![]() His own disguise is just an invitation and sun bleached hair he isn’t playing a character like Pilot is. He glances at him for a sliver of a moment, finds himself uninterested, and looks back at Pilot.Īndrew catches him suddenly by the arm, but relaxes his grip just as quickly, caught off guard by his own impulsivity. “Have a good evening then,” Pilot says graciously, turning back towards the host that Andrew should be sizing up but hasn’t even looked at. Pilot’s composure is still and reserved as a frost-ravaged garden. “No,” Andrew says, but he stays uncomfortably near, feeling along the edges of his boundaries without finding any seams. “Shrimp?” Pilot offers, swaying the tray in his direction. “When you inevitably come back without the intelligence and without our equipment, it’s costing us to keep you around, do you realize that?”Īndrew’s more focused on the way Pilot’s shoulders are turning to face him, the slim line of his tailored pants, that eyelash-thick smudge of un-blended make up. “Do you know how fucking expensive those cameras are? You’re such a piece of shit operative,” Kevin says. He finds a new spot on the outskirts of the crowd where Pilot has installed himself. Do you hear me? Andrew? Andrew?”Īndrew weaves through the rest of the golden crowd, ignoring the buzz of Kevin’s reprimands in his ear. ![]() “What- what the fuck Minyard, we’ve lost visuals. He plucks his tie pin away from the fabric and drops it in the empty glass, leaving it on a passing tray. ![]() “I bet he does,” Andrew murmurs, and he drains the last of the champagne. I bet he doesn’t even know about the file.”Īndrew watches Pilot’s face tick, the way he blinks like he’s on a timer, the way he’s worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. He’s probably doing reconnaissance for Matt. “Don’t even think about moving in until Pilot leaves. Andrew takes a loaded step forward and the voice in his ear complains. He’ll be an irritant to what should be a straightforward plan, if he keeps hovering. He’s stuck on Pilot – next to his target, holding a heavily stocked tray of appetizers, his expression pleasant and empty. He’s not even watching the man he’s either going to rob or kill, who’s laughing and weedy, red in the face from the alcohol. He’s not really watching the troupes of entertainers or the clockwork security or the velvet and silk blooming under bowing chandeliers. Don’t engage, Minyard, we’re not here for him.”Īndrew doesn’t make any effort to reply, just takes another pull of champagne. He looks like the memory of a case file, and a name occurs to Andrew one second before Kevin hisses it into his ear. He’s distracting, flighty, a rubber band pulled all the way back. One of them is all three, Andrew can tell: a waiter’s vest, a seam of over-applied foundation, and bright blue eyes. He can see his mark on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by servers and liars and pretty things. His attention is on the flavour and the rim of the glass and the warp of faces through it. He’s on his second flute of champagne, and the tartness keeps him focused. I ever hear a word about this every single one of you is fucking dead”Īndrew slips through a slit in the crowd, brushing through the sleek trains of expensive gowns, rich wool suits jackets catching on his own.
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