"If you're gonna keep singing that fucking song, I'm leaving," Jessica said to her best friend while one of the most famous actresses on the planet laughed out loud.

"Everybody in New York loves that song except for you," Trish replied as she glanced at Annelie.

"Bull fucking shit they do."

They had turned right after leaving Luke's bar, traveling back down Malcolm X Blvd, and had not gone very far when Annelie asked her question.

"Why did Luke name his bar Cap's?"

"They knew each other," Jess replied simply.

"They worked together for a while," Trish expanded, "Luke has worked with a lot of people that knew Cap."

"Luke is a superhero?" Annelie asked.

"He was," Jessica answered in her usual blunt manner.

Everyone was silent for a moment as their footsteps took them farther south and west.

"Did he have a suit?"

"He did, but not anymore," Jess answered.

"Why not?"

"They made him give it back."

"What?"

"He stole it from Stark International. They were not pleased," Trish said.

"Then they should have fucking LoJacked it," Jess said, the resentment clear in her voice.

"I don't understand."

"He was tricked into stealing it. Afterwards, once Luke and Tony had tracked down the asshole who tricked him and recovered the suit, Luke kept it. Tony didn't care, I don't think, but Pepper fucking Potts got her thong into such a twist about it that Luke stuck the whole thing in a box and Fed Exed it back to her. As you can tell, there are lingering resentments on both sides," Trish said.

Another moment of silence followed as they continued walking.

"Did he have a code name?"

"Yes. It still embarasses him, and everyone except Jess knows enough not to use it or mention it."

"And I only use it to piss him off."

Annelie was taking in what she had heard when her head came up and she looked at Trish.

"Who is playing Luke in the Broadway show?"

"No one, he wasn't in New York when The Event happened," Trish said.

"Ant Man wasn't either, but he's in the fucking musical," Jess said.

They had just turned onto 125th street when the most famous portion of the most famous song of Rogers: The Musical flowed from Trish's mouth in her clear, pitch perfect, Mezzo voice.

"I can do this all dayyyyyyyyy."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Jess said as she covered her ears with her hands, only partially blocking out the sustained G coming from Trish's mouth, and the laughter coming from Annelie's.

"This is where I leave you," Jess said as they stopped in front of The Studio Museum, "museums aren't my thing, and the rent on my shitty office isn't going to pay itself."

"Annelie, can you give us a minute?" Trish asked.

"I'll wait by the door. It was nice meeting you Jessica."

"Who would have thought that I would have lunch with Annelie Bodin," Jessica said, "I'd tell all my friends, but it's supposed to be a secret, and I don't have any friends."

"You have at least one friend now," Annelie said to her before she walked to the entrance of the museum.

"Why do I get the feeling that this is not a simple stand close and look pretty job?"

"Because you're an excellent investigator. Kyle thinks it could be bad."

"How bad?"

"He's spinning up the wet team."

"You're shitting me, right?"

Trish had a clear moment of deja vu as her previous conversation with Kyle Richmond was repeated almost word for word.

"No. He wants me to stay with her in Chicago."

"What the fuck is Paragon for?"

"He wants us both with her."

"Fuck me."

"Does Luke still know people in Chicago?"

"Dakota North is still in Chicago."

"I can't believe that's even a real name."

"Do you want him to call her?"

"I don't know. Too many cooks, you know?"

"I'll have him set up a channel and I'll text you the number and the code word. That way you have her on standby, but double blind. She loves sneaky shit like that. It reminds her of her dad."

Trish looked at the woman standing at the entrance to The Studio Museum and thought about the expanding number of people who would soon be protecting her from God knows what.

"She's gonna need a bigger limo."

"These two Stockholm policemen see a car swerving all over the road late at night so they make a u-turn, turn on their lightbar, race up behind the car and stay behind it until the driver pulls over to the side of the road. They get the driver out of his car and they are trying to question him, and he is slurring his words so much they can't understand him, but they can't figure out if he is drunk or just from Copenhagen."

Trish had heard versions of that joke a few times, but Annelie told it in Swedish, told it well, and Trish loved the sound of her voice, and it was not too dishonest of her to laugh the way she did.

Except for the curator, who turned and looked at Trish as she laughed, they were alone at the far end of the exhibit that was titled Capturing the Echo: Expanding the Walls 2022. A collection of photos lined the white walls of the cool room. The sweat that had bathed their skin during their walk had long since dried and, as they talked in hushed tones in the quiet space, both women could sense the force of attraction between them.

The joke was not a complete non sequitur, since it was a response to the question that Trish had asked a few seconds prior.

"Can I pass for Swedish at the benefit tonight with my accent?" Trish had asked in Swedish.

"No one will mistake you for a northerner, or a southerner for that matter, but you have a lovely accent, you are completely fluent, almost no one else at the benefit will be from Sweden, and if you really plan to wear a black Vera Wang spaghetti strap dress very few people will be paying attention to what you are saying."

Trish smiled, and Annelie smiled back, as Annelie's right hand gently brushed Trish's left one.

"Will it be too much? What will you be wearing?"

"Black slacks with a white blouse and flats."

"Oh."

"Hey, no changing wardrobes now, not after you got me all worked up."

Trish gave Annelie her most devious smile, which did nothing to steer the actress away from the erotic fantasy she was building in her mind of how the evening would end.

The logistics for the evening were still undecided since the balance of the details rested on the identity of Annielie's girlfriend. Trish was not well known, but she was also not unknown. She would be virtually anonymous in Chicago, but not in New York.

Her past life benefited her present one, since no one would imagine that a former dancer, former gymnast, current part time model could also be an elite covert field operative in the employment of a man who had his own extensive history operating within in the gray, interdiffused layer that existed between lawful and unlawful.

The nameplate on her office door said Patricia Walker, Public Relations. It was a small part of her disguise, but for this assignment she would need more.

"I can't just hide behind a pair of glasses," she had said to Kyle when she had first started working for him, "that might work for some people, but not for me."

"It wouldn't matter anyway. How many men's eyes make it all the way up to your face?"

"You are a walking sexual harassment lawsuit, you know that, right?"

"Yes I do, but good luck figuring out how to file that lawsuit without blowing your cover."

So in addition to her fake name plate, her office also had a small room at the back, and a much larger room two floors down, that had a collection of wigs, contact lenses, and skin toners that lasted for a few days before needing to be touched up, and anything else that would be of use to turn Trish Walker into someone else.

It was while Annelie was looking at Trish's iPhone and the custom app that displayed Trish's picture, and allowed Trish (or Annelie in this case) to select different hair or eyes before going to the trouble of applying the real thing, that Trish had asked her question, and Annelie had told her joke.

"If you are going to be Swedish, and you want to look different, then brown hair is your only real choice," Annelie said, using her finger to scroll right several times before eventually stopping, "How well do blue contact lenses work over brown eyes?

"If you pick the right shade of blue they work well," Trish answered.

Annelie fiddled with the phone for a few more seconds before showing Trish the screen.

"Brown hair and blue eyes it is then, if that won't be out of place with my accent."

"Säg det igen på svenska, " Annelie said as she held the screen up in front of her face.

"Brunt hår och blå ögon är det då, om det inte är på sin plats med min accent," Trish repeated.

Annelie looked up at Trish and gave her a smile that was bright enough to cast a shadow.

"We have a winner."

"Okay, let's wander back then."

"Do we have to go back right away?"

"No, we have some time, but not a lot. What do you have in mind?"

"I have in mind to enjoy your company a bit longer before you turn into someone else."

"Speaking of someone else, I need a name."

"You won't attract any attention with the name Johansson, that name is as common as dirt in Sweden."

"Pick a first name that you will remember."

"Maja Johansson. I have always loved May. But since you're my girlfriend, I'll call you Maj."

"Maja Johansson. Your wish is my command," Trish said as she pocketed her phone and looked at the woman who stood a few inches over her.

Annelie's lips were on Trish's before she knew what was happening. Annelie's hands found Trish's waist as her soft, moist lips caressed Trish's lips; softly at first, before the pressure increased. Trish could sense the longing that seemed to flow like water from the taller woman as her hands pulled Trish close and their bodies pressed together, and as Trish's lips and hands moved with a will of their own she felt her own longing pour out in return.

"Hmmmmm," said a man's voice from behind them after a few wonderful seconds, "please take that somewhere else."

Trish's heart was still racing, but she managed to keep her voice even.

"What an excellent idea."