Then she took a breath and her body seemed to melt into round-shouldered softness again. “I still have my copy of Donna’s manuscript,” she said quietly, looking down at her lap now like a kid the teacher’s yelled at. “I checked. It’s still where I left it in my office at the Operation. Those men probably wouldn’t think of looking there.” “Good work,” I told her, keeping my tone light and teasing. “You too could have a career in espionage.” She glanced over at me, then looked back at her lap. I smiled like you do when you’re trying to let an animal know you’re not dangerous. I felt like holding out my hand for her to sniff. “I didn’t actually try to fool them,” she said softly. “But thank you.” Then she closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth. I couldn’t tell if she was meditating or suffering from hay fever or just having a private anxiety attack. But it was obvious to me that she wasn’t in the mood for further conversation.
