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  The phone flew out of her hands as he tackled her to the ground, laughing wickedly as he pinned her arms above her head. “A champion, huh?” he teased, his green eyes dancing with mischief. “You don’t look like much of a champion to me...”

  “You bugger!” She shrieked with laughter as he used his other hand to begin mercilessly tickling her sides. “Get OFF of me! This is SO UNFAIR!”

  “Hey, don’t give up!” he encouraged. “Use those famous champion skills!”

  She probably would have had a scathing retort if she could have caught her breath long enough to speak. But between his tickling and her own useless struggles, all she was able to manage was the occasional scream or choice profanity as she twisted and writhed beneath him, laughing uncontrollably with her head thrown back to the sky.

  They carried on like that for quite some time, both completely swept away until a throat cleared suddenly behind them and a heavy hand clamped down upon Gabriel’s arm.

  “Excuse me, miss. Is this man bothering you?”

  They sprang to their feet at the same time, flushed and breathless, staring in shock at the policeman in front of them. One hand on his nightstick. The other on his Mace.

  For a split second, it was hard to tell if the man was being serious. Then his mustache twitched and they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  “Is he bothering me?” Natasha repeated innocently, tilting her head to the side with a teasing frown. Gabriel raised a devilish eyebrow and she grinned. “Too soon to tell.”

  The cop chuckled and wandered away, muttering something about young love. An abruptly awkward silence fell over the happy pair, and the smiles faded slowly from their faces as they realized just how far off the reservation they had strayed.

  Finally, after a full minute, Natasha cocked her head towards the street. “I should probably be getting home...”

  Gabriel nodded instantly, picking up their coats and what was left of their breakfast. “I’ll walk you.”

  This time, she didn’t refuse. In fact, she seemed rather glad for the company as they walked the few short blocks back to her apartment. The crumbling rooftop was already in view when Gabriel turned to her. But before he could ask the question, she answered it.

  “My foster dad drinks a lot. Way more than he should. He needs someone to take care of him.” She sighed quietly, and tucked her hair behind her ears. “In exchange, he gives me the money to rent out a work place. I’d never be able to afford it otherwise.”

  Gabriel stared at her quietly, a hundred crazy thoughts screaming in his head.

  He could give her the money. Shoot, he could probably buy this place for her if that’s what she wanted. Not that it was anywhere near good enough. Safe enough. He could find her a better place uptown. Somewhere with a balcony and a view. She’d love looking over the city every morning. Sipping her coffee as the sun came up over the horizon—

  Except, he didn’t say any of those things. He answered with three inadequate words.

  “I get it.”

  A strange mixture of depression and relief washed over her face, and she lifted her hand with a little wave. It wasn’t until she was all the way to the front stoop that Gabriel called out to her once more, driven by an impulse he couldn’t control.

  “Natasha.”

  She paused on the top step, gazing down as he struggled to find the words.

  “Yesterday...you said you understood. How I could still feel attached to Cromfield, even after everything he did to me. How I’d still felt beholden, somehow.”

  She nodded nervously, and he looked her right in the eyes.

  “Be that as it may, I would never have stayed with him even a second longer than I had to.” He lowered his voice as he said it again, driving the point home. “Not a single second.”

  A sudden silence swept over them, and he started walking away.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She stared after him without moving, rooted to the spot.

  “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 9

  The next morning, Gabriel took extra care getting ready. He carefully rifled through his bag of luggage, searching for the right kind of clothes. He washed his shoes in the sink to get off any lingering smears of blood. He even ran a comb through his tangled mess of hair before grabbing his phone and cheerfully heading out the door.

  Peter and Magda were already in full swing with the restaurant. They were installing a new security system the next day, and had opened early in attempts to make up some of the business they were planning on losing while the place was closed. Gabriel flashed them both a welcoming smile, feeling brighter than he had in weeks. For good measure, he even grabbed a few plates from the grill and dropped them off at the appropriate tables on his way out the door.

  “Should we be expecting you for dinner?” Magda called after him, pursing her lips to hide a smile. On the other side of the restaurant, Peter flashed her a grin. “Or will you be out?”

  Gabriel paused a second, thinking it over, then headed out the door with a quick wave. “I’ll probably be out. Don’t wait up.”

  The door swung shut before he could see the look that passed between them. Before he could see the knowing smile and hear her mutter, “Tell Natasha ‘hi’ for us.”

  The city itself seemed to welcome him with open arms as he strolled along the streets, taking his time as he headed across town. He’d left a bit earlier than he’d intended, and he didn’t want to risk bursting in before his appointed time two days in a row. With his luck, there would probably be a technologically enhanced toaster waiting to take him out the second he walked through the door.

  An absentminded smile played about his lips as he pictured the manic scene that was no doubt unfolding just a couple of blocks away. Natasha would have woken up late, tired from their training session, and cursed the skies as she left her house on the east side and headed to her apartment on the west. She would have been pleasantly surprised to discover that the hot water was mysteriously back on, but he highly doubted she’d connect the domestic miracle with him. How could she possibly suspect that he’d doubled back to the apartment the second she’d gone inside, breaking into the basement to battle with the stubborn machine? The glee from the shower would no doubt have faded by the time she realized that she was out of Pop Tarts, and by the time Gabriel knocked on the door in just a few short moments, she would be officially behind schedule—tired, hungry, and cross.

  As if on cue, he finished climbing the stairs, rapped his hand against the frame, and listened with a secret grin to the commotion that was sure to follow. At first, all was silent. Then there was a metallic skittering, followed by a loud profanity, followed by a muffled crash.

  “Hans! Would you get out of there before—” Another crash. “Just a second!” Yet another crash, and the manic energy on the other side of the door reached critical mass. “Gabriel, can you just let yourself in? I’ll be there in a minute!”

  Gabriel cast a quick look up and down the hall, then discreetly waved his hand over the door. There was a chorus of muted clicks and slides before the lock sprang free.

  “Natasha?” he called, taking a tentative step inside. “Is everything okay?”

  There was a high-pitched shriek as what looked like a metallic crab went scuttling down the hall. A series of books and toiletries were hurled after it before Natasha appeared in the bedroom doorway, wielding what looked to be some sort of spatula.

  “Get back here, mutant spawn!” She stormed down the hall, looking like the goddess of death. “I’ll put you in the microwave myself!”

  “Whoa, there!” Gabriel caught her by the wrist as she thundered past, lightly spinning her around and disarming her in the same motion. “Bad time?”

  “You could say that.” She glared across the room at the little robot, who’d hidden itself behind the leg of the couch. “I caught the little beast pilfering my hair ties. Again!” A vindictive fire flashed through her eyes before cooling to a deadly simmer
. “I think he’s making a kind of nest...”

  Gabriel bit his lip to keep from laughing, and gently steered her towards the couch. “Well, how about this...you help me out with some mild psychotherapy, then we arm ourselves with sticks and hunt for the beast.”

  “Actually,” she pulled away, staring entreatingly up into his eyes, “I’ve got to ask you two questions. Then I swear, I’ll never ask for anything ever again.”

  Gabriel looked down at her warily. “You’ve been stealing your neighbor’s wi-fi, haven’t you? He’s coming here for blood—”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.” She shook her head with a grin, then regrouped—fixing him again with that plaintive stare. “How mad would you be if we didn’t work again today?”

  “Not mad at all.” He straightened up more seriously. “Is something wrong?”

  She ignored his question, and went on to her second. “And is there any chance that, at some point during your convoluted superspy training, you learned how to cook?”

  Gabriel stepped back in surprise. “To cook? Like...food?”

  She nodded quickly, eyes zeroed in on the prize. “I was thinking that maybe you needed to impress a maharajah, or a diplomat’s daughter, or something?”

  There’s a chance she’s slightly romanticized what my friends and I do...

  Gabriel fought back a smile. “I’ve never cooked for a maharajah, and I had other ways of impressing a diplomat’s daughter...” He trailed off with a wink.

  Natasha rolled her eyes with an exasperated grin. “So, I’m taking that as a no—”

  “I can cook.”

  She stopped short, looking suddenly hopeful. “...yeah?”

  “Sure. I took a class once in Rome.” He took off his jacket and started rolling up his sleeves, feeling suddenly quite silly about the careful clothes selection. “Why are we cooking?”

  “Canary’s not doing well,” she answered promptly, tugging him along behind her as she made her way to the kitchen. “I was hoping to bring her a meal.”

  The answer couldn’t have caught him more off guard, and a sudden wave of concern hit him right in the chest. “What do you mean, not doing well? What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s fine,” Natasha replied. “Just a little under the weather.”

  He opened his mouth to press for more information, but quickly realized the two of them had bigger problems. The first of which was a distinct lack of food.

  “I mean...maybe we could do something with this?” Natasha picked up a lonely box of instant rice from the bare cupboards, shaking it hopefully. “Add a little sauce—”

  Gabriel eased it from her hands, putting it back on the shelf.

  “Or maybe we could go to the store. The grocery store,” he clarified, at the blank look on her face. “You guys have those things in New York, right?”

  She glanced doubtfully out the window. “...hypothetically.”

  He grinned in spite of himself and gestured to her computer. “Why don’t you look up a recipe you’d like to make and scribble down a list? We’ll pick up the ingredients, cook it here, then bring it to Canary’s when it’s ready.”

  “Perfect!” She was off like a shot, pausing only to flip Hans off as she rushed past him on the way to her laptop. A second later she dove onto the nearest chair, pulling the thing onto her legs before flashing him a bright smile. “Thanks, Gabriel. Really.”

  He just stared, nodding a second too late, after she was already looking down at the screen. Realizing, all at once, that there were very few things he wouldn’t do for Natasha Stone.

  “SO HOW EXACTLY DID you end up under Canary’s twisted wing?” Gabriel asked as the two of them made their way down the sidewalk a few minutes later. The air was crisp, and the New York City breeze danced piles of colored leaves around them. “I know people with ink tend to live in little communities, but the two of you seem an odd combination.”

  Natasha snorted, kicking up a stray pebble with the toe of her boot. “Why? Because she’s unnervingly sociable, while I’m—”

  “Abrasive?” he guessed.

  She glared up at him from the corner of her eye. “And here I was going to say charming.”

  He flashed her a grin. “I find you charming. But I have famously low standards for that sort of thing. Best not to pay it any mind.”

  She flipped him off with a grin, but that grin was quick to fade the longer they kept walking. “Canary collects lost causes. For a while there, I was at the top of her list.”

  A position that has unceremoniously fallen to me.

  “Why?” Gabriel asked before he could stop himself, curiosity getting the better of him.

  Natasha’s face tightened for a moment before she gestured up at a tall awning just up ahead. “We’re here.”

  The question went unanswered as the two of them ducked inside, staring around for a moment to get their bearings. It was one of those deceptively huge buildings. The kind that looked like a regular store front from outside, but opened into a colossus—the size of which made it terribly unlikely that they were going to be able to find all the things they needed.

  “Crap,” Natasha cursed under her breath, closing her eyes in dismay. “I forgot the list.”

  “No worries.” Gabriel tapped his temple as he wrestled a shopping cart away from the nearby line. “I got it.”

  She stopped cold. “You got it? What does that mean?” Their eyes met, and her mouth fell open in blatant shock. “You mean you memorized it? You only glanced at it for a second!”

  He merely shrugged, steering them towards the farthest aisle on the left. “Shall we just wind our way across, or—”

  “I don’t believe you.” She was still standing exactly where she stopped, folding her arms across her chest with an incredulous smile. “No way did you memorize that list. Prove it.”

  The cart rolled to a stop as he looked back at her with a sarcastic smile. “Really? You’re going to make me recite your grocery list right here?”

  “No better place to do it.”

  He glanced around before sticking his hands in his pockets with an indulgent sigh. “All right, we’ve got oranges, sugar, bitters, chicken stock, cornstarch, rice, and one cup of Grand Marnier. Let me also take this moment to add, I think duck l’orange was highly ambitious considering you’ve spent the last three years living on microwavable pizza. Coincidentally, you also forgot to put duck on the list.”

  She stared at him for a moment, a very long moment indeed, before deliberately turning away. “I didn’t forget. I drew a little picture of it along the side.”

  “That’s what that was?” Gabriel laughed as he pushed the cart along beside her. “I thought maybe you had a fit or something while you were still holding the pen—”

  “Seriously, Gabriel.” He felt a tiny hand upon his arm and came to a sudden stop. “How did you do that with the list?”

  Their eyes met for a moment before he pushed the cart onward with a little sigh.

  “Come on, let’s get going.”

  Quicker than they would have thought possible, they collected all the ingredients they needed and headed towards a line in the front. A queue, Gabriel called it. Something for which Natasha gave him endless grief. Before she could even reach into her bag he lay several large bills upon the counter, thanking the cashier. He then picked up two bags in each hand and headed out into the sunshine. She followed along behind, watching him carefully. They had made it all the way back to her apartment before either of them spoke again and, as usual, it was the last thing he was expecting.

  “You’re talking with an accent,” she said suddenly.

  He paused halfway to the kitchen, glancing back. “If you’re just now realizing that, then maybe you’re not as bright as I thought—”

  “A New York accent. With the cashier, just now.” Her eyes sparkled as she stared up at him, swinging a shopping bag back and forth. “Did you even realize you were doing that?”

  His face tightened uncertai
nly before he flashed her an irritated scowl. “Can we just cook this meal, please? Can we just get on with this bizarre little culinary experiment so we can deliver a murdered duck to a well-known psychopath like you wanted?”

  The rapid-fire sarcasm would have been enough to dissuade almost anyone else, but Natasha just smiled as she put her bags on the counter, reaching up into the cupboards to pull out her limited supply of pots and pans.

  “Sure,” she said lightly. “I’ll drop it.”

  Gabriel nodded curtly, and it was quiet for a moment as they both started unloading the bags. But she couldn’t resist adding on one final qualifier before letting the conversation lapse.

  “...freak.”

  ACCORDING TO THE RECIPE online, duck l’orange was supposed to take a little under three hours to make. That included prep-work, the actual cooking, and how long the bird had to sit in the oven. Three hours. Give or take. It took Gabriel and Natasha nine.

  It could have been the fact that they argued about every step, ranting and raving as they passed her laptop back and forth, looking for online support. It could have been the fact that the first duck caught fire, and they had to go back to the store to get another one. Or it could have simply been the fact that neither one of them could remember the last time they’d had a better day.

  “—at which point the cable car started to separate from the others, and we had to cut our losses and jump into the water.”

  Natasha threw back her head with a sparkling laugh. A sound Gabriel wouldn’t have thought she was capable of making when he first met her. A sound he had quickly fallen in love with. A sound he would do or say anything just to hear again.

  For the past two hours, he’d been regaling her with stories from his troubled youth. Ones he’d never shared with anyone else but, for whatever reason, he didn’t have any problem sharing them with Natasha now. He assured himself there was no greater significance. She could always just pick them out of his head anyway, right?