Page 48 of Skull

Iceman gave a cold nod, meeting Skull’s gaze one last time before turning to Walker. “Let’s get this done and get our people home.”

Drawing a measured breath, Walker gave them each a strong, reassuring look. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let Hazard and Leigh down. Or any of you.”

An electric silence hung in the conference room. Everyone knew there was no turning back. Plans formed, roles were assigned, and the grim tension lingering in the air felt both desperate and resolute. Skull’s gaze swept over each of his teammates, silently wondering who was truly ready for this “jump the shark” moment. They had no choice, and one by one, each nodded in agreement.

Walker opened the door and led them out. “All right,” she said, voice tight with resolve. “The show must go on.” She was rewarded with groans. All joking aside, she as well as Skull was desperate for this to go off without a hitch, desperate for Canto to give them intel they could use.

16

Walker paused in the wings,letting memories of both high school drama club and her college performances wash over her for just a moment. The smell of freshly painted sets, mingled with the hint of cheap perfume, pulled her back to those younger days when acting had come so easily. It still did. That was half the reason the CIA had seen fit to recruit her. She’d always been able to slip into any role with little more than a tilt of her chin and a spark in her eyes. Playing Titania’s part tonight in this elegant old theater? Piece of cake.

A Midsummer Night’s Dreamwas a comedy set in and near Athens where residents of Athens mixed with fairies from the local forest, with comic results, namely four young Athenians in a romantic tangle. Titania didn’t come into the action until Act II, Scene 1. She and Strekoza, as part of Queen Titania’s attendants, would be wending their way through the forest.

She let out a steadying breath and slid into the dressing room, flicking on a single bulb that buzzed dully overhead. The backstage hum was pleasantly familiar with whispers from actors in the corridors, a muffled rustling of props. She glanced around for her costume, but found only a couple of leaves, a pair of ribbons, and that was it. Shock flared through her, followed immediately by a wry laugh as she snatched up the handbill.

They were doing the show nude. Of course they were.

She could already hear Boomer’s unbridled amusement. And Skull? He’d already seen everything she had, but she wasn’t sure how he was going to react to her being on display not only for his teammate, but Diego’s lecherous eyes. Then again, if they’d wanted modesty, they’d have picked a different operative. Sighing, she held up her “costume.” One leaf short, by the looks of it.

It wasn’t lost on her that this particular play was about love, illusion, and transformation. Shakespeare showed love as a powerful, if sometimes whimsical force. In her experience with Skull, there was no doubt about the power that gripped them, and if love wasn’t whimsical, it just wasn’t love. It was also about Illusion versus Reality, raising the question of how real experiences and emotions were when shaped by perception. Her perception was that there were many, many complications in their path, and she wasn’t exactly sure how that was all going to pan out. The last theme that really struck her in her bid for Skull’s affections included confusion and comedic chaos, the play ending in harmony, suggesting that even when love’s path was wildly unpredictable, it could still bring people together. She didn’t want to think too hard about that or what would happen when this mission was over. She so didn’t want to break his heart, or her own for that matter.

Her earpiece crackled to life, scattering her thoughts. “What the actual fuck?” Strekoza’s voice sounded as dry as toast. Walker suppressed a snicker.

“How many leaves did you get?” she teased back.

“Less than you, apparently,” came the wry retort.

Before she could say more, a sharp knock rattled the dressing-room door. A stagehand stuck his head in, face half-lost in the dim light. “Five minutes, Ms. Perez,” he announced, disappearing before she could ask any questions.

“Well,” she muttered to the empty room, “the show must go on.” She shrugged off her robe, folding it over the chair. Cool air against her skin made her shiver. Working quickly, she arranged the meager pieces as best she could, leaves and ribbons crossing over her body with the barest coverage. Her backside was pretty much on full display. It was a good thing she never skipped leg day.

She gave herself a final once-over in the dressing-table mirror, forcing her mind to refocus on the reason she was here in the first place, Diego. The next step of her mission. There was no telling if he’d cooperate, but she had some things up her sleeves—a bribe, maybe a sharp knife at the right time. But first she had to pull off the most convincing show of her life while bagging herself a lovesick killer before the final curtain.

Gathering her composure, she let the excitement of performing fill her, the rush of adrenaline that always hit right before stepping onstage. Nudity aside, this was just another role. Another chance to do what she did best, bring a mission to a successful conclusion. Hell, she didn’t even have to kill anyone. She pushed open the door and strode backstage, every inch the haughty fairy queen. The others wouldn’t suspect a thing. After all, she’d been trained for moments like this.

No turning back now. Sheer joy enveloped her, and in her flimsy leaf “costume,” she headed for her grand entrance, lifted her head, and stepped toward the lights.

Skull satin the velvet-cushioned seat, hands resting lightly on the carved wooden armrests next to his teammate. Boomer shifted slightly, leaning in. “Blade better have had his facts right,” he murmured. Skull gave a curt nod, not taking his gaze off the stage.

He kept his body still, hands resting on his knees, though inside his nerves were wound as tight as steel wire. Their target, Diego Canto, sat a few rows ahead. Skull could see Diego’s silhouette, sharply outlined under the stage lights, and noticed the way the man kept scanning the crowd, his attention wandering until the moment the curtain closed and then began to rise for the second act.

As the house lights dimmed, and a hush swept over the theater, anticipation was thick in the air. The ornate proscenium arch glimmered under the faint glow of footlights, and there was a soft, expectant rustle as the massive scarlet curtain rose on the second act of the play. This would be Walker’s first scene.

The stage was dressed to resemble a moonlit glade deep in a fantastical forest. Tall, sweeping trees were painted in shimmering blues and greens, trailing vines lit with pinpoints of light like drifting fireflies.

Walker and Strekoza stood at center stage, both portraying Titania’s fairy train in this adaptation of Shakespeare’sA Midsummer Night’s Dream. They were nearly aglow themselves, as if spotlights had captured every delicate contour of their bodies. Each wore only two diaphanous ribbons winding around their torsos, and a pair of artfully placed leaves, leaving most of their forms exposed. Skull couldn’t help but lift an eyebrow. Walker’s presence alone often commanded attention, but now her confidence and poise were outright breathtaking. Strekoza, with her own fierce grace, mirrored the effect, both women like living embodiments of forest spirits.

The audience leaned in, captivated. She moved as if lit from within. No, Skull corrected himself, shewaslit from within, from her talent, from her spirit, from the very essence that had stolen his heart. The same heart that clenched now as he saw Diego eye her with undisguised, predatory interest.

Boomer, ever the joker, whispered, “She’s gonna give him a coronary before we can get any intel out of him.” But Skull didn’t laugh. His jaw clenched. A possessive flare sparked in his chest. He and Walker had shared something fierce and intimate hours ago and seeing her practically naked in front of that leering bastard felt like swallowing ground glass.

Behind them, a soft chorus of flutes and strings set the atmosphere, Walker already delivering her lines, in the role of Titania, in clear, ringing tones. It was Shakespeare’s text, resounding like a gentle lullaby through the silence:

“Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;

Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;

Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds,

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