. “An inanimate villain, real scary.” What’s loathsome is how annoyingly cute the dimple is in his cleft chin. I want to poke it. “You have no idea what your outfit is doing for me. I’m sure the nightmares will end by the new year.”

“Even with the dig, you just admitted to dreaming about me,” he says, smug.

“If this is a challenge,” I add, “I’m happy to be the bane of your existence. You’ll regret this one day.”

“Is that a threat?” he asks, and I swear I see a twinkle in his eye and the start of a smile on his lips.

My eyes flick up from his mouth. “It’s a promise.”

And with that, I scoot past him, purposely knocking him off balance with my lampshade.

The party’s in a low-lit steak house overlooking the Chicago River. Lighted wreaths and garlands bathe the restaurant in a warm glow while Christmas music energizes the place. I nod hello to a Grinch drinking a triple-olive martini and accidentally bump into a guy in a vest who looks like his hair and eyebrows have been frozen.

I take my spot next to Lewis. “Nice in here, isn’t it, honey?” he asks.

Each table is adorned with poinsettia centerpieces. The Christmas decor, the lights, the flowers, they’re nothing special. I don’t get the appeal of this holiday. “It’s gorgeous,” I say, playing my role.

“We’ll be exchanging presents in a few,” he says, squeezing my hand, which is placed strategically on the table for all to see. Until then, I play my part: observing, learning, and blending in. As much as one can dressed like a golden leg lamp.

I pretend to sip on a glass of champagne while everyone on the bad guys’ side drinks and mingles.

“Well, hello there, miss,” a man says behind me. “When you ring, does an angel get its wings?”

I force a light, tinkly laugh. “I’m not a bell, silly,” I say to a guy I recognize from the files I studied last night in preparation for tonight. Norman Hawksbury, referred to as Hawk. He reminds me of Alexander Skarsgård in looks and demeanor. Charming enough, but underneath the handsome exterior is something menacing. “That’s so funny, my boyfriend thought the exact same thing. He’s right over there.” I point to Lewis.