Page 16

Wally’s Steakhaus, Navy Yard, the District

Sitting with her legs crossed in the comms van, Yardley entered Wally’s Steakhaus through KC’s eyes.

Reaching forward, she adjusted the view on her monitors to lighten up the gloom of the dim interior. She hadn’t appreciated that these cameras and biometrics were so good. She could practically smell the Wally’s mélange of too-sweet sandalwood colognes, malbec, and charred steak.

No wonder Atlas was always so in control. They knew everything . She opened her display to include face recognition scanning of anyone KC ran into, in case it was useful, and also because it was cool.

The sleek tech and how well KC was doing so far made Yardley feel extremely fat with confidence. She had never fumbled a mission, and she wasn’t going to start now.

KC had never even heard of Wally’s Steakhaus, but Yardley was a regular.

Wally’s was where the power-mad and morally centerless denizens of politics and espionage liked to broker, plan, and gloat.

After what had gone down with Devon Mirabel in the Starbucks, Wally’s would be buzzing.

Already while monitoring KC’s cameras, she’d spotted the son of a KGB double agent who had a very loose job description as a “consultant,” two lobbyists with horses in the arms race, and a billionaire who was on MI6’s watchlist.

And every one of them—along with several others—had noticed the fresh-faced Georgetown undergrad leaning against the bar.

KC. Aka Caitlin Parr, a poli-sci major in her sophomore year and a budding indie fashion influencer.

Her false eyelashes kept bonking into the lenses of her glasses.

She’d told Yardley she felt like one of those spindly, dying crane flies that drifted around the porch light in the summer, but she looked like a runway model in those heels, and she’d absorbed Yardley’s crash course on the dynamics and players at Wally’s with impressive speed.

“Who’s taking care of you?” Mr. Son-of-a-KGB-agent made the first bid for KC’s attention, leaning next to her at the bar and signaling the bartender.

He was a bit over six feet tall, obnoxiously lantern-jawed, with a thick, unmovable swoosh of chestnut hair.

Over the years, Yardley had witnessed him work his wiles on any number of young women, but KC’s pulse did not pick up a single beat when he brushed against her upper arm.

“I think the tender’s checking if he has any prosecco in my price range for the Aperol spritz I ordered.” Yardley could hear the winsome smile in KC’s voice. Hilarious. KC could deadlift two hundred pounds. She was the farthest possible thing from winsome.

“The sun’s down. Spritzes are for picnics.” The man snapped his fingers at the bartender. “Pour a flute of that 2014 Roederer Cristal for this girl.” He rested his arm on the wall behind KC’s head and leaned closer. The picture was so clear, Yardley could’ve counted the pores on his nose.

“Maybe I don’t like champagne.” KC laughed but accepted the skinny flute from the bartender like she was born to the club. She took a sip. “Of course, that doesn’t stop my roommate and me from stealing bottles from her dad’s events for girls’ nights. He used to be a congressman.”

Okay, that was impressively smooth. Tabasco had some tricks up her sleeve.

“Who’s your roommate?” The man pulled a sterling-cased vape from his suit jacket’s inner pocket and tipped it toward her. She shook her head.

“Elizabeth Corners.” This was the name of a college-aged senator’s daughter who attended Georgetown and kept a low profile. KC had dropped it to showcase her cover’s insider connections.

“Senator Corners doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.” KC’s mark blew a vapor ring. “He took two mil in donations from Big Pharma and then voted to put a price cap on specialty medications. Didn’t get a second term. Fucking idiot.” The man laughed and slid his vape away.

KC set down her phone on the bar. It had a faux marble case and Swarovski charms, and it immediately began transmitting several more angles of Wally’s dining room with multifocal laser cameras.

“Huh.” She scooted closer, letting her hip nudge him.

“I’m Caitlin Parr.” She held out her hand, and he shook it, holding it a little too long. KC smiled. “You’re?”

“Kyle Bornakov.”

She smiled again, without even a flicker of recognition at the consultant’s name, though Yardley had told her that she hoped he’d be at Wally’s, given his penchant for gossip.

“Here’s where I admit I’m really into this stuff, despite what the bling and the shoes might be advertising,” KC breathlessly confessed.

“I like the shoes.” Kyle grinned. “Into what, baby?”

“The insider politics.” KC laughed again, a confection of naive sex appeal and intelligence. Yardley was not unaffected. “Stuff I’m not supposed to know.”

“There’s all kinds of things a girl like you isn’t supposed to know.”

Lord.

“Tell me one thing,” KC said. “Over the clothes only.”

Yardley laughed, forgetting the sound would go straight into KC’s ear, and that was when she watched KC’s heart rate do a small rumba.

One of the techs looked at her with disapproval. Oops.

“You’re doing amazing,” she whispered, trying to make up for her handler gaffe. Was this compliment something she whispered to KC at other times? Maybe. She was a little caught up in the high of KC’s unexpectedly self-possessed performance.

“Do you read more on that thing than just Instagram and Snapchat?” Kyle gestured at KC’s giant phone sparkling on the bar.

“I read there was some kind of incident at the Capitol Hill Starbucks today. A witness said an assailant knocked down a woman. This witness had overheard the woman say she was running for Congress.”

Oh, nicely done. Yardley watched Kyle straighten up, his gaze sweeping over KC’s body from head to toe. “You’re a tiny thing, aren’t you?” It was a question that betrayed his growing appreciation for KC.

“But my mind is huge.” KC widened her eyes. “Tell me about Starbucks. Unless you don’t know anything?” She took another sip of the champagne but kept her full attention on Kyle.

“No small talk?” Kyle put his hand on her shoulder, covering more square inches of bare skin than was necessary for the purpose of polite attention.

Yardley had to bite the side of her cheek to stop herself from making a comment that would prevent KC from living truthfully in these imaginary circumstances.

She should be embarrassed to be jealous of Kyle Bornakov.

Her moves were so much better. If she spotted a woman like KC by herself at a bar, she wouldn’t waste time with champagne and generic game.

She’d state her intentions immediately and clearly, with solid examples of the pleasures on offer, along with the receipts she could deliver.

Men didn’t know how to do this, bless their hearts.

“Did you walk over here for small talk?” KC asked.

Kyle laughed. “You’re not one of those Capitol Hill gossips, are you?”

“Who isn’t one of those Capitol Hill gossips?”

“Follow me, hon. We need to take this somewhere more discreet.” Smiling, he beckoned KC to the dining room. When KC picked up her phone, the cameras swooped and blurred before coming back into focus.

The dining area was packed with circular booths filled with men too old for the women sitting next to them. White-coated servers darted between them like pinballs with trays of steaks and bottles of wine. Kyle stopped at a small booth with a discreet RESERVED sign, and KC scooted herself in.

The view tilted to one side as KC angled her head. Kyle had gotten close again in the dark dining room.

“So what happened?” KC asked. “Did a future congresswoman actually get knocked over on her ass? Who did it? Was there really a gun? I mean, something happened. But it’s confusing because it’s Starbucks, not Cafe Milano.”

Good. She’d dropped the name of the spot for District intrigue that Yardley told her about. It telegraphed to Kyle that she knew the scene, and her thirst was serious. It also made Kyle laugh. “What I heard was that Ashley Sterling-Chenoweth Thompson was meeting with a goddamned spy.”

“Ashley Sterling-Chenoweth Thompson?” KC repeated. “That is a lot of name for someone I never heard of.”

“Big money. Her daddy is in finance, and she’s quietly held down the farm, but now she wants a seat at the table.”

“So why would someone like that meet with a spy? You’re telling me stories.”

“Is it working?”

“Ha!” KC rubbed the rim of her champagne flute. “A little. Show me your work on this one so I get it right when I impress my international diplomacy prof. He’s such a wannabe, and I got a C on the last term paper. I need some meat to feed him.”

Kyle leaned closer. “You can tell your prof that this spy’s selling something Miz Ashley thought could help her win a seat. Of course, she could buy a seat, but this would reduce the price. A power coupon, if you will.”

“Information?”

Kyle shrugged. “Someone knows, but not me.”

“But can you tell me whose spy it was?” Excellent. KC was probing to find out how much Kyle could tell her.

“Devon Mirabel. British-born, but he’s a free agent.”

“Never heard of him.”

Kyle took a drink of whiskey a server had placed at his elbow.

“Used to be a high-level government advisor. No credentials. Shows up in too many rooms and at too many meetings.” He waved his hand around the dining room.

“There’s a dozen spies here right now. Anybody who speaks Russian.

Foreigners who live in hotels. Men who call themselves consultants. ”

Kyle was showing off. The only spy in the room at the moment was KC.

“So who was the dude who tackled our future congresswoman?”

“I’m guessing a Swede.”

“What?” KC’s voice rose an octave in her surprise. Yardley winced, but Kyle only reached over to drink from KC’s champagne flute, having drained his whiskey.