Twelve
“My, my.” Dewey turned as Phoebe came out the alley entrance in her black jumpsuit. He walked a circle around her. “I thought I’d seen everything you have to offer, but I can see I was so wrong.”
Phoebe looked him up, then down. “And I can see you overestimated what you have to offer.”
“Ouch. Guess I should have packed socks.”
Phoebe chuckled, happy to feel her pre-Jake rhythm returning as they went into action. “The way these things fit, I don’t think it would have helped.”
How Phagan had gotten his hands on some CIA jump suits was anybody’s guess. The suits were, according to Dewey, obscenely high tech and known in spy circles as “chameleon,” because they were capable of merging with any dark background. The fabric was light as air, could warm or cool as needed, and was as fl
