The Last Dive

The pool at the Hotel Sphinx glittered like liquid diamond under the Mexican sun. Elena smoothed sunscreen over her arms, eyes scanning the resort through dark lenses. She wasn't here for vacation.

She was here for him.

Mark emerged from the water, droplets cascading down his chest like pearls. He'd been swimming laps for an hour—disciplined, focused, everything he'd been when they worked together at Langley. That was before he went rogue, before he stole the encryption codes, before he disappeared with three million dollars and pieces of Elena's heart.

"Still burning the midnight oil?" he asked, dripping onto the lounge chair beside hers.

Elena kept her voice even. "Some habits die hard."

His palm grazed her knee—casual, calculated. Her skin ignited. Three years of training, of suppressing every emotion, dissolved at his touch. That was the problem with Mark. He knew exactly where to press.

"You're not the only one tracking me," he murmured, nodding toward a couple drinking margaritas. "Chinese intelligence. They've been tailing me since Cancún."

Elena's mind raced. She was supposed to be the only spy here. "What do they want?"

"The codes. What else?" His thumb traced circles on her skin. "Here's the thing, El. I didn't steal them. I was protecting them. There's a backdoor nobody knew about. Someone at the Agency sold us out."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. "Who?"

"That's the million-dollar question." He stood up, water sheeting off his body. "Come back to my room. I'll show you everything. The real files. The truth."

Elena hesitated. Every instinct screamed this was a trap. But as she watched him walk away, she remembered the nights they'd spent together in safe houses across three continents, the way he'd held her when she thought her cover was blown in Moscow, the promises he'd made about disappearing together when it was all over.

She stood up and followed him to room 412.

The encryption codes were there. So was the evidence of Agency corruption. But so were the Chinese operatives, who burst through the balcony doors five minutes later.

Mark shoved her into the bathroom. "Go! Through the vents!"

"What about you?"

Someone's idea of a joke, she realized later. The Agency had sold them both out. They'd never been spies—they'd been bait all along, sacrificed to flush out a mole that didn't exist.

The last thing she heard before sliding into darkness was Mark's voice in her ear piece: "I never lied about loving you."

She never saw him again. But sometimes, in hotel pools across the world, she still feels his palm against her skin, and wonders if some betrayals are worth the price.