He swayed with her through the tail end of the song, watching her face closely. She couldn’t convince herself to look away.

“Do you ever dance?”

“Not like this.” She forced herself to relax. His hands, though keeping her in place, were gentle around her. He was close enough that she could smell his cologne, and their chests were inches apart, but he radiated a calm confidence that assured her she could break free whenever she wanted to.

(That, and I’ve seen her take down taller, more impressive men; a single dancer is not a challenge to her.)

She looked between them, to their joined hands and up to him. “I’ve had classes, once. But never this…” She struggled to find the word.

“Intimate?” His mouth was right next to her ear. “That’s all right. It almost never is.” The song faded, and he pulled back a little. “Do you swing?”

“What?” She moved with him as he pulled them into a new position. vaguely, she registered that the others were clearing a space around them.

“Swing. The dance.” The music set in, and his spine straightened, as if the music pulled his strings taut. “Just follow my lead.”

Before she could really process what was going on, he’d swept her off her feet.

Literally.

The music was something fast and jazzy, and he moved them both in time with the beat effortlessly. He danced her around, moved her back and forth and up and down and she could focus on little else than his open expression, his eyes locked with hers, his confident smile. He seemed to watch her closely; when she winced as he pulled her right arm too hard, he immediately switched to her left. He swooped her up, lifted her like she was air, twirled with her as if she was weightless. At the apex of the song, with a great flurry, he lifted her above his head and all but threw her, her stomach flipping over herself as he let her go for a brief moment. With practiced ease, he let her land, catching her and holding her in her arms as the music faded. At the final tones, he dipped her, smirking broadly at her flushed face, his arm strong where it supported her back.

“Any other man would kiss you right now.” His breath was hot on her face.

Her heart was pounding. “Any other man would get kicked in the nuts.”

He chuckled as he lifted her taking two steps with her. “You’re a good dancer.” He let go and to her surprise, she found herself right back at her spot. “Good at following leads, Ms.”

“Shay.” Someone had refilled her glass, and she gratefully downed it. “Shay Klinger.”

“Tom Donnelly.” He shook her hand, strangely formal after what they’d done, and bowed slightly. “A pleasure, Shay.” He looked around, then leaned forward. His next words were whispered directly into her ear.

“You should tell that old fox to come with you, next time.”

And with that, he was gone.

When I came in the next day, I found her at my computer, fuming. She was buried deep within my research programme, banging her head against the desk as the PC showed the familiar access denied screen. She turned to me, defeated.

“I’m out of practice.” She admitted, standing up to let me at my desk. “I need to run a Tom Donnelly, American, lives ‘round here now.” To my surprise, she sat down on the ground next to me. “Could you-?”

“On it.” I surveyed what she’d been doing and picked up where she left off, but I didn’t make it much further. “Someone you met last night, then?”

“Yeah, something like that.” She looked tired. I doubt she’d had any sleep. “Just check him, okay?”

I tried to, I really did. But whatever I did, I kept running into the same wall I’d hit whenever I’d look up Fox or Shay herself.

“What’s wrong?”

I wasn’t sure what to tell her. “His information is locked.”

“All of it?” She was pushing herself up to standing, pulling out her phone. “Try finding where he lives.”

I shrugged. “I can try, but-” I gestured at the screen.

She nodded. “I’m gonna make a phone call.” She was already looking at her address list. “Fox will be here in an hour or so. See what you can do.”

Before I could respond, she was gone, back into her own world.

I don’t know who she called, but she was on the phone for forty-five minutes and then went to sulk silently in the kitchen until Fox showed up.

Then, she went off on him.

She didn’t seem to care that I was still in the room. Normally, she’d wait until she was alone with someone or take them somewhere private before she started shouting, but sometimes, very rarely, she decided it needed to be public.

“Do you know,” she started, deceptively calm, “Who I called this morning?”

Fox looked like a deer in the headlights. I wish I’d taken a picture.

“Do you know who I needed to ask for a favour?” Her volume was rising as she advanced.

Fox decided, probably unwisely, to speak up. “Was it-”

“I met Tom Donnelly last night.” Realisation dawned, and along with it fear. “Do you know who I had to call to get clearance to find out who he is?” She was all but shouting, now. I was trying not to smirk. “I had to call your boss so I could convince him to tell me that your friend is ex-CIA. You know how fucking annoying it is to owe your boss a favour?!”

Fox smirked as he realised she was running out of steam. “I work for him.”

“But you don’t owe him.” She glared. “Now I have to save the Middle-East or something.”

“You’ll be fine.” He assured her. “What did you think about Tom?”

She looked back at me. “Outside.” She was still glaring. “You’re gonna fill me in on everything.”

And he did. I didn’t follow them that time, but I managed to get a look at his file later, as Shay slammed it down on my desk and told me to check everything.

It was a long day.