Page 9

The heavy glass doors of the bank closed behind Tessa with a muted thud, leaving the bustling noise of the street muffled behind her.

Inside, the scent of polished wood and faintly acrid toner filled the air. She didn’t stop her stride, keeping her sunglasses on as she approached the receptionist with measured confidence. Everything about her said ordinary. She was simply another client visiting her safe deposit box.

Down the block, Tommy sat in her car, petulant. She’d insisted he stay behind. She didn’t want him anywhere near the bank.

Going through the standard steps required to access the box, she slipped her ID across the desk to the clerk and signed off on a digital pad. Here, she used her real name and didn’t need to avoid the cameras that tracked her every movement, although it was second nature to turn her head away from their probing scanners.

Inside the tiny room next to the vault, the generous-sized metal box before her, she took a moment to breathe. This was it—the safety net she’d created years ago but had prayed she never need.

Now, she did.

The first thing that greeted her inside was a collection of miscellaneous contracts and papers that all regular, upstanding citizens possessed. She removed them and the fake bottom she’d installed and examined what lay underneath.

Multiple aliases, passports, documents, and individual bags labeled with names corresponding to those fake IDs were tucked neatly in the metal confines. Each bag was meticulously organized and tailored to a specific alias.

She thumbed through the passports, settling on one for Kaitlyn Brown. A nondescript American who traveled in Europe for an international office supply company. Boring and ordinary. The bag corresponding to Kaitlyn had a makeup kit, hair dye, and a carefully folded microfiber outfit. It was everything she needed to transform herself into the woman on the passport.

She grabbed a second, smaller bundle of cash—euros, dollars, and a few denominations she wouldn’t need but took anyway. You just never knew who you had to bribe and what currency they preferred.

Her Sig Sauer fit perfectly in the space left behind. She hated being without it, but it was better not to attempt to take it through airport security. Even if she dismantled it and put the pieces into CIA-approved containers that mimicked everyday items, it would be two chancy. And while all of her aliases had a permit to carry, Kaitlyn Brown didn’t seem the type.

Inventorying everything one last time, she placed the items into her backpack and closed the box with a soft click. A minute later, she was outside and found Tommy leaning on the side of the car, waiting for her. Even as he spotted her, he kept scanning the street, the buildings, the alleys. Nothing escaped his notice.

“All good?” he asked.

She nodded and crooked her finger in a gesture for him to follow. Leaving the car, she led him down several busy streets to a French boutique four blocks from the bank.

The shop was exactly as she remembered it: opulent, intimidating, and discrete. The interior sparkled with glass cases displaying overpriced jewelry and racks of clothing better suited for runways than real life.

Posh carpeting silenced their footsteps, and Tommy murmured in her ear, “What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see.”

A female clerk who looked like she could walk one of those runways approached with a warm smile. The gold choker around her neck probably cost more than the money Tessa had secured in her backpack. She greeted them in Romanian, then English. “May I help you?”

“Is Miriam working?”

Tessa asked.

The woman’s smile faltered. “I’m so sorry. Miriam is no longer employed here. May I be of assistance?”

That was disappointing. Tessa slipped a crisp, folded bill out of her pocket and made sure to catch the woman’s eye with it. “What I need is a few minutes alone with my husband in your dressing room. I’ll make it worth your while.”

The clerk’s gaze went between her and Tommy, a sly smile passing over her features this time. There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the shop, and she probably needed to make her quota for the day. Hard to do if you didn’t have clientele. “Of course. Perhaps I could show you the latest Miro Hasaki? You’re a size thirty-eight? Thirty-nine?”

The European dress sizes translated to roughly a size six or seven. A bit small for her, but it didn’t matter. “Thirty-nine will do.”

The clerk grabbed an atrocious orange and green dress from one of the displays and gestured for them to follow. She then hung the dress on the back of the changing room door, gave Tessa a knowing wink, and said, “I hope you find it to your satisfaction.”

Tessa locked the door behind her, her pulse racing from the risk she was taking. The room was small yet luxurious, featuring a bench, plush carpet, and peacock wallpaper. It included a sink beneath a large gilded mirror and a discreet water closet.

She dumped the contents of the Kaitlyn Brown bag on the counter and handed Tommy a smaller one filled with his silicone prosthetics and adhesive. “You’re up,” she said.

He groaned, opening the bag like it contained live snakes. “I have to do it myself?”

"Out of everything you’ve dealt with in the past year, you’re going to complain about this?”

She slipped out of her jacket and flipped through her materials. Working efficiently, she shampooed the dye into her hair, making it more auburn. Next came contacts that matched that tone. She fattened her nose and thinned her lips.

Tommy seemed more fascinated with watching her in the mirror than transforming his features. All she had left to do was switch out her clothes, and he hadn’t even done his cheekbones. He held a brow piece in one hand and the adhesive in the other, squinting at them like they were puzzle pieces.

Tessa grabbed the forms, motioning for him to sit on the counter. “Just… Sit still.”

He hesitated but obeyed, grunting as he hoisted himself up. She stepped between his knees, her focus narrowing as she pressed the brow piece to his skin and smoothed the edges with practiced precision.

He was warm, and that heat seemed to radiate between them, making her acutely aware of how close they were. His hands shifted to her waist, casual-like.

Was this a test? After her quick thank you kiss this morning, was he pushing the boundaries to see how far he could go?

“Stop that,”

she snapped.

He dropped his hands to his thighs. “Sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry in the least.

As she worked, her eyes kept straying to his lips. Focus, Tessa. She dabbed the adhesive with the brush, refusing to let her thoughts wander. He was staring at her but she refused to meet his gaze.

Where else could he look? she chided herself. Of course, he’s staring at you. You just became someone else.

But it was more than that, and she knew it.

A part of her wanted him to put his hands back on her waist. Another inch, and she could brush her breast against his chest. Their breath mingled with their faces so close together, and all she had to do was lean closer to kiss him again.

“You’ve done this before,”

he said quietly. “I thought you weren’t a spy.”

“I’ve been trained in many things; this is one of them.”

That focused gaze studying her made her stomach flutter. Her pulse ratcheted up again. “You’re good at it.”

She didn’t trust herself to respond. His hand slid back to her hips, this time lingering, and she didn’t demand he remove it. Her breath seemed stuck in her chest, and when she finally met his eyes, his expression was unreadable.

“Don’t,”

she said, but the damage was done. Her resolve was crumbling faster than she could repair it.

“Tessa,”

he said just above a whisper.

A shiver ran through her, hearing her name spoken with such reverence. She stared at his lips, remembering their conversation at the kitchen table. How he’d looked at her like she mattered.

On impulse, so rare for her, she leaned in. Their lips met, and Tommy stilled.

Everything that had happened slid away. She wasn’t thinking about anything now except how he felt against her.

He deepened the kiss, sliding off the counter, his arms wrapping around her. She let herself fall flush against him. The next thing she knew, she’d dropped the brush and adhesive, her back hitting the wall as he pinned her there.

She gasped, but it didn’t stop him.

It didn’t stop her, either.

She grabbed the locks of hair on top of his head with one hand and the back of his neck with the other. This is how she could forget. Forget all of it—Jessie’s death, her mother’s, all the others who had betrayed and left her.

This moment of freedom would come at a cost, but she didn’t care. She wanted it, whatever risks it brought.

A knock sounded on the door. “Time is up,”

the clerk called. “You must leave now.”

Tommy’s hand pressed against the wall beside Tessa’s head, his breath brushing her ear as he growled at the clerk, “Go. Away.”

Reality came crashing back, unwanted. Tessa let her hands fall. “We can’t stay,”

she whispered, her voice as shaky as her legs.

Tommy kissed her again, harder, his hand sliding down to her thighs. He lifted her effortlessly, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist.

The bliss hit again, and all logic fled. His tongue found hers, and they danced together in that bliss.

The doorknob rattled, followed by a man’s voice. “Open up. I have called the police. They are on their way.”

That got their attention. Tommy released her, and she mentally scolded herself as they both caught their breath.

Without a word, they scrambled to gather their things. Outside the door, the manager’s voice rose in a mixture of French, Romanian, and furious English.

Tommy grabbed her hand, hauling her after him. They burst out of the dressing room and made a beeline for the exit. The manager’s tirade followed them.

Outside on the sidewalk, Tessa’s laughter bubbled up, uncontrollable and ridiculous, given their situation.

But it was infectious, and she caught the grin spreading across Tommy’s face as they ran from the boutique, like children playing a dangerous game.