It’s nearly three in the morning when Amanda and I escape a cold January Texas wind and climb into an Uber, her sandwiched between myself and Julie. I pull her close, aligning our legs, my hand resting on her knee, silently telling her that my eyes are wide open and I’m not going anywhere. Her hand comes down on mine and I move it to her leg, my palm covering hers. Her new wedding ring catches on my hand and I part my fingers, and even in the shadows, the stone is huge, luxurious even. And I think of the one I intended to give her three years ago. The one meant for the woman I loved and trusted.

Inhaling a slow, heavy breath, my fingers twine with hers. She inhales softly, an emotional reaction that only makes me crave more from her. And more isn’t ever enough. I want that indefinable everything from her, when I have never wanted anything from anyone else. Not before her. Not since. She turns to look at me, and even in the shadows, the connection punches me in the chest, and I feel about this woman in ways I would have sworn I was incapable of feeling for another human being.

I lean in and kiss her, a brush of lips over lips, and her fingers curl on my jaw. “Seth,” she whispers, a message in my name: no more Assassin. I just hope like hell she remembers that when everything is said and done. I kiss her again, and lean in, my lips at her ear as I whisper, “You’re still my Poison Princess,” and I can feel, rather than see, her smile. Reluctantly, but by necessity, I sink back into the seat. Amanda and I don’t speak for the rest of the twenty-minute drive. At least not to each other. Amanda does a lot of sweet talking with Julie, and the driver is one of those chatty types I typically avoid. Amanda manages his random questions and I don’t miss how her voice lifts with any discussion about Julie. She loves that cat, but I’ll feel better when we get to our hotel room, and it’s safe, and we’re safer.

We arrive at The Joule Hotel downtown to be greeted by the doorman who is expecting us, but then the months-long reservations in a penthouse suite has a way of doing that. And considering the thousand dollars in cash in my new wallet, I tip him well, ensuring loyalty I may need later.

We’re then hurried inside the modern Art Deco-style lobby, and while I am for the most part immune to the luxury of most places I visit, today I am not. Today I’m aware of the stark contrast of where we are now, and how Amanda has been living, and I like that she will experience luxury again, something I plan to keep her experiencing when we’re done with Franklin.

At the front desk, we’re gifted a box of cookies, and informed that our assistant had delivered our shipped bags to our room earlier in the day. I have no idea who our assistant might be, but it’s clearly the agency, and I don’t like the idea of the agency moving in and out of our room. I decline a bellman, and Amanda, Julie, and I ride the elevator to one of the penthouse suites. About the time we arrive at our suite, Julie begins meowing in her carrier, impatient for freedom. I open the door and we enter the foyer, white glossy floors beneath our feet, expensive art on the walls. I leave Amanda to deal with Julie while I walk into a living area wrapped in windows, a telescope in the corner, a fireplace in the center. Furnishings that match the Art Deco style of the lobby.

Focused on safety, I make my way up a stairwell, finding a bedroom, library, and bathroom. Onward to the next level is an outdoor space. Back downstairs, Amanda and Julie are not immediately visible and I search an office and the master bedroom before making my way to an enclosed white and stainless-steel kitchen. Amanda is facing me, standing behind the round stone island, with Julie on top of it, eating from a bowl. The wig is hanging on a hook on the wall meant for a pan, her long blonde hair in slight but sexy disarray.

She motions to the double doors to my right and her left, the knobs wrapped in cords with a remote lock attached. “The remote has a keypad,” she says, her voice tight. “I tried my ID. It doesn’t work. I guess they don’t like to give access to those they plan to use and then kill.”

I walk to the island across from her, reaching across it and stroking a wayward strand of her hair from her eyes. “They don’t matter,” I say, my fingers trailing down her cheek before my hands settle on the counter. “Catching Franklin is what matters and then we’ll walk away together.”

She laughs without humor. “They are never going to let that happen.”

“I’ll make it happen. Let’s get our mission details, and hope like hell they leave time for a shower. I’m still covered in blood.” I push off the island and walk to the lock, keying in my standard ID. It pops open and I pull the cords away, and set them on the ground, pushing open the doors. Amanda steps to my side, and we find the basic setup that we had in New York. A dining room table, with our mission paperwork on top. Against one wall is a tech center with monitors. Next to it, several chests that I know will contain weapons and a lab for Amanda.

Amanda and I walk to the table and sit down, me at the end and her to my left, facing the door, because no smart agent has their back to the door. There are two cellphones sitting on top of the files. “Let’s exchange numbers before we do anything else.”

We quickly test our new iPhones and memorize the numbers. I also give her my current number which I intend, for now, to keep as well. “In case we get split up,” I say when we’re done. “The remote number I set up years ago, for you to reach me or me to reach you, is still intact.”

Her eyes meet mine. “I knew that.”

Which means she called it at least once, but I don’t say that. Now is not the time, and we both know it. Amanda cuts her gaze and reaches for one of the files. “I need to see that photo of Franklin.”

I grab another, and flip it open. “I got it,” I say, looking at a series of photos that look like they were indeed taken at a border post.

Amanda grabs random photos and starts reviewing them. “It looks like him, but they’re grainy.” She taps the image of the man with Franklin. “This is supposed to be Chavez, our link to Franklin, right?”

I flip through paperwork and pull out a headshot of Chavez and set it on the table. “That’s him. Do you know him?”

“No. He wasn’t in Franklin’s entourage in China.”

“Is the other man Franklin? Are you sure?”

“I need a better shot to be certain.”

I thumb through a series of bad photos and settle on one. “Here. This one is better.” I hand her a shot.

Her lips tighten and she nods. “It’s him,” she says grimly. “I’d really hoped it wasn’t.” She looks at me. “Seth, he’s crazy. I’m sure you know this but he’s a former agent that defected. I don’t know the root of his hate, but he hates Americans. He really will poison the water supply if we don’t stop him.” She sets the photo aside and frowns, picking up another one. “That’s . . . odd,” she murmurs, setting the shot down in front of me. “This man in the background here.” She indicates a man standing several feet behind Chavez and Franklin.

“Who is he?”

“I don’t . . . know. Or . . .” She looks up at me. “I think he used to work with my parents.” She shakes her head. “Or not. I could be wrong.”

Her parents and Franklin set off all kinds of alarms. Could Franklin and those kill orders somehow be connected? “What timeline are we talking here?”

“It was a very long time ago,” she says. “Perhaps when I was a teen, but if I’m right, there’s a slight chance he knows more about the compound we’re dealing with than we all know.”

“He could help Franklin infiltrate the water system,” I assume.

“Yes,” she says. “Maybe, and anyone with skills and knowledge of that compound working with Franklin spells trouble. We need to find their lab and we need to find it now.”

“That brings us back to Chavez and his link to Franklin,” I say. “His warehouses could be the storage and even the development site.” I search through the files and find one on Chavez, reading through his data. “There are ten warehouses, all in one concentrated area. It’s going to take a good four or five nights of recon to search them properly.”

“That’s time we don’t have,” she says. “Surely the agency has done recon?”

“I see nothing that indicates that to be the case,” I say, pulling my phone from my jacket. “Let’s find out.” I dial Bear, who answers in one ring.

“Obviously you missed me more than I missed you,” he says. “How’s the room?”

I put him on speaker. “Amanda and I are here, but before we discuss Franklin, let me get one thing straight. Whoever came in here to set up our room would be advised not to enter again without permission. We like our privacy. We’ll protect our privacy. Are we clear?”

“That person was me,” he says. “And I walked in on my mom and dad as a teen. I’m still traumatized. I’m not repeating it with you.”

Julie jumps to the table and suddenly a cat face is in my face. Amanda laughs and I swear I love that sound to the point that I might just love this cat. I stroke Julie’s head, and she plops down on top of the Chavez file. In the meantime, Bear thinks he’s the source of Amanda’s amusement. “Glad I’m able to make you laugh, Amanda,” he says. “I was beginning to think you were the Ice Princess, not the Poison Princess.”

“I’m Amanda,” Amanda says, picking up Julie and setting her on the ground. “Just Amanda. Not Ice Princess. Not Poison Princess. Not Agent. Just Amanda. Or you could call me ‘The Girl With The Kill Order On Her Head.’”

“Would you like to continue bonding with Amanda, Bear,” I interject, “or should we move on before you dig yourself deeper into a hole?”

“Move on,” he says.

“Has recon been done on the warehouses?” I ask.

“They’re sealed up like Fort Knox,” Bear replies. “And I mean that literally. Not the kind of security you typically see for a textiles company. But the bottom line here is: we’re going to need an insider to search the place.”

“We don’t have time to find an insider we trust,” Amanda interjects. “Thirty people were already poisoned. More will follow.” She grabs the photo she’d been looking at earlier. “Bear,” she says, “there’s a photo stamped with 11594. I’m interested in the man in the background behind Chavez. Can you use facial recognition to identify him?”

“If it could be done,” Bear says, “it’d be done. There’s a list of names in the file. What are you looking for? Or who?”

“Hold on,” I say, grabbing the file and thumbing through it. “I’ve got the list.” I hand it to Amanda, who scans the list and shakes her head.

“No one on this list is familiar,” she says. “There’s a man in one of the photos that looks like someone who use to work for my parents, but I was very young. I may be wrong. But I need a list of the lab assistants who might have worked with my parents in the past.”

“I’m not sure I can give you that information,” Bear says. “Many of those names will be classified.”

Or they have something to hide when it comes to her parents, I think, losing patience. “We’re talking about finding a man who might be helping Franklin poison thousands,” I bite out. “Get us the damn list.”

There are several beats of silence before Bear says, “I’ll see what I can do. What next?”

“Where is the sample from the Mexico poisoning?” Amanda asks.

“In the refrigerator along with the composition we found in tests,” Bear supplies.

“What kind of water system was it found in?” Amanda asks.

“A well,” he says.

“A well is not a filtrated water system, and this compound is unique. It dissipates in a matter of two hours when it touches air or water. When was the sample taken in conjunction with the deaths?”

“Twelve hours.”

“That’s not good,” she says. “It shouldn’t have survived that long. That means they’ve stabilized it. We all need to pray that when I test it again that the toxin is now gone. That means it still has a shelf life. On the negative side, if it’s gone, I can’t test it to see if this new formula survives the filtering process.”

“And that, my friends,” Bear says. “Sums up the shit show we are starring in.”

“Bottom line,” Amanda says, “we need to find the lab. I need inside the Chavez warehouses. I know what to look for.”

“Chavez is close to Franklin,” I warn. “Tell me what to look for. He could be waiting on you and we need you alive. You’re the only one who can create the antidote for this toxin.”

“He won’t know it’s me,” she says. “Not with my disguise, and I do a damn good New Yorker accent. And we can’t take the risk of you missing some tell that I’ll notice. Too many lives are on the line.” Her eyes meet mine. “I am the Poison Princess and capable of taking care of myself. But as a plus I have the Assassin by my side. If it goes south, we’ll be there together. We’ll make him talk. We’ll get the lab and Franklin.”

I lean forward, speaking to her, and her alone. “I will kill him to protect you.”

“I know,” she says. “Which is why the risk isn’t a risk at all. Because I trust you to be there if I need you. Like I always did.”

We stare at each other, and I am reminded of just how good we were undercover together, while Bear obliviously continues onward. “Right,” he agrees. “Tick tock. The clock is moving. Breach the warehouse’s security and go at this all spy guy if you can, but a nuclear option is not off the table if we know we have the lab.”

I give Amanda a nod, her eyes warming in response, before I turn my attention to Bear. “I know you have a plan. What’s the fastest path to Reynolds?”

“He and his wife have dinner at the restaurant next to the hotel every Saturday night,” Bear says. “That why we put you at that hotel.”

“Tomorrow night,” Amanda says. “That works. That gives us time to study them and prepare for a chance encounter.”

“Agreed,” I say. “I’m going to scout the warehouses while you do your tests, and before the sun comes up, which means I need to leave now. I want a lay of the land and I want to look for a way around the security in place.”

“I’ll come stay with Amanda,” Bear says, and Amanda’s eyes rocket to mine, anger flashing in their depths.

“No,” I say. “You will not. And I have to tell you, I doubt you’d survive an hour with her.”

“Nevertheless—” he begins.

“No,” I say flatly. “You’re trusting her to save what could be massive numbers of people. She can stay in her fucking hotel room on her own.”

He’s silent two beats. “Then I’ll go with you.”

“I work alone or with Amanda. That isn’t changing now.” I hang up on him.

Amanda’s eyes meet mine, all of the good and bad of the past with us now, colliding into the present. I stand up and walk to her, leaning down, my hand at her chin, tilting her face to mine. “He doesn’t matter. The agency doesn’t matter. We matter.”

“I’m not leaving,” she says.

“No,” I say. “You are not. Not without me. Not ever again.” I brush my lips over hers. “You know how to reach me,” I say, leaving her behind, because that’s trust. And she’s right. In the absence of trust, we’re enemies. And she is not my enemy.