15. Operation Explain Yourself #3
Reese identified me through a professionally constructed disguise, recognized a brush pass, stayed outside the restricted perimeter, and withdrew instead of compromising what she guessed might be an undercover operation.
She also approached an active operation without telling anyone and stood where Rooke’s security may have seen her.
The pride and terror are competing fairly evenly.
“What were they transporting?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
Her eyebrows pull together. “You were discussing moving something through three jurisdictions.”
My brows rise. “You heard that?”
“I have excellent hearing when people are discussing criminal arrangements within range.”
I take a slow breath. “It was hypothetical. They wanted to know how Maxwell would handle a compromised courier.”
“And the person offering you twice your fee for the client’s name?”
“Also hypothetical.”
She leans back. “So, I accidentally wandered into a criminal job interview. Strange.” She pauses a moment. “The man with the tablet?”
“Another evaluator.”
“The mechanic?”
“I’m not sure. Security, probably.” She goes quiet for a second, and I add, “You were much too close.”
“I was beside the charter office.”
“You were close enough to hear the meeting.”
“I didn’t realize it was a meeting until I was already there.”
“And then you stayed.”
“Only long enough to understand why you were wearing someone else’s nose.”
“That could have put you in danger.”
Her expression sharpens. “I know.” The words come out differently from everything else. Not a joke. Not defensive. She knows.
That does something to me. I nod once. “We’ll have to go over exactly where you stood, where you parked, and what you saw before you leave. Charlie is already checking whether anyone noticed you.”
She nods.
“And you’re not going anywhere near another active operation.”
“I wasn’t planning to make a habit of tracking my purse into international crime.”
“Good.”
“But I’m keeping the AirTag.”
“That’s probably wise.”
Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. She returns to the couch, but instead of sitting, she picks up her notebook and closes it. “I want to see it.”
I straighten. “See what?”
“The CSA.”
Of all the questions she could ask, I should’ve assumed that one was inevitable. It’s also close to impossible.
“The secret building,” she continues. “The computers. The disguises. The place everyone else has apparently been going while I thought you were securing client databases.”
“Reese—”
“The room everyone else has been standing inside while I didn’t know there was a door.”
I stand. “I can’t take you there.”
The hurt arrives instantly, and she turns away, pressing her lips together.
“I don’t mean I don’t want to take you there,” I say quickly. “I mean I literally can’t authorize you to enter.”
She looks back at me.
“Being read in means I’m allowed to tell you the agency exists and explain my role. It doesn’t give you a security clearance or access to the facility.”
“So, there’s still a door I’m not allowed through.”
“There are doors most people who work there aren’t allowed through.”
“That is not as comforting as you think it is.”
“I know.”
I move closer, but not close enough to crowd her. “I’ll ask my mom. See if I can find a way to get it approved.”
“Your mom, the director.”
“Yes.”
“Are you telling me she doesn’t generally allow emotionally unstable librarians to tour a secret government intelligence agency on a random Saturday night?”
“You’re not emotionally unstable.”
“Today’s evidence suggests otherwise. Also, I’m wearing a mustache.”
“That’s evidence, but not proof.”
She almost smiles.
“I can’t promise she’ll say yes,” I tell her. “And if she does, there will be restrictions. You wouldn’t be allowed near active operations, classified files, or most of the building.”
“But you’ll ask?”
“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
“If you want me to.”
“I do.”
I nod. “Then I’ll ask tonight.”
Her gaze searches mine. I don’t know whether this is what Abraham meant when he said to open the door and let Reese decide whether she wanted to walk through. But I know I can’t pretend the door doesn’t exist anymore.
“And until your mother decides whether I’m allowed into Spy Club,” Reese says, “you’re answering questions.”
“Fair enough.”
“Can I see your fake passports?”
“Maybe sometime.”
“Have you ever parachuted into another country?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Have you ever been shot?” Her voice is quieter now.
The question stops both of us. I hold her gaze. “Yes.”
She draws in a breath.
I don’t explain. I don’t give context she didn’t ask for or rush to make the answer easier. I let her absorb it.
After a moment, she nods slowly and then sits on the couch. I sit beside her, leaving enough space that she doesn’t feel trapped. Her crooked mustache has begun peeling away again, and she presses it down absently.
Then she turns toward me. “Okay,” she says. “Start at the beginning.”
“The beginning of the CSA?”
“The beginning of you.”
I look at the woman who knew me beneath darkened hair, a beard, glasses, someone else’s nose, and a voice that wasn’t mine. Then I begin telling her the truth.