Page 29

“Oh, that’s great. We’ll have time for a nice dinner, then head to the show.”
Thomas nodded, tapping the watch on his wrist. I was fairly sure that meant nine o’clock in the morning rather than evening, but what I’d said sounded plausible.
He sat back, eyes scanning the room out of habit. “I am afraid we can only afford one ticket. You know how tight the budget is.”
“One ticket?” I puzzled at that. “Oh, shit. Okay. I would have enjoyed seeing the show together, but if that’s all we can afford—”
“It is. You’ll have to sit this one out. I’ll make sure you enjoy the next one, all right?”
I didn’t like this, not even a little. Thomas was going to meet Lark, our unknown, unnamed contact, without anyone backing him up. My only comfort was that the meet would take place in the morning, in the light of day. If we were lucky, it would happen in a very public place where the Soviets or their Hungarian puppets were less likely to try anything dangerous, should they catch onto the foreign espionage occurring beneath their noses.
Thomas glanced at me, and for a flicker of a second, something vulnerable passed over his face.
“I don’t love this,” I said, unable to stop the words.
“I know,” Thomas said. “But . . . this lets me check out the show before you waste your time with a rubbish band. Think of this as me prescreening your entertainment.”
I snorted. That was a terrible cover story, and he would catch shit for it later, but for the moment, my job was to nod politely and sip my damn wine.
We lapsed into silence again, but this one was easier, familiar. It was a shared silence, not an empty one, the kind you earn over years of near misses and quiet dinners. I picked at the edge of a bread roll while the waiter refilled our glasses. Then I glanced toward the window, toward the street where we’d last seen Egret and Sparrow parting from us earlier that day.
“You think they’re all right?” I asked, almost casually. “Dr. Weiss and Juliette?”
Thomas gave a small shrug, but I saw the quick flick of his eyes—he’d been wondering, too.
“They’ll be fine,” he said. “Juliette’s sharp, and Dr. Weiss . . .” He paused, then smirked. “Well, he’s got enough sarcasm to keep anyone watching busy for days.”
I laughed, then shook my head.
“I just wonder what they’re up to right now.”
Thomas tilted his head. “Do youreallywant to know?”
“Maybe.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice like we were schoolboys sneaking gossip in the back row of class. “Will, we’re far too old to understand what the youth are doing in their hotel rooms these days.” He sipped his wine, looking satisfied with himself. “Their poor surveillance detail is probably going to need therapy after this.”
I barked a laugh that I immediately stifled behind a napkin. A Hungarian couple a few tables down flicked their eyes toward us, disapproving. I raised my glass in mock apology and returned my gaze to Thomas, my grin lingering.
Thomas, of course, was already back to his usual calm, like he hadn’t just suggested our colleagues were giving the KGB an unexpected sexual education.
“Do you really think they’re happy?” I asked, quieter now. “Them.Together.”
Thomas considered, his brow furrowed. “She looks at him like she’s already forgiven whatever comes next,” he said. “And he looks at her like he knows he doesn’t deserve her.”
I blinked. That was . . . surprisingly poetic for Thomas.
And uncomfortably accurate.
“Sounds a bit like us,” I murmured.
“We’re more dignified.” He raised his glass in my direction as a lopsided grin unfurled.
“You hide under stoicism, and I monologue about Baroque architecture.”
“A perfect disguise for two hopeless romantics,” he said with a small smile.
“Hopeful,” I corrected before leaning back. Our laughter faded, leaving behind something softer. “I just wonder if their little piece of paradise is as pleasant as you think.”