As a spy, we spend so much time in the darkness, sometimes the reasons don’t make the pill any easier to swallow, and we could lose sight of why we’re doing those things. Then the darkness is all that’s left. There were moments in my life when I wondered if I’d traded my soul for the safety of others. Then, I met Evie. She was the light of my life, and the love I felt for her was like a balm to my wounded soul. I felt some redemption in knowing my actions protected her.
Finding out she was doing the same, how could I judge her for having the same sense of duty and patriotism? No, her kills weren’t what bothered me. In fact, knowing my wife was such a badass was a pretty big fucking turn on. What got to me, was seeing her in danger, worrying about her. I knew she would want to kick my ass for it because she was the best at what she did, but it didn’t stop the torturous emotions.
I wanted her out of this life, to stop putting herself at risk, because what she was asking of me, it was killing me. And when this mission was over, we’d be having a very frank conversation. I was going to make sure she kept her sexy ass at home if it was the last thing I did. Knowing my Evie ... it very well could be.
She walked out of the hotel lobby after checking us out, came over to where I was idling on the curb, and got into the car. We were trying to avoid being seen too much together in public, putting off the assumption we were a couple. Little things, like being at the front desk of a hotel, could make all the difference.
She buckled in and I drove out onto the road, ready to make the hour drive to Civitavecchia Port. We were going to spend the night at a local safe house while Martin tried to pinpoint Heron’s location, or at least get us a lot closer so we weren’t stumbling around in the dark. I was only giving him a day, then we would catch the ferry to Barcelona at five o’clock pm. On our way to the house, my phone pinged with a text and I asked Evie to check it.
“It’s from... Archmage?” she ended the statement with a question mark.
I laughed, explaining, “It’s Martin, my tech guy. He was pissed because they wouldn’t give him a code name. So, he hacked his record and gave himself one. Then he locked the file so no one but him could edit it.”
Evie was silent for a moment, then asked, “This is Martin Banks?”
“One and the same,” I replied. “You know him?” It wouldn’t have surprised me.
“More like, know of him. My boss has been trying to recruit him to black ops for years. Damn, I’m a little envious.”
I stole a glance at her and winked before looking back at the road.
“He sent an address.”
“Must be the safe house,” I mused. She punched the address into the GPS and we followed it to an old farmhouse about ten minutes away from the port.
It sat a ways back from the road, and from the rest of Martin’s message, it appeared to be empty at the moment. Turning onto the gravel drive, I glanced out Evie’s window and saw an older woman sitting in a rocker knitting, by all accounts not paying the rest of the world any attention. It was very quaint, like a picture on a postcard.
I pulled the car around back and parked a good distance from the house, by an old shed and out of sight of the road. Our go bags only had one extra set of clothes, so this stop would give us somewhere to lay low until we needed to be at the port and the chance to change and re-stock our bags.
Evie stepped out of the car and looked up at the house, raising her brows. “Damn. Your safe houses are a lot bigger than ours. At least, the ones I’ve been to.”
“You don’t drag your targets back with you,” I reminded her. “Live people can make a lot of noise.” My tone was matter-of-fact.
She stared at me for a moment, and I wondered if my candidness had given her a glimpse of a side of me she didn’t think existed. Seeing the ruthless spy in action is a lot different than hearing about the things I’d done.
I grabbed our bags and headed up the porch, set them down, and dug around for my key impression kit. When I found it, I picked up my phone, scrolling through until I found the file sent from Martin a few minutes before. I attached my phone to the kit and hit the transfer button. After a moment, I opened it and saw the new key impression and poured the mixture from the bottle inside into the mold. Shutting the case once more, I pressed the start button and waited for it to beep thirty seconds later. After extracting the key from the mold, I stood and inserted it into the deadbolt on the door.
The lock clicked and the door swung open. I held it so Evie could pass by me, then retrieved our bags from the porch and followed her. I put everything down on a scarred, wooden table in the large, old fashioned kitchen. Evie started rummaging through our things, figuring out what we needed. I meandered over to the refrigerator to see how long it had been since someone stocked the house. Not surprisingly, it was pretty bare, but the pantry was bursting. I sighed, well aware this was par for the course on a mission when you’re forced to stay out of sight, a lot of dried or canned food.
Evie laughed, and I turned to see her staring at me. “You’re adorable when you pout.” I glared at her and she only laughed harder. “Go find us clothes and ammunition, stud. I’ll make you something to eat. I promise, it won’t taste like MREs.”
I grinned and walked swiftly over to her, pulling her into my arms and giving her a hard kiss. “Thanks, baby.” Then, I did as I was told and left the room in search of supplies. Turned out, the house had a washer and drier, so rather than make do with whatever we could find to wear, and since we would be there overnight, we decided to wash our clothes. I brought us each a set of unisex sweats usually found in these places. We changed and Evie worked her magic (damn my wife was amazing) and fed me a lunch I could’ve sworn I’d ordered from a restaurant.
We took advantage of the time in seclusion and spent most of it in the bedroom. I felt a quiet desperation inside me, a mixture of fear and need. It poured out of me as I made love to Evie, and when the panic reached the surface, I fucked her hard. I wanted to leave no doubt as to who she belonged to and to leave my mark on her soul.
The next day, a couple of hours before our scheduled departure on the ferry, we were all packed up and ready to go. Evie was finishing up a call with a contact while I ran our things out to the car. As I jogged back to the house, my phone beeped. Digging it out of my pocket, I froze as I read the message. Forecast: rain. Wind: four mph. Time: twenty minutes. Roads blocked east to west.
Fuck! “Evie!” I yelled as I sprinted back toward the house. She appeared in the door as I was about to throw it open and I almost bowled her over.
“What?”
I tossed my phone to her and ran into the kitchen. I stood for half a second, thinking, then moved to the kitchen sink and dropped to my knees. Opening the cupboard under the sink, I located what I was looking for and put it on the sink.
“Alex, we don’t use the same terms, I don’t—“
“Wet work team,” I interrupted her, “Four on the team, coming from both directions on the road, twenty minutes out.”
“Shit!”
“Pretty much.” I was in the pantry looking for an empty jar. “Scarlett, run to the shed out back and see if you can find me some paint thinner, or rust remover.” I didn’t wait to see if she would follow my direction, I knew when I referred to her by her code name it would kick in her training.
I finally found a glass mason jar and set it on the table before sprinting to the bathroom and locating hydrogen peroxide. When I returned, I opened the two containers and put the right amounts into the jar. As I worked, Evie came back and handed me a tin of paint thinner. She was holding a length of pipe and I threw her a curious look, but she shook her head. It wasn’t the time for questions.
Carefully adding the third component, I mixed it until the liquids became a crystalized form of acetone peroxide. I placed the lid back on the jar and screwed it on tight. For good measure, I poked holes in the top. Jerking my head, toward the door, I indicated for her to lead the way out. Once we stepped outside, I left the door wi
de open and set the concoction down to the side of it, directly in the path of the hot, afternoon sun.
Evie grabbed my hand, tugging me after her and we ran to the back shed, taking cover inside on either side of the doorframe. Then, we waited. Eventually, the sun should heat the jar enough for the mixture to explode.
Whenever I’d jerry-rigged something at home, Evie used to ask me if all I watched growing up was MacGyver. I laughed it off at the time, but the truth was, in order to improvise something, you just had to understand the basic principle behind whatever it was you’re making. The same thing applied to weapons and explosives. And...maybe an episode or two of MacGyver.