Peggy locks Natalie up in the first floor bathroom. "No window," she tells the girl as she frog marches her. "No bathroom breaks either."

"Can I get a glass of water?"

Peggy motions to the sink with the tip of her pistol. "There's the sink."

She shuts the door before Natalie can protest. Then wedges a chair under it. "That should hold her until I can get the Italy office to send someone out to retrieve her."

Angie's been standing there somewhere between shocked and absolutely gobsmacked for so long that she doesn't realize Peggy's actually looking at her expectantly. Like she wants her to say something.

When the gears start grinding again in her brain she says, "You're arresting her?"

Peggy looks pained.

"She's a kid."

Peggy sighs.

"She's a kid Peggy. She gets nightmares for Pete's sake!"

"I understand you're sympathetic Angie. I am too, but—"

"She's a kid!"

"She's a spy! She made a choice to come here and spy on us—on you. That doesn't change just because we feel sorry for her."

The thing is that Angie gets that.

Honest.

She understands that they can't just let a child soldier spy walk out the front door. She's not stupid.

Okay.

She's a little stupid.

Because she went and lulled herself into this big fantasy. She was happy to play house with Natalie and Peggy and turn a blind eye to every damn little—

"Angie." Peggy's put her gun away and is standing an arm's length away. All cypher-like like she hasn't been in ages. Til she cocks her head to one side, quietly asking—begging in a way only Peggy can—for Angie to let her in.

"I trusted her." Angie speaks so softly she half thinks she just thought it.

"I know."

"You didn't?"

"There are very few people I trust."

"Dottie—"

"Isn't one of them. Nor is my husband. Or my staff. Maybe the Commandoes. Howard." She purses her lips instead of saying who another person might be. Some things are hard to just come out and say.

Angie figures for a spy "I trust you" might just be the three little words that trump stupid kid stuff like "love."

"Pretty rotten way to live English. Never trusting like that." She glances at the door, "Rotten," she says louder. She's just gonna go ahead and assume that Natalie's got her ear to the door and is listening to everything they say.

She hopes, in only the way a naive idiot can, that Natalie sits in there and feels a little regret.

####

Peggy finds her later to tell her Natalie's been taken into custody. That she's out of her hair.

That she's gone.

But Angie's in the study staring at the nail polish she'd loaned Natalie. It's still sitting by the book Natalie had been reading earlier. Some Faulkner that Peggy had groaned at the sight of and then walked out mumbling about the lack of proper authors like Doyle or Burroughs.

Angie and Natalie had laughed and then Natalie had confessed she'd never read Faulkner. She'd absorbed it like a sponge.

Fast learner.

Angie should have known better.

"You really couldn't have," Peggy says. "The whole point is that we don't see them coming. She'd be piss poor at her job if you'd noticed."

That's supposed to make her feel better, and it's probably similar to what Peggy tells herself when she realizes she didn't pick up on it sooner.

But it doesn't help.

"How exactly do you get to be a child spy anyways? Who tries out for that gig?"

Peggy purses her lips, "They don't audition. They're taken. Either from orphanages or from parents not long for this world."

Indoctrinated. That's the word they're always using when talking about the "Red Threat." That's what Peggy's telling her Natalie is.

Some kid with no control.

"Did you start that young?"

She doesn't mean to have it come out as an accusation. Doesn't mean to make Peggy look as stricken as she does. She's a little flustered by her own words and has to go and sit on the couch and glare at the wall of books opposite her.

Peggy joins her and she's something she almost never is.

Delicate.

It's not a word she'd use for Peggy. Efficient. Sharp. Graceful. Yeah. Delicate? She's seen fellas in bar room brawls that deserve that descriptor more.

"I was raised by spies and when I joined I was impossibly young," Peggy says. She swallows. "Maybe too young." Her hand reaches out to clasp Angie's and she gets caught up in looking at the play of tendons beneath the skin "But I chose, Angie. And I don't think that girl's had a genuine choice in her life."

The way she says it has Angie looking back at her, "You're going to try and save her aren't you?"

Peggy doesn't speak immediately. She's instead looking down at her hand on Angie's. "I want to try."

####

Peggy, impossibly, stupidly, suggests she sleep in another room that night. Because she's trying, again, to be delicate.

When Angie looks at her like she's the dumbest dumb to ever cross her path Peggy at least has the good sense to blush.

Then she launches into a stuttering speech about how they were just sharing a bed to keep up appearances.

Angie thinks about reminding her that that was all for Dottie and that they both should have known Natalie was a spy when she didn't balk even once at the two of them going into the same bedroom every night. She even caught them kissing once.

At least evil Russian child spy training camps were training their children spy slaves to be open minded.

She's too exhausted (emotionally) to outline all the reasons why Peggy's suggestion is dumber than the box of rocks her brother used to keep under his bed. So instead she walks over to where Peggy is standing uneasily and puts both her hands on Peggy's cheeks and leans forward onto her toes and kisses her.

"For a super spy you're not too bright English," she whispers against parted lips.

"I was," Peggy presses her lips to Angie's again, "being polite."

Angie doesn't want to talk, or even think, about how good it is to kiss Peggy. How easy it feels.

How comfortable.

She's all knotted up over Natalie and all she needs it Peggy's arms around her and her warm breath on her skin and it's like the bad stuff all goes away.

She wonders what would happen if she pulled Peggy down onto the bed. Slipped inside of her and turned her head away from the troubles both past and brewing for the future.

She's so curious that she's got Peggy on the bed and she's straddling her and palming a breast she hasn't had proper access to in more than half a decade when Peggy pulls away with a harried gasp.

"Stop," she begs.

And Angie does want to stop.

She knows she ought to.

But instead she dropping down so her teeth can graze Peggy's neck and her fingers are plucking at a nipple hardening from her ministrations and

"Stop."

One of Peggy's hands covers Angie's offending one and the other cups her cheek and forces her to look at her.

At cheeks flushed and lips bruised and eyes dark from the low light and all of what they could be doing. Then Peggy's looking so damn sorry.

"You're upset," she's saying, "and you're trying to make yourself feel better."

"Is that so wrong?" Her voice cracks and the way Peggy looks at her tells her she's not the only one surprised by all that emotion.

Peggy leans up to kiss her. "No."

When she sinks back down into the mattress she drags Angie with her. Their foreheads touch and Peggy holds her there even though Angie's itching to be everywhere else.

They stay like that for a while. The rise and fall of Peggy's chest becomes a rhythm that's all too soothing and before Angie knows it she's

Asleep.

####

When she wakes up again it's with her as the little spoon to Peggy's big spoon. They're both still fully dressed and her bra is digging into all sorts of parts of her it shouldn't.

Peggy sighs when Angie slips away, and she must have been more tired than she thought because she's still asleep when Angie gets out of the shower.

She pulls another blanket over her thinking that Peggy will either wake up and be touched by the little gesture, or she'll get so warm under two blankets that she'll wake up sooner.

She almost kisses her on the cheek too, but catches herself just a few inches away. Pretty soon their playing house is gonna be over. The spy is caught. The whole reason Peggy followed her to Italy is moot now. She'll have to go back to her two kids and her husband and Angie will go back to the life she built and that's the way it's gonna have to be.

They've got no future and the sooner Angie lets that sink in the better.

She heads downstairs and starts thinking about her car in the garage. It's all done and her fingers are itching to get behind the wheel and take it for a spin. Open it up on some winding mountain roads.

It can be her last hurrah with Peggy.

She's already got the image of a wide eyed Peggy in the passenger seat and can feel the phantom touch of her fingers digging into her thigh as they pull tight around a curb.

Angie's still smiling at the idea when she saunters into the kitchen and finds Dottie Hayseed the super spy eating marmalade directly out of the jar with a spoon.

"You're back," she says sourly.

"Heard about your last house guest."

She's so damn smug. Angie fantasizes about violent things she wish she could do to her as she makes a quick breakfast.

"I expect you'll be out of my hair soon enough," she says casually.

Out the corner of her eye she can see Dottie raise an eyebrow. "Kicking me out?"

"The spy plot's done isn't it? Your old pals failed. No reason for you or Peggy to stick around."

"Me maybe." Now she's studying Angie. Like she's weighing all kinds of things to say. Then she leans forward, speaking in one of those conspiratorially girl talk voices, "You're really going to kick Peggy out?"

Angie pours her juice. "She's got a family. Not fair to her kids to keep her from them."

"She's got feelings for you though. She hasn't just been sleeping in the same bed as you to keep you safe."

"Feelings stopped mattering around the time she went and married a man don't you think?"

"Men can be taken care of."

Angie was cutting bread with a knife and she sets it down with a clatter. "Why do you suddenly give a hoot Dottie? I figure the only person rooting against us more is that husband of her's back in DC."

"Oh I can't stand you," she says brightly, "you're a naive child dragging Peggy down. If it were up to me I'd be sticking a knife in your throat as we speak. But Peggy cares," something awful drips off the word as Dottie says it.

"Aren't you romantic. As long as she's happy you're happy?"

Dottie tilts her head, "Knife in the back might work just as well."

####

"Knife in the back might work just as well."

Angie thought it was a joke. One of those cruel and savage ones she just assumed spies played. She never mentioned it to Peggy because, frankly, she was embarrassed by all the barbs traded back and forth with Dottie.

It always felt so petty.

That is until Peggy twists around in her car seat to look out the back window. "We are, without a doubt, being followed."

They're coming back from a short day on set. Just four days after Natalie was arrested. Peggy insisted on coming with her still so Angie insisted on taking her (finally finished) Jaguar XK120. It's silver and stunning and Tony Curtis asked if he could take it for a spin and she'd laughed in his face.

Angie's wearing a scarf and sunglasses to protect her on the drive and Peggy's braided her hair back to keep the fly aways at bay but now she looks like one of those WAC girls.

When she realizes the car's following them and says as much she reaches for the gun in her purse and Angie tries not to feel alarmed.

"Can you speed up," Peggy says, never taking her eyes off the car trailing them.

When Angie, incredibly offended, doesn't answer Peggy sighs. "Right." She looks back at Angie with a big fake smile, "Could you be a dear and out run our tail?"

That's more like it. Angie glances in the rearview. "Could always wreck him instead."

"Let's play it safe. Famous actresses launching spies off into Lake Como might not play well to the news."

The guy chasing them is in a sleek Aston Martin. Probably weighs less than the Angie's Jaguar, but she's betting it hasn't been modified like her car.

The Aston Martin maybe fast, but Angie's tweaked her car like one of those one's that wins trophies. And, naturally, she's the better driver.

That's clear on every turn she takes, her wide tires gripping the pavement, her feet smooth on the clutch and gas. She whips around them while their tail, probably a one foot driver, has to break on the turns.

It slows him down and Angie turns to grin at Peggy. "How good am I—"

There's a pop and the glass of the windshield blooms with tiny fractures all coming out of a bullet sized hole.

She glances again and can see the arm with a gun sticking out the window.

"English I think he's planning on doing more than following us."

"Quite right."

"Why's he want to kill us?"

"If I had to guess I'd say he wants to kill you."

She twists the wheel when she hears his gun go off again.

"Me?! Because of Natalie?"

"If I knew why he wanted you dead don't you think I would have done more to stop it?" Peggy twists around in her seat and shoots back.

It's a pop pop pop in Angie's ear. The kind that makes her cringe and makes her palms all wet.

Puts her back in a cramped feeling Ford V8 that smells like gunpowder and her brother's blood.

"But why now?"

"Famous movie stars can't just be murdered in their homes Angie," Peggy's holding herself steady and aiming like one of those Russian lady snipers. "And your well known for you love of cars. A simple accident—"

"Not a lot of accidents involving high speed chases and guns!"

Peggy grunts.

Angie shifts the car back down as she takes another turn. More glass splinters and Peggy falls back into her seat.

"The car's armored." And Peggy sounds dejected. She ejects the clip out of her gun and reaches down onto the floorboard where her purse is.

"Damn," she utters and Angie can hear the frown.

She glances over and— "Peggy!"

There's a splash of red streaking down Peggy's neck and under her blouse and dripping off her hand.

She calls Peggy's name again but Peggy's looking confused and— Angie reaches out and presses her hand to the jagged tear across Peggy's neck.

"Hold on," she says and she's right back in that other car and her brother's screaming in pain and her cousins are panicking and the cops' bullets are digging up divots in the road in front of them.

"Please Peggy."

Angie's a good driver.

She been chased down by more cars that most can count and she always, always, gets away.

But this time she's got one hand off the steering wheel and pressed to Peggy's neck and the other's slippery with sweat and she's in a tricked out sports car and the guy chasing her's in a car rebuilt like a God damned tank.

The odds that she used to be so good at tweaking to her favor are decidedly against her. So when he catches up with her on a descent and smashes the front end of his tank into the back end of her racer she goes into a skid she never planned to be in in this car.

Doesn't matter how wide her tires are when they lock up and lose traction. The whole car slides off the road and down into gravel and brush and trees.

It doesn't flip. It's got a low center of gravity and she manages to direct it just enough during the slide that the front end catches and crunches against the boulder instead of the side that would have flipped them.

But it hurts. The whole world rattles and scratches at her and then clangs to a stop that sends her heart, stomach and the rest of her insides right into her mouth.

They're caught up on another tree and not even a foot from a sheer drop overlooking the lake.

If she had a mind she'd probably be able to see her fancy villa there on the shore.

Peggy's moaning beside her. Saying "ooo" and trying to open her eyes. Up on the road she can hear the squeak of brakes as the other car comes to a stop.

Her's ankle's throbbing and she looks down and sobs.

They gotta go. They gotta get away. She tries to turn the car's engine over but it's tick tick ticking and hissing like the radiator and engine block are both cracked.

She beats the steering wheel.

Stops.

Getting mad's not gonna keep anyone alive.

"Peggy," she says low and dangerous like the spies that've been living in her home, "you gotta go."

Peggy doesn't move. She's breathing. She's alive. But she doesn't move.

She reaches over Peggy to unlocked her door and then all that air and water and rocks are right there under them. There's just enough space between the car and the edge of the cliff for them to scootch but Peggy's

Not

Waking

Up.

She screams her name and slaps Peggy so hard the palm of her hand stings. Peggy's dark eyes open. They're foggy. She's all befuddled.

"I need you to go Peggy."

"What—"

She grabs her by the chin and jerks her around to look at her. "Peggy, you've got to go."

Peggy tries to look at her. Tries to figure out what's happening. But she must not get it because she looks at Angie's watering eyes and says, "Come with me."

Angie cracks, "I can't."

She can hear the killer coming closer. Feet heavy on the gravel.

"Angie what—"

Peggy's not gonna go without a Goddamned thesis outlining events so Angie figures she's gotta do what's right. Thinks back to that time that still makes her madder than a nest of hornets. When Peggy drugged her drink to keep her safe.

"It's the only way," she says and she wishes on everything wishable that she wasn't getting a front row seat to understanding why Peggy up and left her then.

She snaps the belt keeping Peggy in place open and shoves her hard. Hard enough that between the push and gravity Peggy goes sliding right out of the seat and over the cliff. The look she gives Angie as she goes on a fall Angie knows—knows—has gotta be survivable is one of those looks that's gonna sit with Angie every last day of whatever life she might have had.

If she gets to sleep—she gets to dream—it's gonna be there. Haunting her. Replacing her brother's screams or the sight of her cousin flattened by a truck.

Peggy's fall is quiet. So quiet that when she's out of sight Angie's left with just the sound of a rapidly cooling engine and birds landed back in the tree the car's hanging onto and that silly waltz sounding song about crying hearts sputtering out of the speakers in fits and stops.

And the crunch of little stones under foot as the man comes closer.

Angie's shivering and wishing she wasn't.

She pulls at her throbbing ankle again, just to try, but it doesn't budge. It's trapped between metal bits of her crunched up front end.

And he's tall. Got a scarf or mask or something on that covers the bottom part of his face. Hair's a little long. Stringy. Eyes are bright and they're dead like Dottie's.

Maybe deader.

He walks towards her like he's made of metal and stone. All cold and lacking life inside. And one arm is metal. From shoulder to fingertips. But the other is holding a gun and shivering as bad as Angie is.

She doesn't want to die.

"Please."

His eyes are wet like something's in 'em. Like life is trying to find a way.

So she begs again. Her teeth chatter. "I don't want to die."

There's conflict in him that Angie can see clear as day.

Maybe. Maybe she can beg her life. Maybe she can—

God she doesn't want to die.

Then he's rigid and all the life's gone out like a lit wick in a breeze.

And the gun's coming up and the barrel's dark

And

Angie doesn't want to die.