Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Tuesday night, the Spouse stayed in my room watching the rest of my movie with me until the thunderstorm was over. He has also started wearing colorful dress shirts to work occasionally.
The Spouse and I have made daily walks a new part of our routine.
Along with sharing any updates assignment-wise, we talk to each other as ourselves.
Our real selves. I’ve learned that Colt grew up in northern Illinois and has strong opinions on college football teams but couldn’t care less about NFL teams. He ran track and cross-country in high school, studied criminal justice in college, and served as a police officer for two years before being accepted into the FBI.
On the weekends before our assignment, he volunteered at the library to read for story time as often as he could.
The handholding on these walks is simply an added benefit.
Colleen has made it her mission to be outside when we are either leaving for or returning from our walks. It is still unclear whether she is the true superspy among us. It is also unclear whether I am more afraid of her or Miss Karma at this point.
When The Spouse mentioned taking things slow between us, I hadn’t realized he meant sloth-pace slow.
Arthritic-sloth-on-a-chilly-morning slow.
Glacial, really. We snuggle together on the couch, hold hands sometimes, and share incidental touches as often as possible.
Absolutely no kissing has occurred, as much as I want it to.
But if this is what it takes to have him in any shape or form, I’ll gladly embrace the wait.
His touch alone does more to me than anyone else’s kiss ever has.
Aunt Flow came to town Saturday morning. Saturday afternoon, a bag of chocolates and a bottle of painkillers appeared on my bed.
On a related note, I’ve discovered how difficult it is to change tampons around a silicone baby bump. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.
Vivienne invited us to have dinner at their house Sunday night. This will be the closest we’ve gotten to potentially finding any usable intel.
I’D SEEN A multitude of high-security buildings in my life, and I’d still never seen a house with as many cameras as the Gauthier’s had.
Not in person. Even while surveilling Charles for the past two months, we couldn’t see much past the tall hedges and fence ringing the property, so we hadn’t known just how secure the house was.
Charles’ lab was likely the only space that didn’t have everything filmed from four different angles.
Truthfully, it felt like a prison.
Sure, to the untrained civilian, a lot of the cameras probably weren’t noticeable at all. But if anything, that made it worse. We couldn’t let our masks slip for a single second. No looking at the more discreet cameras, no shared glances when Vivienne and Charles weren’t looking. Nothing.
I studied the baby monitor in my hand, oohing and ahhing as Vivienne explained its specs. It seemed pretty standard as far as my research into all things babies and pregnancy, though it was one of the more secure models available.
Even the poor baby wouldn’t escape being on camera.
“I think we should get one like this,” I said, catching Colt’s eye from across the room and rotating the monitor to show him.
He and Charles stood by the crib in what would be the baby’s nursery, talking about all things crib specs and the pros and cons of the current models. When our eyes met, the corner of his mouth inched upward even as he finished whatever he was saying to Charles.
My stomach fluttered. It was humbling, being reduced to an infatuated teenager on the inside over such small things like hand-holding and soft smiles and eye contact.
But with Colt, they felt big. Important.
He’d shown me a glimpse of what he was capable of with his flirting demonstration, but what he hadn’t mentioned while extolling the virtues of his controlled nature was the sheer power of anticipation it created.
The way it could make you lick up whatever crumbs he gave you because you knew once you reached the end of the trail—the end of his rope, his self-control—the payoff would be exquisite.
Worth every second of the wait.
I reluctantly severed the eye contact and turned back to Vivienne. “I’ve been procrastinating getting everything ready. I don’t think I’ve even made my registry yet.”
Her jaw dropped, and her blue eyes widened. “You’re kidding. Please tell me you’re kidding.”
I blushed, more because it would’ve been a great thing for our cover if I’d made a registry under our cover identities’ credentials than because I felt bad about neglecting our fake baby’s needs.
“With moving and everything, I guess I just completely spaced it. And the amount of options for each product is super overwhelming.”
That much was true, at least. Scrolling through baby items and their reviews really tested my newly realized desire to have kids of my own.
Vivienne smiled kindly. “That’s understandable. If you need help setting one up, I’m happy to give you my opinions.” She laughed softly to herself. “I’ve spent enough time on baby forums to last a lifetime.”
“At this point, I’m positive you could teach the Lamaze class yourself,” Charles added in his lightly accented baritone, pulling his wife to his side.
The unveiled adoration in their faces when they looked at each other tore at my heartstrings. They truly loved each other. Wholly and without reservations.
And I was about to rip them apart.
“I’m glad for our sake that you didn’t. I’m not sure we would’ve met otherwise,” Colt cut in, a crooked smile on his lips as he pulled me to his side as well. He bent to press a kiss to my head, and, while his lips were hidden in my curls from the cameras’ view, mumbled, “You good?”
Crap . Some of my inner conflict must have slipped through my mask. Hopefully not enough for anyone but him to notice.
I wiped my expression clear before forcing a smile. “That’s true! I’m glad you let Miss Karma handle the class, even if she scares the crap out of me. You’re my first friend here.”
My throat tightened at the truth in my statement. Aside from coworkers, Vivienne was my first friend in Michigan. Except she wasn’t really, was she?
Vivienne laughed, though her reply was cut off by her phone’s timer going off in her pocket. Her casserole was officially done baking.
Charles offered a reserved smile and gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”
We eagerly followed them into the hall. Vivienne’s eyes warily flicked to the cameras overhead so fast I nearly missed it. Just as quickly, her smile returned.
And there it remained for the rest of dinner, almost without failing.
Just as they’d done while giving us the redacted version of the tour of the house, she and Charles kept conversation light and far, far away from anything work-related.
Any questions I asked about the topics received a vague answer and a topic change.
The night felt like a twisted dance, each of us chatting amicably while saying nothing of importance.
As the meal progressed, Colt’s knuckles whitened ever so slightly as he gripped his silverware. Of everyone I knew, he was likely the only person who hated small talk more than I did. Always, but especially while working.
I set my hand on his thigh, and he relaxed marginally. Tonight was looking to be a giant fail as far as gathering usable evidence against Charles went. Deep undercover operations were often about playing the long game. Unfortunately for us, we didn’t have the luxury of time on our side.
Frustration simmered through me. But I didn’t act on it, didn’t let it show, because whatever happened tonight, we had to score another invite into their home. Soon.
So, while babbling about our upcoming “anniversary” plans—which were none, to be clear—I focused on soaking in every detail I could.
The hired bodyguard hovering by the entrance to the kitchen, just barely out of sight but close enough to interfere should he need to.
The way Vivienne angled her body to shield her face from the cameras as much as possible without it appearing unnatural.
And when she disappeared into the kitchen to bring out the cheesecake Colt had made, it finally hit me.
The strangest thing about tonight wasn’t the weird dance of conversation.
It wasn’t the closed doors we passed on the tour with no explanation, or even the constant surveillance.
It was the way Vivienne and Charles interacted.
With each other, with us. It felt hauntingly familiar.
After all, it was exactly how Colt and I had acted in public at the beginning of our assignment.
Performative .
Like they couldn’t afford to let their guard down or appear anything but normal. The changes between Vivienne at the spa and within her own home were subtle, but they were there. To anyone who knew what to look for, who had a baseline from seeing her when she wasn’t being watched, it was there.
My stomach pitched. Either they’d become suspicious of us all over again, or my hunch about them was starting to look more plausible.
We made it through the rest of dinner without incident. Vivienne had seemed as enthusiastic as always about seeing us at Lamaze on Thursday, which was a relief. If she suspected us, she hid it extremely well.
Colt and I didn’t dare breach the subject until we’d gotten home, changed our clothes, and convened in the front yard for a walk while the sun set.
He intertwined his fingers with mine and arched a brow, the corner of his mouth tipping upward. “That was a lot of cameras.”
“ So many cameras,” I laughed, relishing the freedom to speak freely for the first time all day.