Page 9 of Riggs
Dean hears everything. “Then Option B,” he says. “This cover makes you two an easier sell in public spaces. You can hold her hand without someone deciding you’re kidnapping her. Keep thenarrative controlled. We’re not chasing denials for two weeks. You manage the boundaries. Copy?”
“Copy,” I say. “Any other assets in Seattle?”
“Local support standing by. I’ll have Rae coordinate with the hotel. You already booked the suite?”
“Under the alias. Corner, high floor. I’ll sweep on entry.”
“Good. And Riggs?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
The line clicks dead. I stare at the rain for a second. The thing about being told not to be an idiot is it only gets said when the terrain is prime for idiocy.
“What did your boss say?” Vanessa asks, cautious.
“That we use this,” I say. “We make it work for us. Publicly, you and I are…” I gesture between us.
She supplies, dry, “Dating.”
“Apparently,” I say. My mouth goes a little dry. “It’s cleaner. It gives me pretext to be close, to make calls on your behalf. People understand that shape better than ‘security asset.’”
“And privately?” she asks.
“Privately,” I say carefully, “we remember what this is.”
A silence settles, but it isn’t uncomfortable. The Suburban hums along the freeway, downtown a smear of glass and steel ahead, the wheel spokes of the giant ferris off to the right through the rain. I run the route in my head—exit, loop, check our six,approach the garage from the west so we don’t telegraph our entry. A mundane ballet is what keeps people breathing.
“You’re good at this,” she says suddenly.
“The job?”
“The way you make it feel like I’m not drowning,” she says, softer. “Like there’s air even when it’s noisy.”
Something in my back loosens a notch. “That’s the whole point.”
Her hand moves, just a hair, on the seat between us. I could put mine over it and it would be the most natural thing in the world, a continuation of the cover we’re apparently married to now. I don’t. Not yet. Not when I can still taste her and my head hasn’t caught up.
“Ground rules,” I say, because structure is a handhold. “We’re going to need a few if we’re pulling this off without you hating me by Thursday.”
She huffs a laugh. “Okay. Lay them on me.”
“In public, I decide routes, entries, exits. If I say we go, we go. If I say we smile, we smile. If I say we’re making a scene, we’re making a scene.”
“Even if that scene involves…” She waggles her eyebrows. She’s teasing me and I deserve it.
“Even then,” I say. My ears are warm. “Second, you tell me when you’ve had enough. No stoic hero acts. I can’t mitigate for what I don’t know.”
“Deal,” she says.
“Third…” I hesitate. “Third, we keep a line between the cover and everything else.”
The tease fades. She studies me, and I feel like I’m under a microscope and she’s extremely good at science. “Okay,” she says finally, voice gentle. “We can do that.”
I nod once, a little too sharply, and pivot. “We’ll take the underground access to the hotel. Nolan will pull into the private garage. We go straight to the elevator. No lobby time. Once we’re in the room, I’ll do a sweep. You call your mother.”
Her mouth twists. “So she can tell me I’m irresponsible for dating someone I met this year?”
