The Asset in Havana

The ceiling fan in Elena's Havana hotel room sliced through humid air as she checked the surveillance photos one last time. Corporate **spy** work wasn't the glamorous life of movies—mostly it was stale coffee, endless flights, and waiting for people who lied for a living.

Marcus arrived at 11:14 PM, carrying the encrypted drive she'd spent three months infiltrating his company to obtain. He was older than his pictures, silver-haired and broad-shouldered, with a **bear** of a man's physical presence that had once terrified her in photographs. Now, in person, he seemed tired.

"You look younger," he said, voice rough like whiskey poured over stones. His eyes lingered on her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

"You look like someone who's ready to stop running." Elena poured two fingers of rum into chipped glasses. "I found the shell company. I found the offshore accounts. I know you've been selling state secrets to three different governments, Marcus. What I don't know is why."

He laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Money makes people predictable. Including me." He reached across the small table, his large hand covering hers. "But you're not here for the money, are you?"

Their dinner had been simple—grilled fish and rice, a wilted **spinach** salad that had sat too long in the heat. But the wine had been excellent, and the conversation had drifted from corporate espionage to everything else. He'd told her about his daughter, now twenty-two and working in medical research. She'd told him about the marriage that had ended two years ago, leaving her hollowed out and hungry for something to fill the spaces.

Now his thumb traced the **palm** of her hand, sending electricity up her arm. She should have taken the drive and left. That was the job.

"I could use someone like you," he said softly. "There's more where this came from. And I'm not just talking about money."

Elena looked at this man—exhausted, compromised, dangerous—and felt something shift inside her. She was thirty-six years old. She was tired of being the instrument in someone else's hand.

She closed her hand around his. "Show me."