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He stood in the deserted hotel hallway and knocked on the door beside his.
“Carmen?” It was impossible to know if she was inside or not; These days she was as flighty as a magpie. “You in there?”
The door cracked open, and there she was, still wrapped up in her red overcoat. On her face sat a disorienting smirk, both familiar and foreign.
He wasn’t one to lose his cool but crikey, even after almost six months of capers, Carmen made it hard to keep calm sometimes.
“Gray.”
“It’s Crackle.” The correction was an impulse. To the faculty, to his peers, to everyone else, he was Crackle. To her—and himself, now—he was always Gray.
“Same difference,” Carmen said. “Need something?”
Gray leaned one arm against the doorframe. “It’s not what I need, sheila, but what you need.”
“Oh?” Carmen’s eyebrow quirked, which somehow made her even prettier. “And what do you think that I need?”
“A break. We’ve been working non stop these past few weeks.” Gray nodded over her shoulder at the gym bag sitting on her bed. The evening’s success hid in plain sight. “Let’s get dinner.”
Carmen didn’t turn. The smirk remained, but her gaze was flat. “C’mon, Gray. How can you expect me to take a break when there’s museums to be looted and banks to be robbed?”
Every word was laced with an irony only Gray understood, an irony that sent his stomach tumbling. “Think of it as a refuel before our next assignment.” Gray leaned in. “A really fancy refuel.”
Carmen’s gaze flicked up and down. “Fine. As long as you’re paying.”
The door slammed shut. From anyone else, the close would’ve been a rejection. But from her, it was a confirmation they’d be sharing a Qatari dish in half an hour.
After double-checking to ensure his hair was as impeccably windswept as always, Gray set off on foot for a restaurant. She’d follow. She always knew how to find him.
As much as Gray hated to think how months of his career had been stolen from him, he was grateful for one thing: Graham Galloway had been cheeky enough to ask Carmen Sandiego out for a cuppa. His stint as a civilian electrician had given Gray the courage to admit that yes, he did like Carmen.
And because of that, the past few months had been a blessing and a curse.
The fact this dinner maybe-kinda-sorta counted as a date was an added bonus. Maybe a friendly excursion would be the key to getting Carmen to relax. Especially as of late, their heists had grown more daring and reckless. Back-to-back-to-back. That old saying, no rest for the wicked? It had definitely been written about Carmen.
Her ruthlessness was equal parts invigorating and terrifying.
Gray found an upscale restaurant not too far from the hotel. It also happened to be situated near Doha’s famous Museum of Islamic Art. Gray had to admit, the museum had looked stunning in his manufactured darkness.
The restaurant was just lenient enough that Gray’s decidedly unfancy hoodie didn’t get him kicked out. A waiter led him to a booth in the back. Then came the waiting game. Gray passed the minutes by figuring out how he’d best steal the restaurant’s cash register.
He’d just ordered their main courses when she strolled in, fashionably late. Despite that, Carmen walked with such assurance that Gray wondered if maybe he’d been early. Maybe the world ran on Carmen time and he’d missed the memo.
Like him, she’d changed out of her work clothes and into a casual hoodie. She slid into the seat opposite him. When she spoke, her voice was neutral, devoid of judgment. “You ordered without me.”
“Didn’t know if you’d show.” Gray tossed aside a menu. “Care to know what I got ya?”
“I’m not picky,” Carmen said, “As evidenced by the company I keep.”
Gray smiled. In spite of his misgivings about Carmen’s situation, he found her banter irresistible. No matter whose side she fought on, Carmen’s wit remained sharp. The way she delivered her quips, her narrow gaze always intently fixed on his face, sometimes made it feel like it was the two of them against the world.
Crikey, she was perfect.
“And may I just say”—the words were out before he could stop them—“that you look beautiful tonight.”
“I’m wearing the usual.” Carmen waved a hand, lazily dismissing the compliment.
“Maybe you look beautiful in the usual.”
“Careful, Gray.” Carmen picked up her water glass. Traced one finger around the rim. “You’re wading into dangerous waters.”
She was wrong, though. He’d been neck-deep for months.
Their chit chat was lighthearted—as lighthearted as it could be for a pair of professional thieves, anyway. Unease gnawed at his insides. Or maybe it was impatience.
Time is running out. Running out for what? Them? Her? The whole memory-wiping business?
The waiter brought out their dishes: two matching bowls of broth filled with chicken and vegetables complete with side orders of rice.
“And this is?” Carmen prompted.
“Saloona.” Gray skewered a veggie with his fork. “I know you like tryin’ out the local cuisine.” Truthfully, he’d just picked a random dish off the menu. True to her word, Carmen was not picky.
“That I do.” There was that darn smirk again. “We know that Qatari art is good, and I don’t expect the food to be any different.”
So continued the dinner. The saloona was enjoyable—not Gray’s favorite dish ever, but he preferred his company to the food. It took another round of persuasive banter for Carmen to stay for dessert, and they ordered esh asaraya, a cream-topped cheesecake.
“Y’know,” Carmen said as the night wound to a close. “We could always dine and dash.”
Gray looked up from the bill the waiter had given him. “Haven’t we stolen enough from the lovely people of Doha?” He met her smirk with one of his own.
“If you want to be boring about it, sure.” Carmen’s fingers drummed on the table.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed, no doubt with a message from V.I.L.E.
“Excuse me.” Carmen stood and retreated to a more secluded part of the restaurant.
A new heist for them. Normally he’d be invigorated at the challenge. But now it seemed that this dinner had failed to distract Carmen from their heists. He couldn’t even take her on a maybe-kinda-sorta date without V.I.L.E interfering.
Gray had paid by the time Carmen returned to the table. He raised an eyebrow, and she answered with a dip of her head.
“Bulgaria. Tomorrow night.”
He sighed in resignation. “So much for a break.”
“Oh, I dunno. If it makes you feel better, that saloona was very refueling.” She stared at him, assessing him. Daunted by her sudden stillness, he stared back. If he dared move, she’d make like a magpie and flit off again.
What is going on in that beautiful brain of yours?
“I’d like to thank you for the fuel.” Carmen crouched down so their gazes were level. Amusement danced in her eyes. “And for being such a stunning accomplice.”
Was she about to—?
“Carm—”
With no hesitation, she leaned forward and kissed him. Gray’s brain short-circuited. This was happening.
Before he could react, Carmen pulled away. The kiss ended as quickly as it had begun. As if it’d been one of her heists. Brazen. To-the-point. Heartless.
“That’s what you wanted, right?” Her hands were in her pockets and her expression hadn’t changed. “See you in Bulgaria.”
Then she was gone.
His skin buzzed as if he’d been stunned by his own rod. Gray sat and stared at his hands for too long. Did she do that just to screw with me? The old Carmen wouldn’t have been so bold. She wouldn’t have disappeared immediately after, either. This would’ve meant something to her.
For months he’d wanted to kiss her. For months before that, he’d wanted her to rejoin V.I.L.E. And now both had happened and he knew one thing for certain:
He needed to get the old Carmen back.