“Are these real?”
“Real enough to work.”
“I’m amazed the Agency didn’t ask for them back when you quit.”
One corner of her mouth curved up. “They usually don’t bother asking unless it’s an asset they can repurpose. Besides, you can’t surrender anything that’s already been reported lost.”
Intrigued, he thumbed through one of the Russian passports that listed her name as Irina Stavitskaya. It appeared authentic enough, with all of the bells and whistles that were supposed to make these types of documents impossible to forge. Nearly every page was marked with at least one entry or exit stamp. In the picture, her hair was straight and blonde, her eyes a darker shade of blue, but the rest of her was the same. “It must have been tough keeping all of these straight in your head.”
“After a while, it becomes second nature. It’s kind of like playing a part in a film. The costume goes on, I forget about Essie, and become that person for a while.”
Beneath the passports was a pair of wigs stored in clear plastic bags. He held up the brunette one. “Who are you when you wear this?”
“That would be Mia.” Her voice adopted an Australian accent. “She works for a financial services conglomerate in Melbourne that specializes in high-dollar corporate accounts.”
“And this?” This time he held up the dark-red wig that appeared to be the one in the passport for her other American identity.
Without missing a beat, she slipped into a thick Texas drawl. “Janelle’s from a tiny town just south of Houston. She’s an administrative assistant for a defense contractor executive. Most folks think she’s dumb as a stump, because I like it when they underestimate me.”
Jackson grinned. Damn, he loved it when she got playful. It was a rare thing, and he decided to enjoy it for however long it lasted. Also, he really wanted to see her wearing that wig, preferably with nothing else on. Well, maybe some heels, but it wasn’t a deal breaker. He’d take her any way he could get her. “Did you ever cross paths with someone who knew you as a different person?”
“It only happened once, while I was working in…” She paused, and then waved a dismissive hand. “Well, that part isn’t important. I was attending a conference in Berlin when I ran into a guy who used to feed me information about Russian missile components.”
“Did he recognize you?”
“No.” A note of humor glinted in her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice sounded distinctly Russian. “In Moscow, I was Nadezhda. She was fairly unassuming. Mousy brown hair, big glasses, huge mole right above my upper lip. My appearance was vastly different when we met the second time.”
He gave her a look. “A mole?”
“People tend not to pay attention to unattractive women.” She shrugged, her voice back to normal. “We had a working relationship, nothing more. I didn’t want him getting ideas.”
Well, that made perfect—whoa, wait. A flare of irrational jealousy tightened his gut. “How often did men ‘get ideas’?”
Something changed in her eyes, a subtle shadow of emotion that he wasn’t quite sure how to interpret. “It happened on occasion, but only when I wanted it to happen. I preferred not to pull that lever unless it was absolutely necessary. And no, I never pulled it at any point while we were involved.”
He appreciated her honesty, though the notion of other men putting hands to her still made his blood pressure redline.
Needing to change the subject, he asked, “That thing you said to Austin and Nina about doing horrible things for your country. Was that true?”
And just like that, her spy face returned in all its unreadable glory. “Asking that question shows how little you know me.”
Her words stung, because they were true. They shared an intense, undeniable attraction. Their chemistry was instant and explosive. He loved this woman beyond all reason, and he was certain she felt the same way. But they’d gotten married before they built a solid foundation for their relationship. No wonder it had crashed down around them. But now that he fully understood the problem, he’d move heaven and earth to resolve it. “Then how about you fill me in? I want to know everything about you.”
“You’ll think better of me if you don’t. That part of my life is staying in a deep, dark hole where it belongs.”
“Sometimes it helps to talk.”
The look on her face said exactly what she thought of that statement.
“Even if I wanted to tell you, I can’t. Almost all of it is classified.”
Her gaze met his, her eyes hollow and haunted, and he realized the worst of her scars were on the inside.
“I don’t regret anything I’ve done. It was necessary so regular people can live their lives and sleep at night without worrying about what the monsters in this world are up to. But there are times when I can barely remember who I was before the Agency sank their claws into me. You don’t want to tangle with my demons, Jackson. They’ve got sharp teeth, and they’re quick to bite.”
“Good thing I’ve got a thick hide.”
She frowned.
