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KC followed Yardley through the maze of people, occasionally stopping briefly to remind a guest that she wanted to follow up on a conversation they’d started earlier or to wink and touch the shoulder of another. She kept Miller on her periphery, where he couldn’t get a good look at her.

From now on, she was going to assume every single person who lived within a seventy-mile radius of Langley was a spy. Surely it would be less embarrassing than the predicament KC currently found herself in.

All they needed was for Miller to tell them where Dr. Brown was. It seemed so simple, but here they were, at a lavish party in a massive eighteenth-century landmark, tipping servers with hundred-pound notes.

A lot of complexity for a single question.

She could say the same thing about the last three years with Yardley. How many simple questions could have prevented their isolation from each other? Their hurt feelings? Their broken hearts?

KC supposed that a lot of people who faced the end of a relationship wondered what the answers would have been if they had thought to ask for them. She was grateful for a second chance.

“Daph.” Yardley slid her arm around KC’s in a protective grip, her devastating tuxedo shirt pulling open to reveal a little more than only the side of her full breast. The insouciant carnality of the move made heat throb between KC’s legs.

She’d been tearful with wonder and laughter last night, between questions and kissing Yardley, but cover or no, there was no doubt Yardley turned her on like a radio.

“Max,” KC purred, letting Daphne look Max over with no manners whatsoever.

“Meet my friend, Taffy Burton. She’s the real eyes and ears of the club.”

“We didn’t get a chance to officially meet, I just bullied you into letting me crash the party.” KC held out her hand for Julia to shake.

Julia laughed and tucked her blond hair behind her ear.

“Not at all. It seems everyone was very happy to have you. Max, have you shown Daphne around? It’s not every day you’re inside the inner sanctum of what once was Greenwich Palace.

Not that there’s anything left of it but the foundations, but they built some part of this magnificent pile on top of those.

Thrifty as can be. Christopher Wren was the architect, you know. ”

Yardley bit her lip at KC. “We haven’t been talking about architecture.”

“Don’t be naughty, Max. You two follow me, and we’ll promenade. There’s a piece on the far side of the room that’s said to be an uncatalogued Parthenon Marble.” Julia drew them to the edge of the room. “What do you need?” she asked at a much lower volume.

“I was wondering if you were up for kidnapping an undercover CIA agent, taking him to a second location, and tag-team interrogating him for the rest of the evening until he gives us what we want. For democracy.”

Julia’s face became prayerfully solemn. “Yes, please.”

KC hooked her finger into one of Yardley’s belt loops and laughed as if the three of them were tipsy. Better if the people sneaking looks assumed utter frivolity. Her only concern was Miller, who she was certain would recognize her on sight.

“Once you secure him, if he tells you what we need to know, walk away,” Yardley said, “and we’ll have our guys ship him back to the States.

If he won’t, we’ll have to assist with the interrogation.

We have something on him, but I like to hold on to my leverage against donkey asses like Miller if I can.

” Yardley ran her fingers through KC’s hair idly, making it harder for KC to think up plans B through Z to use if this one didn’t work.

Julia leaned a shoulder against a fluted column, positioning herself to watch the hall. “Leading Miller to a private area and securing him isn’t a problem, but even if your lads retrieve him, he’ll find a way to blow my cover at the club.”

KC shook her head. “Then our plan isn’t good enough. You’re valuable to MI6 here.”

Julia smiled. “No worries. Any operative would be valuable to MI6 here, and if I have to answer the phone, ‘Good Morning, Greenwich Palace Club, how can I be of service to you?’ one more time, I’ll break out in frustrated boils.

But I need a bit of time to alert the lads at the office, brief them, and secure Miller. ”

“How long?” KC pulled Yardley’s hand out of her hair and softly bit the end of her middle finger. She was gratified to see flushed pink spots bloom beneath the diamonds on Yardley’s chest.

“An hour or two? Maybe a bit longer. In the meantime, you lot need to disappear. I’ll have the Sister, what’s-his-name, put it out to the guests the two of you are striking a deal. I assume such false intel may serve some of your other goals?”

“Nothing like fake news to bring out the baddies,” Yardley agreed. “But does it have to be Jack? He keeps turning up like a Canadian quarter out of the soda machine.”

Julia laughed. “He’s excellent, actually. Especially in rooms like this one. You two should leave out the southwest emergency exit. I’ll disable the alarm. The public areas of the building are closed for the night, so there are plenty of places to wait.”

At that, she floated away.

“Using the emergency exit means we’ll have to make it across the room without Miller spotting me.” KC scanned the guests, who were getting louder as the alcohol took hold. Everyone was going to be completely sloshed by the time the banquet started.

“No way out but through,” Yardley agreed.

KC grabbed Yardley’s hand and squeezed it.

“We know how to do that, don’t you think?

Get through the gauntlet to the other side?

I’ve been thinking that we never made a plan B.

We couldn’t imagine a plan beyond doing our best to hold on to each other and hope the entire world changed around us enough to let us make it. ”

Speaking openly about her feelings with Yardley still made KC feel exposed, but it was getting easier. She curled and released her toes a few times inside her high heels to release the tension.

“What is plan B?” Yardley asked.

KC’s knuckles brushed against Yardley’s wool trousers. “A year ago or so, I start sharing more of my life and feelings with you, and you start believing you can have what you want.”

Yardley let go of KC’s hand to cock her arm on KC’s shoulder. It was a Max Konstantopoulos gesture, but the deep dimple and the sparkle in her eyes were all Yardley. “Okay, but we don’t have a time machine. Plan C?”

“I tackle you in the middle of a delicate intel mission in a Capitol Hill Starbucks, blow your cover, and we have a laugh in the van and start sharing all of our tenderest feelings in front of Atlas.”

“Hmm.” Yardley scanned the room as the path through it shifted. A new round of servers had arrived with fresh small plates. “We missed the mark there. What plan are we up to now?”

“D through Z. That’s where the plan is to be willing to keep changing the plan. You know that sometimes the new plan will be scary and risky, but you’re willing to lose everything but each other.”

“Yes.” Yardley guided KC through the throng like a prize, capturing just enough interest to remind everyone what was going down.

“That’s the plan that sounds worthy of the Unicorn and Tabasco.

Who knew making a relationship work would be harder than driving a motorcycle off a boat ramp to land on a yacht? ”

She stopped suddenly, whirling around with a smile that caught KC off guard and made her tumble forward. Yardley’s hands found her waist, steadying her in the tall shoes. The warmth of her palms made KC conscious of her wisp of a dress, as though she wore nothing but sparkles and thread.

“Everyone who’s lucky,” KC murmured.

Yardley wasn’t smiling anymore. “We have to move,” she said, but her eyes were full of heat to match the hit of desire that gripped KC, and her cupid’s bow lips parted.

“You’re killing me.” The words rasped from KC’s throat.

Yardley just pressed her lips together, her eyes sparkling with humor, and towed KC into the crowd.

They were halfway across the room, under a central chandelier draped in what must be thousands of amber crystals, when KC felt a tap on her shoulder.

She had the presence of mind to glance at Yardley, who could see who wanted KC’s attention. Yardley gave her a silent nod of assurance that it wasn’t Miller.

KC turned. A server handed her a business card with thick black writing on the blank side.

We have business. Don’t finalize with M.K. until we can talk.

The embossed side carried a monogram of David Miller’s initials.

Sonofabitch.

KC slid the card back onto the server’s tray with a little pat. “Tell him to stick around, and I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

When she turned back to Yardley, she noticed that space had cleared around them during the interlude with the server. KC couldn’t risk scanning the crowd to see if Miller had been watching and, if he had, whether he’d recognized her.

Yardley hooked her arm in KC’s and guided her past another cluster of people as if they would join them in conversation, but in fact she was moving them toward the cover of a series of more plinths with flower arrangements.

They would only have to get past a final cluster of people to obtain the cover, and then they could weave between the plinths to the door.

An alarm in her hindbrain went white-hot. She risked a glance behind her.

Miller was behind them.

“He’s at six o’clock, on a direct course and gaining.” KC’s heel slipped on the marble floor, making her ankle wobble treacherously. She grabbed onto the sleeve of Yardley’s tuxedo shirt to steady herself.

“He saw the server give you the note, but your back was to him.” Yardley’s voice was smooth as a Carolina breeze. “I don’t think he’s made you.”

A woman moved out of the way in her periphery, looking offended. Miller was right behind them.