Beaufort, South Carolina
February 15
Twitch was feeling remarkably energetic. In fact, the only typical pregnancy symptom she had experienced so far was a marked lack of appetite. No, that wasn’t actually what she was feeling. She was hungry, but nothing tasted good; nothing hit the spot. It was surprisingly frustrating. Even now, as she sat in the bustling bar with her three best friends—Emily Bishop, Calliope Buchanan, and CIA analyst Sofria Kirk—she stared at her favorite chicken wings with mild disgust.
Twitch was introverted, quiet; her elementary and middle school teachers often referred to her as a loner in parent-teacher conferences. Twitch warmed at the memory of her mother taking the teachers to task every time: She’s not a loner; she’s selective. That word needs to go in the bin with all the other hideous words people use to describe children who aren’t mainstream.
Despite her mother’s protestations, Twitch knew even as a child she was different. Well, there were some obvious reasons for that. Even at his age, her father was a more sought-after party guest than she would ever be. Regardless of her unconventional upbringing, she never relished playdates or sleepovers. She was more content to observe the stick bug that had taken up residence in her treehouse or fiddle with the MacBook she’d plucked from the mile-high stack of tenth birthday presents.
She’d had wonderful friends over the years. She still kept in touch with her childhood friends, and her college crew got together for notable occasions. Her closest friend from college, Verity Valentine, who everyone called “Very,” had just moved to town for a job. She was a brilliant chemist working at a private lab nearby. Her work was all very hush-hush and the reason why she wasn’t with them at the bar. Very worked odd hours, often making use of the lab late at night when she could be alone. She was also spontaneous and unpredictable, which explained why she was, at that moment, standing at the front door searching the crowd.
Twitch waved both hands over her head. “Very!”
When the pink-haired girl at the door saw Twitch’s signal, her eyes sparkled with excitement, and she made a beeline for the table. She dropped a messenger bag on the floor, hauled over a chair from the unoccupied next table, and plopped down as she unwound a colorful scarf from around her neck. “I need a double of anything.” She ordered a drink from the waitress and turned her attention to the table. “Hi girls!”
Twitch had introduced Very to her friends when she had first moved to town. She was the type of person who fit seamlessly into any group. Twitch envied her that ability. For whatever reason, Very had latched onto Twitch their freshman year of college and simply refused to let go. Very was outgoing in the extreme, but she also had this incredible knack for sensing what others were feeling.
The women all greeted the new arrival, but it was Calliope who caught Very’s attention.
“What’s up with you? I’m sensing a vibe.”
Emily spoke for her friend. “She’s getting frustrated with the whole fertility thing.”
Calliope covered Emily’s hand with her own. “Tox got fed up with my la dee dah attitude, and we actually went to a fertility specialist this week. She’s going to call us with the test results. I guess I’m a little freaked out.”
Emily flipped her palm and squeezed Calliope’s fingers. “It’s going to work out. You’ll see.”
“Let’s talk about something else. This whole thing is taking too much of my headspace,” Calliope said. “Sofria, anything exciting happening at Langley?”
Twitch had met Sofria three years ago when she had helped the team investigate an arms dealer who was threatening Emily. Twitch had found a kindred spirit in the awkward, brilliant analyst. With flawless golden skin and a nervous smile, Sofria spoke when she had something to say, listened when she wanted to understand, and offered a shrewd perspective on complicated situations.
Sofria looked up with a forkful of cheese grits paused in mid-air. “Actually, I just got a new project at work that’s going to be taking all of my time.”
“Let me guess. Classified,” Calliope added.
Sofria leaned in, her mahogany eyes shining. “I got a placement at an embassy.”
Twitch leapt up and came around to hug her. “Oh my God, that’s huge. All our work on your spy skills finally paid off.”
For years, Twitch and Sofria had played a little game where they passed a flash drive back and forth as discreetly as possible. The files contained memes or funny videos. Sofria would add a joke or a GIF and, at their subsequent encounter, would slip it into Twitch’s pocket or drop it into her computer bag.
Sofria returned the embrace. “Well, I had some training at The Farm as well.” The Farm was the CIA’s facility where Cam and Finn had also prepared for their undercover work.
“Thank God,” Emily chuckled. “I don’t think sneaking flash drives into each other’s coat pockets counts as expert spycraft.”
Twitch stopped mid-laugh when her eye caught the hulking man filling the doorway. Tox was scanning the room, his cell phone gripped in his big hand. When he spotted the group, he made his way through the bar crowd and stopped at their table.
“Tox?” Emily asked. “Everything all right?”
Tox turned to his wife. “Doctor Katz called. Wanna come talk?”
Calliope swallowed and stood. “Just tell me. They’ll all know the second you leave anyway.”
Tox eased his wife back into her seat and knelt before her. “Everything’s fine. We’re both fine. Better than fine.” He smirked. “She said just to keep trying.”
Calliope leaned forward and rested her forehead on her husband’s shoulder. “I’m so relieved. You could have just called, you know. You didn’t have to drive all the way over here to tell me.”
Tox stood and held out a hand. “Nope. Come on. Doctor’s orders.”