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SOFRIA KIRK STELLA KEEN

Washington, D.C.

I nside the train station, Stella Keen—the woman Ren knew as Sofria Kirk—slipped behind a column and watched until Ren was near the front of the line at the taxi stand.

She took longer than necessary—one final peek at his body.

Shielded by the big umbrella, he wore a wrinkled oxford mostly tucked into his khakis.

With thick-framed glasses and tousled hair, he looked like Clark Kent.

Unfortunately for Ren, if Stella were to end up with someone from the Superman saga, it would most likely be Lex Luthor.

When Ren was next up for a cab, Stella walked through the crowd to a side exit. Out on the street with a relieved goodbye to the most boring undercover assignment she’d ever had, Stella Keen tossed the hot pink umbrella into a trashcan and slid into the waiting town car.

“That was some goodbye.” Theo Stritch sat beside her and spoke without looking up from his tablet.

“Please. I’ve had more passionate interactions with my Amazon delivery driver.”

At Theo’s arched brow, Stella added, “What?”

“You know how I feel about familiarity ,” Stritch said the word like he might say mold .

“Wasn’t it you who encouraged me to take that Bosnian arms dealer to bed?”

“Sex is not as intimate as friendship.”

Theo had a point. Even pretending to be the clumsy, virginal Sofria Kirk, Stella had developed a kinship with Ren and with the entire Bishop Security team, if she was being honest. Nevertheless, she demurred. “It’s done. I’ll cut ties from Jordan .” She was not going to Jordan, but Theo understood.

“Your cover desk in Amman is set. The embassy has voicemail for you and can reroute calls if necessary.”

“Four years investigating this team of scientists and zip.” Stella wiped the fog from her window and stared out at the lighted monuments.

“So we cast a wider net.” He passed Stella a tablet. “Next up is Doctor Arvin Barnett. This cover identity will be more to your liking.”

She opened the dossier and scrolled through the information. “Sabrina Kittridge,” Stella murmured.

“The orphaned daughter of a reclusive aristocrat, living off her inheritance in the Maldives. The target, Barnett, consults on the project and has some red flags. You shouldn’t have any trouble reeling him in. Based on his spending and online activity, he has a fascination with British society.”

“And Sabrina Kittridge dabbles in DNA-capture physics?” Stella didn’t hide her sarcasm.

“Read the bio before your snipe. It was your concentration at Cambridge, and you’re organizing a symposium—date to be determined—to discuss the impact of AI and tech advancements on the science.”

“He’s a consultant?” she asked.

“Yes. He has access to the research, advises on the project, and flies under the radar. This is the wider net that will catch our fish.”

Stella paused her scrolling to read a section of Barnett’s bio. “He has a connection to the Chinese government.”

“Yes, he and the Minister of Trade attended Yale together and ran in the same circles. You will become the object of his affection, observe his interactions, and install surveillance. We will match our traitor’s old-school tactics.”

“On that note, I wanted to run something by you.” Stella drummed her fingers on the file.

“Go on.”

“I am exploring the possibility that someone in the government is involved.”

Theo set his tablet on the seat and gave Stella his full attention. “Based on what?”

“As you know, our spy doesn’t use tech to transfer information. Using a physical copy limits our ability to trace the path of the information.”

“Which is why you’re in the field.”

Stella laced her fingers on her lap. “We’ve been focused on the scientists and their colleagues because the initial data leak four years ago came from a lab in Virginia.

Last month, a geneticist at MIT updated and printed an electronic file—totally normal protocol.

However, when I was reviewing the analytics, I noticed the same scientist performed the same update and printed the same file the next day.

So, I double-checked. The computer access for both transactions was clean, but the second time the information was printed, the printer wasn’t in Cambridge, Massachusetts. ”

Theo raised the partition between them and the driver. “Are you going to keep me in suspense?” Theo asked.

“The material was printed in a low-security Federal building in Washington D.C.”

“You only have the one anomaly on record?” he asked.

“So far, but I’m having the system go back and screen with new protocols. Now that the AI knows what it’s looking for, we can see if more crop up.”

“Excellent. Let me know immediately if anything pings. The fact that this printer was in Washington doesn’t preclude scientists; several involved with Project Bloodhound work in and around the area.”

Stella agreed.

“I think you should mention this anomaly at the briefing.”

“So soon? Shouldn’t we wait until I have something more substantial?” she asked.

“Project Bloodhound is close to completion. The spy will be under tremendous pressure to deliver schematics of the working drone. Let’s shine a flashlight in the sewer and see if any rats run out.”

“You think it could be someone that high up? Someone attending the meeting?”

“I’m not going to speculate. I’ll have tech adapt the search program. In the meantime, proceed with the new surveillance assignment as planned. What you discovered could be a glitch. You’re my best undercover agent; I’m not pulling you from the field.”

The compliment had Stella preening like a cat in the sun.

She could count on one hand the accolades Theo had bestowed over the years.

She tapped the thumbnail photo of Doctor Arvin Barnett at the top of his bio in the electronic file.

A 3D hologram of a horse-faced man with gray teeth and thinning hair was projected above the screen.

“And how will we explain this mismatch?” She turned an expressionless face to her mentor.

Theo chuckled. “Sabrina Kittridge has a penchant—” He spoke the word with a French accent, “—for nerds.”

Stella exited the folder and tossed the tablet aside. “If you say so.”

“You love a challenge, darling. It’ll be a true test of your skills. Anyone can feign interest in a colossal Navy SEAL.”

The truth was, she hadn’t feigned anything.

Ren Jameson was smart and kind and attentive.

Throughout her assignment, part of Stella wished she really were Sofria Kirk, the innocent, fresh-faced CIA recruit.

She was so far from that persona it was laughable.

Just thinking of the studying she had done to prepare for the assignment gave her a headache.

Sofria Kirk read Victor Hugo in the original French.

Stella Keen hadn’t finished high school.

Sofria Kirk collected porcelain tea strainers and loved Mozart operas.

Stella Keen watched reruns of Gossip Girl and One Tree Hill .

Sofria Kirk trapped spiders under water glasses and set them free outside. Stella Keen killed people.

So, as much as she wanted to fantasize about a torrid love affair with Leo “Ren” Jameson, Stella knew with complete and utter certainty she was not the woman he wanted.

As the car pulled to the curb at the nondescript Northern Virginia safe house, she added a somber thought: she was not the woman any man would want.

REN

A fter abandoning the taxi line for a much-needed walk in the rain, Ren found himself back at Union Station.

Lightning flashed overhead, and the downpour continued, but he hardly noticed.

He had hiked Myanmar’s Shan Hills in a monsoon, hunting down a fleeing warlord. This was a drizzle by comparison.

He’d always been this way. Problems existed to be solved.

His work was a chess game with infinite plans of attack and countermoves.

Whether it was his research or a security job, no scenario went unexplored.

His intelligence was his contribution. Anyone could fight; Ren could predict outcomes.

Except, it seemed, with matters of the heart.

This was Ren’s first relationship. He didn’t fear intimacy or avoid it; he craved it.

Sadly, his past had made it impossible—or rather, his unwillingness to release the past. Either way, Sofria Kirk was the first woman he’d ever known who forced aside his issues.

No, it was more than that. She shattered them.

It was as if no obstacle was gargantuan enough to keep him from her.

How could it all just crumble into dust?

Ren was a list-maker; organizing his thoughts in neat rows of ten helped him keep control.

Three times, he made a pros and cons list for Sofria Kirk.

On the list of negatives, the tenth entry continued to bother him.

Ren didn’t know why he had written it, but it was there, lurking in his mind, so he had added it with a question mark: deceptive?

Ren had to come to terms with the fact that people were not equations to be solved. He’d never know the answer to what went wrong between Sofria and him.

As travelers hurried toward the shelter of the station, Ren rounded the corner with no destination in mind.

He passed the station’s side entrance, then stopped as a flash of color in the trashcan caught his eye.

He turned as a woman in a drenched overcoat pulled a bright pink umbrella from the receptacle.

Pleased with her find, the woman opened it and proceeded on her way.

Of course, it was possible that someone else had discarded an umbrella similar to the one Sofria carried. It wasn’t the most common color, but it certainly wasn’t unique. That didn’t stop Ren from scanning the sidewalk.

And it certainly didn’t stop that niggling seed of suspicion from blooming in his gut where Sofria Kirk was concerned.