The Cat's Handoff

Elena adjusted the grip on her padel racket, sweat slicking her palms. The club was nearly empty at 7 AM—just how she liked it. At court three, the man with the gray mustache served. His name was Klaus, or maybe Hans. He changed it weekly.

She played deliberately poorly. Klaus won 6-0, 6-1, exactly as planned. As they shook hands at the net, she slipped the micro SD card into his palm with the fee for their game. A week's worth of pharmaceutical formulas from her employer's competitor. Corporate espionage paid better than her old biochemistry degree ever had.

Outside, the orange tabby cat waited on the bench. Elena had started feeding it three months ago during her first surveillance assignment here. Now it greeted her with a demanding meow, winding around her ankles. Klaus disappeared into the locker room without acknowledging the animal.

"You're getting sloppy," a voice said behind her.

Elena turned slowly. Her husband stood at the club's entrance, holding a coffee cup. He shouldn't be here. He worked across town.

"Marcus?"

"The cat, Elena? Really?" He stepped closer. "I followed you three times before I realized what you were doing. The same club, same cat, every Tuesday and Thursday." His face crumbled. "Is it worth it?"

She looked at the cat, now cleaning its paw on the bench. The little orange spy had been watching everything all along. "There's a baby on the way, Marcus. At least, that was the plan before—the layoffs, the debt." Her voice cracked. "This was supposed to be temporary."

"So was our marriage, apparently." He set the coffee cup down on the bench next to the cat. "I called the FBI. They're outside."

Elena's heart hammered against her ribs. The cat looked up, meeting her eyes with an appraising gaze, then returned to grooming.

"Okay," she said, and for the first time in months, something in her chest loosened. "Okay."

She walked toward the entrance, leaving her padel bag behind. The cat stretched and settled onto Marcus's abandoned coffee cup, finally comfortable.