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Tessa pulled the hood of her jacket tighter against the misty drizzle as she led Tommy down the shadowed alley. The uneven cobblestones, slick with rain, demanded her attention, and she’d already twisted her ankle once but didn’t slow her pace.

Behind her, his footsteps thudded louder than necessary. He was angry, and his frustration reverberated off the walls. “Skipping Ilford is a mistake,”

he muttered. “That’s where Jessie started. We shouldn’t bypass it.”

Men. They were always so…annoying. “We’re not skipping it,”

she replied over her shoulder. “We’re re-prioritizing. The computer lab in Arizona is the key. It’s the bigger breadcrumb, so that’s our end goal, just like it seems to have been for her. If we have time and means, we can check into Ilford on our way through London.”

Tommy brushed past her to block her path. She stopped just short of colliding with him. He had his hood up, too, but the mist had collected on his unruly beard. Above it, his sharp cheekbones emphasized his blue eyes as they bore into hers. “How exactly do you plan on getting me into the States? The CIA has my passport flagged. The second I use it, I’ll light up Del’s warning system like a damn Christmas tree.”

Surely, he had put two and two together already. “That’s why we’re getting you a new one.”

She stepped around him and continued marching down the alley.

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?”

He jogged to catch up. “Because fake documents have never gone sideways for anyone before when the CIA is looking for them.”

She ignored his sarcasm, stopping shy of the street that would take them to the place they needed. She jammed a finger into his chest. “You came to me, remember? You’re alive because of me. I told you we were going to do this my way, and you agreed. While I have a dog in this fight because I was friends with Jessie, and because I…”

She couldn’t finish. She what? Had feelings for him? Felt responsible for him?

Why the hell was she doing this? Why was she getting sucked back into undercover work and acting like an operative? Just like she had insisted to Flynn and Meg, she didn’t do this stuff anymore. Sure, helping the swans with the Romanian Embassy problem had been exciting, but now she was knee-deep in shit she didn’t want to be shoveling.

“Are you going to finish that sentence?”

the man pulling her into the shit asked.

Annoying… “If I say we’re going to Arizona, we’re going to Arizona. Now shut up, get out of my way, and let’s get on with it.”

For a tense moment, he stared down at her, his lips pressed into a hard line. Angry, cunning, deadly determined. This was the Tommy who’d been on the run, dodging assassins and terrorists. Hunting for his sister’s killer only to discover he’d been denied his revenge.

While she wasn’t sure, she suspected he hated Meg and Declan. Maybe even Spence. They’d let Hagar kill Jessie.

At least, that’s what he believed.

She hadn’t been there and didn’t know anything other than what Spence had told her. Meg and Jessie had been ambushed, kidnapped, and beaten nearly to death. Declan could have saved Jessie but had chosen to save Meg that day instead.

Dec had been in a no-win situation. How did you choose between two teammates when their lives were on the line?

She returned Tommy’s glare, refusing to back down. While she wasn't above laying blame at Dec’s feet, she knew him to be one of the most dependable and reliable men she'd ever known. She knew the grief that they all carried and, for some stupid reason, felt her own healthy amount of it. She wasn't a swan, and yet…

Had she missed something along the way? Had Jessie said or done anything that she should have picked up on? When she’d learned that Hagar and his death squad had kidnapped Meg and Jessie, should she have left Romania and her simple life as a librarian behind and jumped back into the foray?

The answer was yes. Always yes.

It was too late to change what had happened. She would have to live with the questions and the guilt they brought.

Tommy exhaled through his nose, wiped a hand over his face, and just like that, his demeanor changed. He was back to being her Tommy—a man dealing with the fallout of his sister’s death and still holding it together. A man who wanted to save the world.

A man she wanted to make smile.

He grumbled something under his breath about her being worse than Jessie. She took that as a compliment.

Not even attempting to keep the smile off her face, she resumed walking, his string of colorful curses following her. A block down the street, she stopped in front of a nondescript shop, its windows filled with a garish mix of blinking neon lights. A hand-painted sign above the door proclaimed in English, Authentic Romanian Souvenirs.

Tommy glanced up and down the nearly empty street. The place was so far off the beaten tourist path that few customers frequented the place. His voice came out low and incredulous. “This is where we’re getting the passport?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“It looks like a postcard puked.”

That it did. “It has a certain charm.”

He snorted. She pushed the door open to the chime of an outdated bell. Inside, the shop smelled of stale air and cheap incense. Shelves were cluttered with ceramic Dracula figurines, embroidered tablecloths, and touristy trinkets. A radio crackled faintly behind the counter, broadcasting a local talk show.

A man in his fifties appeared from the back room, the beaded curtain clacking as he shoved it aside, and it fell back to cover the opening. His belly strained against the buttons of his plaid shirt, and his balding head was artfully covered with a few long strands of what he had left of hair.

When he saw Tessa, his fake smile for tourists faded, and his lips covered his nicotine-stained teeth. He cursed, albeit in Romanian. It seemed she was getting a lot of that today. His gaze went to Tommy, sizing him up. He switched to English when he spoke to Tessa. “What do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet one of your best customers, Vasile? Especially one who has helped you out of a jam more than once. Or have you forgotten those special memories?”

He rolled his eyes, forcing another fake smile as he dropped his Romanian accent. “Greetings. What can I do for you today, my favorite customer?”

“That’s better.”

She moved to a display of traditional Romanian clothing and picked up a delicate veil embroidered with crimson flowers. She draped it over her arm, her movements deliberate. His smile faltered, but his eyes lit up. The veil was worth less than twenty dollars, but what it signified was worth far more.

“Beautiful hand-stitching on that one,”

he said, now the consummate salesman. “The color will look good on you.”

Tommy peered between them, not understanding the code but realizing there was one. Tessa stroked the veil. Only one other customer was in the shop, busy eyeing some coins. The man told Vasile he’d be back for the boxed collection and made for the exit, but she stayed in character. “Perhaps you have a mirror in the back that I could use to decide whether it’s right or not for me?”

The bell tinkled as the coin connoisseur exited. Vasile gestured for them to step around the counter and follow him. “This way.”

Tommy hesitated as the curtain swung aside again. She gave him a pointed look, and his forehead creased with the battle inside his mind. Should he follow? Should he trust her? Should he head to London on his own?

Decision made, he smoothed out his frown and followed Vasile.

The back room was cramped, lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. There were boxes of inventory, a decrepit desk with papers and an ancient typewriter against one wall, and a small cabinet with a large TV on top of it. The picture showed a soccer game, but the sound was turned off.

They wove around stacked boxes as he brought them into an even smaller room. He closed the door behind them and held up his arms to avoid touching them as he squeezed past and made his way to the desk.

Everything was high-tech here. A computer, multiple printers, a light table, a camera on an adjustable tripod, and a screen on the wall vied for space. “Who needs the papers,”

he asked, “and what kind?”

Tessa hitched a thumb toward Tommy. “Him. Heath Mathers. American. Passport and American driver’s license from Arizona.”

She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “Here are the details. He also needs pages that show he’s been traveling internationally for the past year.”

“Locations?”

the man asked.

“Mostly Europe. Nothing South of the border.”

He slipped a pair of reading glasses on his nose, eyeing Tommy with mild disdain. “He looks like a homeless lumberjack. Even with papers, no one will believe he’s anything but trouble.”

Tessa smirked. “He is trouble, but that’s not your concern.”

Tommy issued a tight huff. “Will the two of you stop talking about me as if I’m not here?”

“You haven’t said anything useful,”

Vasile replied. “Do you always let her do all the talking?”

Tommy looked like he might punch the guy in the face. “I can’t shut her up. Budapest, Vienna, here. Those are the places to put in my passport.”

The man dismissed him with a glance at her. “This will take time and money.”

“Half now, half when it’s done,”

Tessa said. She pulled a bundle of euros from her backpack. This was their standard agreement, but she always insisted on being clear with instructions. “We’re in a hurry. I need the papers today.”

Vasile grumbled in both Romanian and English. “I’m good, but I need more time.”

He always said that. “I’m about to take him next door and make your wife very happy. You do want her to be happy, don’t you, Vasile? You start the documentation, and we’ll return for the picture shortly.”

“What’s next door?”

Tommy asked.

She laid the veil on the desk next to the money. It would be a nice souvenir for Meg. “I’ll take this too.”

Grabbing Tommy’s arm, she pulled him to the exit. “Time for your makeover.”