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“Yeah,” Annie agreed. “Feels worth it to me.”

“Me too,” Helen said. “I’ve just…never… And it’s not just the sex.”

“I mean it’s good, right?”

“It’s great, are you kidding me? I’ve never had sex like this before, and I just want you to know that even if we weren’t… I still think you’re worth fighting for, okay?”

“Okay.”

Helen smiled and leaned in, pressed her mouth softly to Annie’s. Pulled back and watched Annie get out.

She waited until Annie got into her car and started it before she drove off. In turn, Annie waited until she pulled out of the lot before she turned her car off again, then got back out and popped the trunk. She took off her denim jacket and pulled on her black sweatshirt. Then she gathered up her hair—it was getting long again—and secured it in a ponytail. She grabbed her leather bag containing her gun, the lockpick set, and the bug and set it next to her on the front seat.

When she started her car and backed out, she noticed a nearby car flip its lights on.

The car followed her all the way to the freeway. Paranoia prickled her skin, and she abruptly cut across several lanes to exit. The other car kept going. She sighed and took surface streets to her destination.

She parked several houses down from her target and walked on the opposite side of the street before crossing over. She’d studied the house from outside as best she could and decided that entering through a back door would be easiest. It was a solid door that led into what she guessed was a laundry room. She didn’t know a lot about the floor plan, though. The info she’d been given for this address was sparse compared to the others. She knew there was a second floor, but she wouldn’t need to bother with that. She’d stash the bug somewhere in the kitchen or the living room. A lamp, the phone, under a table.

She shouldered her tote bag, then hopped the fence. She crouched down at the door with a pocket-sized flashlight in her mouth. She pulled out her tools, intent on picking the lock, then twisted the doorknob to give it check. If it was deadbolted as well, she’d have to find another way in.

But the knob twisted easily, and the door clicked open.

Well. She hesitated and wondered if this was dumb luck or an omen? She stepped in cautiously. The house was nearly pitch-black, save for the light from a digital clock, and she swept the room quickly with her flashlight beam. The windows were covered with dark, heavy curtains. The furnishings in the kitchen were sparse, with nothing but a folding card table and a single chair. The table wouldn’t hold her weight, so she decided against using the light fixture on the ceiling. She moved through the open doorway, through the dining room, and into the living room. Shining the flashlight around the room, she spotted a lamp with a shade on an upside-down milk crate.

Whoever this guy was, he either hadn’t been here long enough to buy furniture, was extremely poor, or wasn’t planning on staying long. It was a nice neighborhood of somewhat pricey houses, so she suspected it was the latter.

She set her leather bag down and turned off the flashlight. She unscrewed the lampshade and set it aside. She didn’t see a greatplace to hide it. Had she more time and light, she might have taken the lamp apart to hide the bug inside. She’d just stick it next to the bulb and hope this wasn’t the kind of guy to look inside his lamps.

She didn’t feel guilty about doing a slapdash job. The FBI had told her what to do, and she was doing it. They’d given her little to go on.

She stuck the flashlight back between her teeth and depressed the button on the end with her tongue. The flashlight came on. She thought of Helen and what she had done with her tongue earlier and smirked.

She replaced the lampshade. Now all she had to do was walk back out the door. She didn’t even have to lock it. Soon she’d be back home. Maybe she’d sneak into Helen’s house too, climb the stairs, slide into her bed. Wake her up so they could take their time.

She clicked the flashlight off and picked up her bag.

From deep within it, the pager started to beep.

She groped around, trying to find it to silence it, but it was too late. A light came on upstairs and she heard footsteps. She decided to cut her losses and just try to get out. She ran for the kitchen, but the doorway was right by the staircase, and whoever was coming down reached out over the banister and grabbed her ponytail. She grunted and fell to the floor, pain spreading like fire at the back of her head.

She scrambled to find her footing again, but the man jumped the banister and landed in front of her. She rolled and reached for her purse, but the man kicked her, catching her under the chin. The pain exploded through her like a knife. Spots appeared in her vision, and she struggled to catch her breath. She could taste blood.

The overhead light came on.

“Ja ciabie viedaju,”he said, and she looked up. It took a second for her vision to clear, but when it finally did, she realized she knew him too. Father, husband, midlevel politician from Minsk.

“Wait,” she pleaded.

“Špijon!”he bellowed. Reaching into the waistband of his sweatpants, he pulled out a gun.“Zabojca, špijon!”

She reached out to grab something, anything to defend herself with. Just as she touched her bag, he leveled the gun at her and hissed in English, “Spy!”

And fired.

The bullet hit her in the shoulder, and the force of it flung her backward. Someone screamed, and she realized it was her. She didn’t want to go down like this. She gritted her teeth through the pain, her mouth still full of blood, and scrambled for her bag with her other hand. Felt the gun inside and wrapped her fingers around it just as he cocked his gun for another shot.

With her arm still in the leather bag, she swung it around, pointed her gun at him, and pulled the trigger. Bits of hot, black leather exploded into her face.