Be Good Mrs. B | Spies, Lies & Butterflies Book #2

9. bands & bullets

"I bought walkie-talkies, binoculars, juice pouches, tape, a multitool, and that gluten-free Rice Cracker snack mix you like from Trader Joe's," Sadie tossed her duffel bag behind her as she clambered into my passenger seat outfitted in an oversized long sleeve camo partially obscured beneath Carhartt overalls.

Trying my absolute damndest not to laugh, I kept my gaze straight forward, "Please tell me you brought more than one change of clothes."

"I'm a mom. Of course, I did. Oh – I stole a few fruit snacks from Lily's stash too. We'll keep that between us, though."

"Stealing from your toddler?"

Sadie buckled in, "It's not stealing if I bought it. Hit is, sis."

"I don't know what you think this is – " I was interrupted by Sadie's ringtone.

The Kimmunicator beep from Kim Possible rang loud and clear.

I amplified the admonishment in my tone, "Sadie."

"What? I'm just getting into the spirit," she looked down, typing a message on her phone.

"This isn't Christmas – there's no spirit to get into. This is a real-life surveillance operation."

"Please. All girls have run a little recon on an ex-boyfriend," Sadie reached back to rummage in her bag.

She ripped open a tiny bag of fruit snacks.

"Most girls don't have murderous heads of transnational crime syndicates as exes."

She popped another small gelatinous snack into her mouth, "Fair. But I am taking this seriously. Just so you know.

I shook my head. While I felt apprehensive, I was secretly delighted to have Sadie with me on my non-urgent quest to find answers.

Outside of my sister quizzing me about the agency, the drive felt like any other abridged road trip.

Her curiosity was piqued as we began our ascent into the hilly topography of Montecito.

"You didn't tell me he owned a home over here. This is some next-level spy stuff. I mean, James Bond, move over. Sheesh," Sadie balked as she stared out of her window.

Flashbacks of when he'd first convinced me to join him at his home for some respite came, followed by images of our not-so-impromptu wedding.

A gnawing, aching feeling burned in my chest as I drove higher into the mountains, "I know, right?"

I remembered the last time I'd been here, feeling like we were at the burgeoning edge of something beautiful, unexplored, and delightfully scary. On the morning I'd been shot, I'd awoken blissfully married. A maternally-minded Eugenia had fussed over me before Nathan returned from his morning jog. I made a mental note to reach out to the married caretakers. They must have been ordered to stay away from the property. They had to be in contact with Nathan. Eugenia had implied that Nathan had been like a son to her and Jorge; surely they were privy to information about his whereabouts, or at the least when he'd be returning. For now, I was glad they only made their rounds twice a week.

"Was he ever invited to the cookout with Meghan and Harry?"

I grabbed my phone, dialing Giuseppe before we got too close.

Pressing the speaker button, I navigated winding turns, "Are we looping?"

Giuseppe had rigged the camera and alarm systems, which made it possible for us to enter the property undetected.

I didn't want that bastard to suspect a thing.

I could hear the frazzled analyst shuffling. He was probably hiding in some closet, "Yep. You've got just under half an hour. Anything more might draw suspicion."