Mr. Nice Spy by Jordan McCollum Read Free Book Online Page A

whole exchange would sound a whole lot more like flirting. Instead, it sounds like somebody died.
    Not quite that serious yet. I slap the stack of paper on Talia’s desk and take a seat next to her. Fortunately, she knows what I’m trying to say — I totally screwed up — and gets right to work without any more discussion.
    When she turns the third or fourth page, it hits me — there’s no reason for me to stay by her. I never saw the guy well enough. Talia doesn’t need me. But somehow I still need to be here. Because I need to make sure we’re okay.
    Talia sucks her cheeks in, totally focused on the page of photos in front of her. I expect her to make fun of the “natural” smiles and the stuffed-shirt, kid-glove executive versions of foreign relations.
    Okay, yes, “overt ops” are important, too, and you never know if these guys applied to the Agency first and this job is their fallback plan. Still, it doesn’t feel great to stare at their smug little I’m-almost-famous grins in this tiny form of recognition, when we’re the ones risking our lives.
    But we knew when we signed up that we’d be safer living and working anonymously. And nobody goes into the Clandestine Service for the fame.
    I break the silence to distract myself from that line of thought. “Nothing so far?”
    Talia shakes her head. She’s not talking to me, not looking at me, not even thinking about me.
    Nobody focuses this hard on staring at photos. “Listen, about last night—”
    She holds up a hand, still clutching one of the pages, to cut me off. “We’ve said everything we need to say.”
    “I know. I’m not—”
    “Are you going to tell Shanna?”
    Dread freezes in my throat, drops into my stomach, sends ice spiraling through my gut, just like the minute I stepped into our apartment last night until I remembered she wasn’t home. I have no idea what to say, to Talia or to Shanna.
    Talia’s gaze travels the room. The two other people in the office are totally absorbed in their work, pointedly ignoring us. But we all know they’re listening. We’re always listening, always watching, always looking for information, even with people we should trust.
    Which means that Talia probably knows exactly what’s going on with Shanna. Probably better than I do, her being a girl.
    “I’ll figure that out.” I have to change the subject. And then I remember how to turn the tables. “What about your little boy toy? Are you telling him?”
    “Don’t see why I would.” She’s back to work on the embassy directory. “We’ve had all of one conversation.”
    It isn’t me. It isn’t me. I knew it — should have known it. How did I miss that? How did I ever think it was me? Idiot, idiot, idiot — work. Work. I have to focus on something besides my own scathing stupidity.
    I look around, but before I can find some excuse to leave her desk, Talia thumbs through the rest of the directory and shoves it away. “He isn’t here.”
    “You skipped through, like, half.”
    “I looked and he wasn’t there.” There’s some subtle challenge in her eyes, like she’s daring me to contradict her again, to make this into an argument.
    I’ve lived with Shanna too long. I don’t think Talia does head games, at least not with fellow officers. She’s trying to get rid of me.
    Not going to work this time. We have a case to handle, and I, for one, need to stay focused on that. “Then how do you want to find him?”
    She points to the directory pages’ footer. With the date of the directory. Printed six months ago. Been a long time since I used an embassy as my cover, but I do remember the almost daily turnover.
    “Do they have an updated version?” Talia asks.
    “This is supposed to be the most recent print copy.”
    “Please tell me this doesn’t mean what I think it means.”
    Either hacking or eavesdropping or both, targeting Americans. More spying on our own. “Welcome to counterintel, babe.”
    She closes her eyes and sighs.