He put the handkerchief back into the front pocket of his tailored, European-slim electric-blue suit, and settled himself onto the bench. He waved a manicured hand toward the placid pond in front of them, his fingernails filed and polished to the color and consistency of tempered glass.

“And very romantic. I should have suspected you would have chosen such a location, considering your training. But, of course, we need to keep this professional. This is far from a social call.”

In that, the slight man was correct. In everything else, he was dead wrong. Although a park bench in the middle of Boston’s Public Garden might seem an unlikely place for a clandestine meeting between two highly trained operatives in a dark, criminal trade, it was also the most logical setting. Cafés, restaurants, and bars were difficult environments to secure, and the possibility of surveillance high. A hotel room was out of the question; if things went wrong, there needed to be more than one exit, and hotels meant cameras, which necessitated disguises, which were both time-consuming and annoying. Which left the outdoors. And what could be more natural and unremarkable than a man and woman sitting together on a park bench by the pond in the middle of the Public Garden, watching the beautiful swans peck at each other just a few yards away.

“Not a social call at all,” the man continued, folding his hands together on his lap. He was still staring straight ahead—perhaps actually looking at the swans. They were magnificent creatures, to be fair, even sitting quietly, pruning each other at the water’s edge. A pair of them, white as snow, with wingspans of almost seven feet, proud necks rising and falling as they worked their daggerlike beaks.

“We are here, Patricia,” he continued, “because the Family is concerned. I don’t have to tell you; things are not going as planned.”

Another thing he got wrong—her name wasn’t actually Patricia, though it was a close enough approximation that she didn’t feel the need to correct him. But he knew that as well. She was not deceived by his appearance, any more than he was by hers. Beneath the tailored suit his body appeared narrow and long, but she could see what others might miss; the tight cords of muscles running up his thighs and forearms. Everything he did was physically precise, because his body had been toned and trained to act with physical precision. His blond hair was thinning, yes, but because it had been dyed and pruned and changed so many times it was impossible to know its true color and form. His features were delicate, but most of them were not the features he had been born with. He had changed his face almost as many times as his hair. Even now, she could see the hint of foundation on his cheeks and forehead.

Nothing was as it seemed in their world.