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Helen’s face went from lust to shock and then shut down completely.

“That wasn’t an accusation. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Annie said.

“I’m married. I have three kids—uh, two kids—and you live in my garage,” Helen said. “What we did certainly wasn’t right.”

Annie never should have brought it up. She couldn’t just let things lie.

An agent greeted them at the elevator doors. Annie made herself smile when they locked eyes. “Here we are,” she said, sweet as honey. “Where do you want us?”

* * *

Annie drove the Jeep back to Los Angeles while Helen slept in the passenger’s seat. She tuned the radio, hurrying the knob past the sad song about Eric Clapton’s dead kid. On the next station, a woman sang about how she wished she were the other person’s lover. She glanced over at Helen. Annie listened to a few bars of that and then moved the dial onward. The next station played Christmas music.

That was safe. It also reminded her that she needed to buy a ticket to Ohio. That she needed to not come home empty-handed. That she needed to think more than five minutes ahead, bouncing from class to class, assignment to assignment, while living in constant, low-grade fear of the sound of her pager.

She’d been wondering what the CIA would do when she went back home for a week, but now she knew. They’d loan her out there too, but her daddy wouldn’t be so forgiving about her wanting to borrow the car at two in the morning without explanation. And what would she tell him? That somewhere along the way she’d made a mistake and people had died? Or was the mistake letting herself get recruited in the first place? Was it admitting that she had slept with a woman and then quitting because the possibility of a second catastrophic failure that ended in death was too much to bear? That Frank Clifton was using his power and influence to keep her working? That he was obsessed with her and she didn’t know how to escape a situation where it was her word against his?

She looked over at Helen again and realized that had been a mistake too. It hadn’t felt like it at the time, and to Annie, it still didn’t; but she knew Helen thought it was.

Helen was slumped down with her head against the window. The seat was in the direct sun, the light slanting across her hips as it set. They’d be home soon, in time to get a few hours of sleep and then pick up the kids in the morning.

The carol on the radio ended, and a cheerful DJ started talking loudly, Helen shifted in her seat and opened her eyes. She looked at the clock and then over at Annie.

“I’m sorry that I complicated things for you,” Annie said.

Helen blinked at her owlishly from behind her glasses, then sat up, pushing them up onto her head. She rubbed her face with both hands, then sighed and rolled her eyes. “You probably think I’m some sad, old woman having a midlife crisis,” she said, laughing at herself. “You probably think I’m pathetic.”

“I don’t. Actually, I think you’re kind of hot.”

“Stop,” Helen said, though she smiled. “I didn’t know you…you know, liked women.”

Annie shrugged. “I like men sometimes too.”

“And your parents? What do they think about it?”

“Oh no,” Annie said with a laugh. “No, no, no. I don’t even tell them about the men, let alone the woman. Could you imagine? My dad would have an aneurysm.”

“Ah. Just one woman, then.”

“Well, two now, I guess. Counting you.”

“Counting me? What happened? Never mind. That’s really none of my business.”

“It’s all right.”

“Just becausemyex is an extroverted asshole.”

“It just ended badly. That’s all. And then I moved away.” Annie signaled to move around a big truck and glanced behind her to make sure the lane was clear. They were on the outskirts of LA now.

“You’re very smart,” Helen said. “Watching you today was quite illuminating. You’re really smart and pretty, and I think that… I can see how I let myself…because you’re…”

“You don’t have to explain anything.”

“My issue right now is,” Helen continued, “that you’re going to actually be my student.”

“Shoot. You’re right.”

“Yeah,” Helen said. “We can’t…”