“What do you have in mind?”
“Hmm. So we’re looking for something more intimate, low-pressure, and the opposite of a full-family, fancy wedding. We could… make dinner together in one of our kitchens, once we get our kitchens fully put back together, of course, or we could set up a movie night in the grassy area behind our townhomes, or we could have a picnic in one of the balconies of the theater in the evening when no one is there.”
Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Ooh. I’m intrigued by this picnic idea.”
I don’t want to wait until next weekend to go on another date with Charlie. I quickly think through what is on the schedule for this coming week—I don’t want to take her there right after we made a lot of dust. “Are you free on Wednesday?”
“Yes.” She pauses a moment before adding, “Wednesday is a long time away.”
“And now we have a wall separating us.” I’m glad I’m not the only one feeling it.
“We’ll just have to find more creative ways to see each other before then.”
I smile. That, I can do.
Charlie reaches a hand up to rest on my chest, and even though we’ve been dancing together for hours, I swear the touch makes fireworks erupt inside me. She looks so deeply into my eyes, and since I’m doing the same, I catch the moment her gaze flicks from my eyes to my lips. It’s only for a second, but now all I can think about are her lips.
I reach up and skim my fingertips along the side of her neck and out to her shoulder.
Charlie bites her lip for a second, and then she leans forward and presses her lips to mine.
I respond by cupping her face in my hands, holding it gently as our lips move together.
She slides her hands around to my back, holdingme close, like she doesn’t want to let me go. I sink into it, soaking in the sensation of being so close to Charlie, feeling her pour as much longing into our kiss as I am.
It was sixteen years ago when my grandpa first brought me to The Shadowridge, and I knew I wanted to one day restore it. It was well over a year ago when my career was at a place where I could, and I came back to look at the building again. That very day, I started working through the very long process of making that a reality. I was just so drawn to the building, the town, the possibilities.
I had no idea then that when I would move here to work on it, I’d be even more drawn to the woman who lived in the townhome I’d be sharing a wall with. I think back to who I was on that day—to themewho didn’t even know that Charlotte Lancaster existed. I wonder how blown away that previous me would be if I’d had any idea what lay in store for me. Or that I would ever experience a night like this with a woman like Charlie.
Or that I would so totally and completely fall for her.
CHAPTER 20
SMOKE SIGNALS
CHARLIE
I’ve led Jace through plenty of missions that required me to come into work before sunrise. Sometimes, even in the middle of the night. I’ve never come in this early when it wasn’t for a mission. But as busy as work has been, this is the only time I have to deal with my sense of uneasiness that only digging through digital paper trails can soothe.
When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, I’m met with the kind of eerie silence that makes it feel as if I’ve walked into a post-apocalyptic workplace. Normally, the bullpen is buzzing with analysts, operatives, and officers. But right now, it’s just me. And I am so ready to get to work.
I turn on my computer and monitor, slip off my shoes, pull my yogurt and granola from my bag, and sink into my chair like I’m settling in for a long flight,but with far more clandestine research and legroom. “Alright, Giovanni. Let’s see what kind of secrets you’re hiding.”
For the past several days, a semi-reasonable voice keeps popping in my head asking me what in the world I am thinking. Why investigate Giovanni when everything about him initially looks clean? Can’t I just accept that at face value? Then Owen could continue on with his restoration, and everything would be great.
But then a much louder, more responsible voice (probably the ghost of every intelligence instructor I’ve ever had) kicks in and says that sketchiness always escalates. Sketchy people don’t just sit quietly being sketchy—they build on it until someone gets hurt. And if I don’t catch Giovanni’s smoke trail now, Owen might be standing in the middle of a burning dream later.
So. Gloves off. Time to dig.
Emerson already did the basics—surface scans, legit databases, eyebrow raises. I’m going deeper. I start with Giovanni’s wife, since the whole “here’s a random photo of my spouse, don’t ask follow-up questions” vibe was the first thing that pinged my internal alarm system.
I don’t have the photo he showed me, but Emerson found her Instagram, and since she appears to love posting as much as Mackenzie does, I findthat same theater picture. I run a reverse image search and—bingo—it shows up in a promotional graphic for a performance ofThe Seagullin Florence from six years ago. I find the playbill from it, and her name’s on it. So that checks out.
Still, something’s weird. Despite being married, Giovanni doesn’t show up in any of her photos. Not even in the background. Not even in the “My love took me out tonight, look at this blurry plate of pasta” kind of way. Maybe the marriage isn’t real, or maybe that’s just the way they roll.
Things might be off there, but my gut tells me that I’m not pulling on the right thread. So I move on to Giovanni’s luxury import/export business in Alexandria, Virginia. Which, honestly, sounds like a front even before I open the file.
I start combing through shipment logs, customs forms, and tax filings, and bingo again—a shipment from Romania listed as ceramic goods, a 19th-century replica. It arrived just days before Giovanni showed up to ogle The Shadowridge in person. Suspicious? Yes. Illegal? Not on its own. But in spy work, ‘suspicious’ is the first domino in the tipping line.
