“Gee, thanks.” He slumped on a stool at the kitchen’s small bar.

She grinned as she busied herself with the array of expensive cookery gadgets she’d carefully acquired for her galley kitchen. All organic ingredients blended carefully, the deep-fill tray heating up to the perfect temperature.

“That’s yogurt?” he asked, puzzled, as she poured the thick, creamy liquid out of the blender and into a measuring jug.

“I’m making you waffles. My thank-you treat for this morning.”

His smile won out against the sun.

“You got anything on for the rest of today?” he asked as he wolfed down the third waffle.

“Meetings,” she said. Which wasn’t quite true; she’d booked a couple of hours on the shooting range to keep up her proficiency. Then she was due to meet a dark supplier to review some of the new lethal peripherals coming out of northern Russia. She probably wouldn’t have any implanted, but it would be good to know their capabilities.

“Can I come? I won’t get in the way or anything. I could be your assistant.”

“I don’t think so. Not today.”

He gave her a sullen look. “Fine. Sure. I get it. You think I’m stupid.”

“No,” she said, proud she wasn’t sighing in exasperation. After she’d moved him in, she’d told him she was a freelance design refiner for algae reactor initiators, used extensively during the early stage of terraforming. It was a good holding lie. But she hadn’t expected this hiatus to last so long. “You just need some basic qualifications to work in my sector.”

“Yeah, like I’m ever going to have that.”

“You could have, if you go to university.”

“Sure thing, mother.”

She gave him a sly lecherous smile and stood up. The uncertain look in his eyes was arousing. Her hand closed on the jar of organic manuka honey. “Would your mother do this?” she murmured, and opened the front of her robe, ready to pour the luxurious golden goo over her chest.

“You have a call,” Zapata informed her. The identity icon of her European agent splashed on her tarsus lenses made her stop.

“Go take a shower first,” she told Gustavo. The dramatic return of the pout made her laugh outright. He stomped back to his bedroom.

“Accept,” she told Zapata.

“Good morning to you, my greatest client,” the agent said. “How are you today?”

“Restless,” she admitted. “I thought you were dead, or in jail.”

“Like you haven’t got a dozen others the same as me tirelessly hunting the worthy jobs.”

“Maybe. If I do, they’re a lot more tireless.”

“I’m hurt.”

“I’m sympathetic. Come on, what have you got for me?”

“The biggest. The job of legend, the one that never happens. This is your pinnacle, my dear. You can retire after this and bore everyone in the bar all night long with tales of your imminent sainthood.”