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

16. papers, planes

Hovering above the glittering city, I stared out of the triple-paned window, taking a small moment to enjoy the wonder of peering down at the planet humming with life mere miles below. The sky was a hazy blueish-purple as the plane rumbled to a gurgling stop at Heathrow.

Some semblance of my old life felt ripe for the taking. I was me again. Returning to erudite rhythms, running on protocol and familiarity... I was me again.

I wove through a throng of moving bodies in Terminal 2.

Platform 2 glowed on the electronic display as I waited to board the rail. The Elizabeth line would take me east into the city's interior, and for an hour, my body sat humming with focus as I was transported. I readied my belongings at Bond Street, exiting at Tottenham Court Road.

I'd rented a studio nested on the top floor of a Victorian townhouse. Partitioned off from a larger family home, the space boasted its own entrance and a private south-facing roof terrace overlooking West London and the Thames beyond.

I punched in the code before the keypad beeped green, granting me access. Abandoning my bags, I plopped into the cushy armchair, staring past glass doors at the twinkling of the city. The airy one-room was nice, but I couldn't enjoy it - I wouldn't be able to.

I felt the familiar oncoming of nerves. I took three deep breaths, holding each one at the hilt.

What am I doing here?

I shook the thought away, endeavoring to erase the probing question as I washed my hands, tucking hair behind my ears as I stood in front of the bathroom sink.

Despite my makeup-less face and the disjointed sleep I'd managed, I didn't look tired.

I massaged my shoulder, the dull ache a live reminder of a fractional hell.

I ordered dinner.

"May I have one halloumi wrap and, uh, the spicy salad?"

"Is this for takeaway?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. It'll be about twenty minutes."

Unzipping my luggage, I fished for my travel security devices.

One camera I placed near the window. Another would allow me to watch anyone entering through the front door.

I lifted my laptop's monitor, testing out the software. Gridded on the monitor, each square offered a crisp view of the small space. I waved a hand in front of each, eying the monitor.

Activating a secure VPN, I surveyed the city, scouring for landmarks.

Shrugging a jacket on, I locked the temporary base. I traversed Soho streets feeling both familiarity and foreignness. Being in the city was like becoming reacquainted with an old friend after the lengthy passing of time; there was a steep history shared, but we were both different now.

The topography, I knew, but so much had changed. I knew how to be a part of the hum of the robust bustling city, but I could only pluck the chord of striking singularity.

The aroma of Lebanese cuisine assaulted my senses as I entered the establishment.

One hand held a weighted takeout bag, and the other fished in my pocket for a car fob.

An alarm chirped, leading me to a nondescript silver Volvo. My eyes scanned the street. Giuseppe had organized a car for me.

Ever vigilant, I peeled out of the spot undeterred by driving opposite my norm. It would take me just around two hours before I arrived at my destination.