Page 59 of Shadowfox
“And the hotel?” Will asked, his voice gentler now.
“Still standing, but the porter stares too long, pretends he’s not looking at the inside of my suitcase when he brings me tea.”
“We should wait for Egret to discuss next steps,” Thomas said.
Will and I nodded, then he snatched his glass out of my hands and raised it, eyeing the ruby bead swirling in the bottom with clear disdain. “To luxuries with hidden microphones.”
The waiter came, all white apron and apologetic eyes, and we ordered without needing to discuss it. Chicken paprikas for me again. It was comfort food wrapped in sauce and spice, something to settle my nerves. Will, true to form, ordered fish. Thomas didn’t order. He just said—in his most imperious British accent—“Bring me what you feed someone important,” and let the man choose.
It was nice, for a moment, pretending to be three friends meeting for dinner. Just three tired people laughing at the end of a long, absurd day.
“So,” Will said, tilting back in his chair. “Who wants to hear about the sex appeal of Budapest’s municipal archives?”
“No one,” I said.
“Too bad, because it was an unforgettable parade of hunched clerks and papers that should’ve burned in the last war.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “He flirted with three separate women.”
“Tried to,” Will corrected. “I failed miserably. Hell, I’ve seen stone statues with more give.”
“Describe them,” I said, sipping my wine.
“Cheekbones like razors, wore wool coats indoors, probably haven’t smiled since 1938. I think one of them telepathically cursed me.”
“Sounds about right.” Thomas grinned.
Will ignored him, leaning toward me. “They gave me the cold shoulder of a regime built on frost and disappointment.”
“What’d you learn?” Thomas asked.
“That Soviet filing systems were designed by people who hate people,” Will said.
Thomas gave a faint chuckle—rare and real, given our surroundings.
“And you?” I asked, turning to him.
“Inspected a relay station with averystudious technician who spoke like a member of the Politburo.”
I leaned close and whispered, “Were you watched?”
He shrugged. “Not obviously, which is probably worse.”
I nodded, feeling the familiar pulse of nerves behind my ribs.
Then Thomas smirked, his smart-assed half smile I knew made Will’s pulse race. “I made them wait an extra hour. I asked a million questions I knew they didn’t have answers to. The guy tolerated it, but he didn’t like it.”
“Then you did it right,” Will said, something akin to pride entering his voice. Those two were too fucking cute, even in the middle of a mission.
The food came. It was rich, hot, and absolutely perfect.
By the time the hour reached nine, the wine had mellowed all of us. Will was telling a story from Vienna—something about a diplomat, a goat, and a misdelivered bottle of French perfume. Thomas was listening with that half-skeptical frown he wore when he didn’t want to laugh.
Our fourth chair was still empty.
My eyes kept darting toward the door.
I didn’t mention it. Not yet.
