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“It was a tight corridor!”
“We were outside!” I whispered through a chuckle.
She groaned and covered her face with one gloved hand. “God, you’re impossible.”
“So Dr. Beckett tells me,” I said, barely remembering to use our cover names.
She laughed despite herself, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders. That laugh—light and real—was a rare sound in such a dank place. It made the ruined yard feel almost human, if only for a moment.
I leaned closer, dropping my voice to a whisper. “Okay, spill. What happened? Did you throw him against a radiator in the Astoria and confess everything with a dramatic monologue?”
Sparrow snorted. “Hardly.”
“Hardly?” I teased. “Did he throwyouagainst the radiator?”
“There was no radiator-throwing!”
“There wassomething.” I grinned, delighted. “Do not lie to me, Juliette Moreau. I know when a woman’s been compromised by a razor jaw, hunky arms, and an attitude problem.”
She sighed, leaned against the wall beside me, and looked out through the dusty window slats.
“He was kind,” she said. “Softer than I thought he’d be. We found three bugs in his room within ten minutes, but even then, he never stopped watching me like I was the only real thing in the city.”
That hit me harder than I expected. I knew that look. I lived that look.
“So . . .” I nudged her. “What did you do after your little search?”
Sparrow gave me a look.
Then a wicked smile.
“We made sure the fourth bug got an earful.”
I burst into laughter and had to muffle it in my coat sleeve. “That’s vile.”
“You asked.” She looked around the corner, ensuring we were still alone. “You know we’ve been together since Paris, right?”
“Juliette Marie Curie Moreau!”
She nearly doubled over.
“All this time?” I was stunned. Then again, we’d been sent on back-to-back missions since she and Egret had left for the States. We hadn’t exactly kept in touch.
She nodded, her eyes dropping to her shoes but shining as broadly as her smiling mouth.
“Well, fuck a duck.”
“Shh!” Her eyes flew around, searching for a minder. “You can’t curse around these people. You know that.”
I ignored her warning and smirked in triumph.
We shared a moment of conspiratorial silence, just two people wrapped in too many coats and secrets.
“So how was it?” I asked, then after a moment added, “Being alone with him, I mean.”
She stared at her boots. “Better than I could’ve imagined. Worse than I feared. He lets the world in only one sliver at a time. But when he lets you in . . .” She trailed off.
I nodded.