The apartment was nicer than anywhere Thomas had ever been. Hardwood floors, actual art on the walls, a bed with a real frame instead of just a mattress on the floor like his pce. Soft mplight made everything warm and golden.

  Cire knelt between his legs on the bed, both of them naked. Thomas's hands trembled as he gathered her long hair in his fingers, holding it back from her face. The silky strands spilled through his grip, some falling forward anyway to brush against his stomach and thighs.

  She looked up at him with those bright eyes, smiled, then took him in her mouth.

  Thomas gasped, his grip tightening in her hair. The sensation was overwhelming, perfect, nothing like he'd imagined and better than anything he'd ever felt.

  *Oh Goddess,* he thought, his head nestled into the soft pillows. *Thank you. Thank you for this blessing.*

  His whole body was on fire. Cire's mouth moved on him and Thomas couldn't think, couldn't do anything except hold onto her hair and feel this incredible, perfect moment.

  *Thank you,* he prayed silently, desperately, as pleasure built through him. *Thank you for bringing her to me. Thank you for tonight. Thank you, thank you, thank you.*

  A small red light pulsed at the very corner of his vision. Insistent. Blinking.

  Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring it completely. He'd turned off the notifications for a reason. Whatever it was could wait.

  This couldn't.

  Cire did something with her tongue and Thomas's thoughts scattered completely, his fingers tightening reflexively in her hair as he gasped her name.

  The red light kept blinking.

  ---

  The garage was exactly as expected from the intelligence she had gathered. A dozen luxury vehicles lined the space: vintage Ferraris, a Bugatti, ornate carriages with gilt trim, a sleek bck brougham with silver fittings, an eborate phaeton beside what looked like a custom Rolls-Royce with gold detailing. Mayor Jack's collection mixed horseless carriages with traditional ones, old school meeting new.

  "Should be right over here," Roslyn said, moving past a Mercedes toward the back wall.

  Robin followed, the team fanning out behind him. Little John stayed near the entrance, watching their back. Will and Much moved between the carriages and cars, checking sight lines.

  The wall looked ordinary. Pin stone, no obvious seams or mechanisms. Roslyn ran her fingers along the surface, counting blocks. Third row, seventh from the corner. She pressed.

  Click.

  The wall shuddered, then slid back with a low grinding sound, revealing a steep staircase descending into warm, well-lit space. Recessed lights lined the passage walls, and Roslyn could see plush carpet covering the stairs.

  *Carpeted secret tunnel. That was in the specs.*

  Robin looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "That blueprint you got from Church Mouse was quite useful. Well worth it."

  "Yeah," Roslyn said quietly. "It was."

  Her stomach tightened at the thought. Her mind flickered back unbidden: Miriam's apartment, warm and cluttered with books. Dinner had been simple, comfortable. The conversation easy. And after...

  Roslyn remembered soft touches, Miriam's gentle hands, the way she'd looked at Roslyn with those dark, intelligent eyes full of hope and desire. The quiet intimacy of it. Lying together afterward, both of them naked, Miriam's small body curled against hers, loose hair tickling her shoulder. Miriam's hand had been moving slowly across Roslyn's skin, tracing along her colrbone, cupping her breast gently, stroking down her inner thigh in a zy, intimate way while they talked in hushed voices about everything and nothing.

  *My first time with someone else.*

  The thought still made her breath catch. She'd touched herself before, brought herself to release countless times. But having someone else's hands on her, someone else making her feel that way, that had been entirely different.

  Roslyn had expected it to feel like work. Like another act in her repertoire. But the moment Miriam had kissed her, really kissed her, something had shifted. The heat that had built between them had been real. The need had been real.

  When Miriam had touched her, when Miriam's mouth had moved down her body, when Roslyn had felt that first wave of pleasure from another person's touch, it had been overwhelming. Real in a way nothing else had ever been.

  Then the second time. They'd been lying there together, both naked, Miriam cuddled against her side, fingers idly stroking between Roslyn's thighs. Miriam had rolled over, reached into her nightstand drawer. "I have something for you."

  The blueprints, rolled and tied with string.

  Roslyn had felt a spike of triumph, of satisfaction that the job was done. But underneath it, something else. Something warmer and more complicated.

  "Thank you," she'd said, meaning it more than she expected to.

  She'd reached for her clothes, started to dress, but Miriam had caught her hand. Those dark eyes searching hers. "You could stay. If you want."

  Roslyn had stayed.

  And what happened after... that hadn't been about the mission at all. That had been because Roslyn *wanted* to. Because Miriam's touch made her feel things she'd never felt before with another person. Because the way Miriam kissed her, looked at her, wanted her, it felt *right* in a way that both thrilled and terrified her.

  *Am I bisexual?*

  The question had been circling in her head for days now. She'd never been with anyone before Miriam, man or woman. She'd told herself it was because of the work, because attachments were dangerous, because she needed to stay focused.

  But maybe it was more than that. Maybe she'd been waiting for something that felt right.

  She found men attractive. She could appreciate them, feel drawn to them. But she'd never acted on it. Never wanted to enough to cross that line.

  With Miriam, she had. And it had been... goddess, it had been incredible.

  *So maybe I am bisexual. Maybe I'm attracted to both. I just... haven't been with a man yet.*

  The realization settled in her chest, not quite comfortable but not unwelcome either. She was still figuring it out. Still learning what she wanted, who she was when she wasn't pying a role.

  And Miriam... Roslyn had gone into that dinner with a goal. Get close, get the blueprints, get out. Clean and simple.

  But somewhere between the wine and the conversation and the way Miriam ughed, soft and genuine, it had stopped being just a job. Somewhere between the first kiss and waking up tangled together in pink sheets, naked and warm against each other, Miriam's hands stroking her skin with such tenderness, Roslyn had started to feel something real.

  *Dangerous. So fucking dangerous.*

  *I'll figure it out ter,* she told herself. *After the job. After we're safe.*

  "Red?"

  Robin's voice pulled her back. He was watching her with those sharp eyes that missed nothing.

  "Sorry," she said, shaking off the thoughts. "Just thinking about the yout. According to the blueprints, this passage leads directly under the main house. Comes up in Jack's private study."

  "How long?"

  "Two hundred yards, maybe. Then a spiral staircase."

  Robin nodded and gestured to Friar Tuck. "Check for wards anyway. Trust but verify."

  Tuck moved forward, pulling out his detection tools. After a moment, he shook his head. "Clean. Either didn't ward this or never expected anyone to find it."

  "Works in our favor," Robin said.

  Much grinned. "Love when they get cocky."

  Robin looked at Roslyn again. "You lead. You know the yout."

  Roslyn started down the carpeted stairs, the soft lighting making it easy to see. Robin followed close behind, then the rest of the team.

  The passage was narrow but well-maintained, the walls paneled with dark wood. Their footsteps were silent on the thick carpet.

  Roslyn focused on the mission, on the yout memorized from those blueprints. But part of her mind lingered on Miriam. On the trust in those dark eyes when she'd handed over the documents. On the warmth of her small naked body pressed against Roslyn's, her gentle hands exploring, touching, caressing. On the way she'd smiled in the morning light, sleepy and satisfied and beautiful.

  *I should feel guilty. I used her.*

  But it hadn't felt like using. Not entirely. Maybe at first, but somewhere along the way it had become real. The feelings were real. The desire was real. The connection was real.

  And that complicated everything.

  They had a job to do.