A brunette opened the door, holding a small handgun. “You sure you weren’t followed? You did everything I told you?”

RJ wanted to take offense as Ziggy’s words, but frankly after everything that had happened over the past forty-eight hours, all she could do was nod. Hope.

She brushed past Ziggy, who shoved the tiny PDP Walther back into her belt, behind her.

“How’s Hana?” RJ said as she walked into the tiny apartment. A small hallway led to two bedrooms, and a tiny bathroom with a skinny shower. The place felt like a safe house, clandestine and secret in the attic of a building.

“Sleeping.” Ziggy said, but RJ checked for herself by going to the small bedroom with two single beds. Hana was a ball in the middle of the bed, her blonde hair shining under the light of the moon from the skylight window.

RJ nodded then turned to the kitchen. The lights were off—Ziggy’s orders—but she knew it from the daylight. The place had sloping walls, and a window that cut into the mansard roof overlooked the building across the street. A small two-burner stove, a microwave, a micro fridge and a bare cupboard suggested that no one expected a long-term stay.

Ziggy leaned against the door frame to the kitchen.

Of course the spy who saved her was gorgeous. Long black hair, pulled back revealing regal cheekbones, piercing, golden-brown eyes, dusky light-brown skin. Lean and toned, she wore a pair of cargo pants, runners and a black tee-shirt that practically melded her into the night.

A female James Bond. Or maybe an actual Sydney Bristow.

That was a little slap in RJ’s wanna-be confidence.

RJ looked like a tourist. Jeans, that she’d purchased at the airport, a white blouse, practically a neon glowing light, so again, very much not a spy.

No wonder Ziggy asked if she’d been spotted.

“Maybe you should have gone,” RJ said, pulling out the sandwiches. “Liverwurst on rye, like you asked.”

“And sauerkraut on the side. You used those words.”

“I used those words. Here you go.” She pulled out a to-go container of the fermented cabbage. “Gross. I got a cheese and ham for me. And pastrami for Hana.” She pulled them out of the bag. “And this.”

She handed a piece of paper to Ziggy who smiled. “Good job.”

“What, is he your courier or something?”

“Or something.” She read the note. “Okay. The safe house is ready for us.”

“I thought this was the safe house.”

“It belonged to a friend. Now his brother rents it out on Airbnb, but he lets me use it. In case of an emergency.” She went over to a drawer, pulled out a matchbox, lit a match, then the paper and dropped it in the sink. “Let’s wake Hana.”