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Eva

I am stalking down the hallway of an office in Munich. I have a Glock in my hand and a prayer in my heart as I execute my plan.

I catch my reflection in the tall glass windows. I went full-on assassin with my makeup today—a dark eye, bloodred lips. I feel like myself, more than ever before. I am so many things: a killer, a lover, a villain, a hero.

Through the windows, I see the long green expanse of the Englischer Garten. People sunbathe in the nude on the Sch?nfeldwiese lawn, sip tea in the Japanese teahouse or neck between the columns of the Monopteros. It’s all very romantic. I map my escape through the garden as I creep toward my target.

I can hear my mark through the door. He’s on the phone, shouting angrily. He’s about to get a lot more upset.

On any job there is a time for subtlety and a time for panache. I have mastered the art of surprise, but sometimes I just have fun with it.

I kick in the door. I point my gun at my mark’s head. I smile.

—

Later, I call Jonathan as I head toward a cab rank.

“How did it go?” he asks.

“Great. I think I scared the living shit out of him.” I am tracking down everyone in the network, with help from Giselle. I check up on them, make sure they’re not up to no good. It gives me something to do. “How was the auction?”

Jonathan and Mas drove to Strasbourg for an estate sale. Jonathan was looking for new weapons for the antiques market stall he’s been running.

“You won’t believe this,” he says, “but I won a pair of flintlock pistols that were allegedly used by Catherine the Great.”

“Cool. How much did they cost?”

“You won’t believe that either.”

Jonathan doesn’t accompany me on my missions. I started going alone while he was recovering from his multiple gunshot wounds. Once he was relatively healed, I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. I think it’s healthy that we each have our own thing.

Home is a very small apartment in Montmartre. With a courtyard, and neighbors who think we’re weird. We have dinner with Mas and Giselle every Sunday. They had their baby, a girl called Carmela. I still hold my breath every time I hold her; some things are truly scary.

“I’m hopping on the next flight,” I tell Jonathan, “but I might not be back in time for dinner.”

“I think you should take the train,” he says.

“Then I definitely won’t be back for dinner.”

“Just go to the train station.”

The crowd is thick when I arrive at Munich Central Station. The world is filled with people living the most extraordinary, ordinary lives.

As I’m coming down the stairs I see him on the floor, in a suit that’s been dry-cleaned too many times, with his hands in his pockets, gazing up at me.

When I reach the floor, he’s gone. He’s vanished into the crowd. I have to find him again.

I used to think that if I left the agency, my adventures would stop. My life would end. But I was wrong. And I was right.

My old life has ended. My new life is only just beginning.