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“They didn’t hit me,” I added. “Just made sure the doorframe was lower than it looked.”
We sat in a silence that wasn’t quiet.
It pulsed with everything we weren’t saying.
“Anyway,” I said, sipping again, “How was your day? Break any communist hearts, Emu?”
Will smirked. “Only my own. They’re impervious.”
“Condor?”
“I’m still alive,” he said.
I turned toward the person I cared most about. “Sparrow?”
She didn’t answer.
She just stared at me. Her eyes were too full, too loud, tooeverything.
I let my smile fade.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, reaching out and taking her hand. She gripped my fingers with the strength of a thousand Soviet agents. “Next time I’ll bring flowers.”
She stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor. I thought she was leaving, storming out in the wake of whatever turmoil my tale had caused. She didn’t. She simply walked around the table, crouched beside me, and touched my face.
“Next time,” she said, “don’t be late.”
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She kissed my temple, just once, then sat back down and drank deeply from her wineglass.
“Don’t be late?” Will said, blinking at Sparrow. “That’s all you’re going to say? I had my seat belt buckled and popcorn ready. Hell, woman, talk about the definition of anticlimactic.”
“No shit,” Thomas added, his fucking smirk painting his lips. “If I pulled a stunt like this, Emu would’ve already thrown his silverware at me.”
“I would never—” Will’s eyes bugged.
Thomas laughed, a rich, full sound I knew was genuine.
Even Sparrow released her tension long enough to enjoy the banter—and despite everything, she reached over, grabbed my hand, and refused to let it go.
23
Thomas
Egretorderedroastduckwith a side of potatoes he probably wouldn’t touch and a dessert he’d forget he ordered. He glanced once at the waiter, nodded, and settled back into his chair like it was a battlefield position.
The bruise along his ribs was already purpling beneath the collar of his coat, creeping its way up his neck. How the hell did a bruise crawl up skin like that?
Will refilled his glass. Sparrow didn’t look at Egret, but her hands were steady now that he was here. Her left hand remained firmly ensconced in his right.
I waited until the silence between us shifted from personal to operational, then set down my glass and reached into my coat for a folded page.
Opening it and smoothing the creases, I laid it flat on the table. It was an annotated map of the old Gellért thermal baths.
“We’ll use the northeast entrance,” I began. “There’s less foot traffic, no street view, and the interior walls are tiled—sound doesn’t carry well. It should be too humid for bugs, and steam obscures sightlines. As Egret suggested before, these are ideal conditions.”
Will leaned in. Sparrow glanced over the map. Egret took a sip of wine and didn’t say a word.