Not a day over twenty-five. Coppery reddish hair tied into a prim bun. A plentiful supply of freckles against pale skin. Porcelain blue eyes. Pablo guessed she might have some Irish blood in her.
“I know this is rather irregular, meeting like this,” she said. “But I thought it best to bring along me friends.”
He noticed a chaste, little earring in her right lobe. Why aren't you being a nanny or hanging out with a boyfriend at some mall? he thought, now seeing how frightfully young she appeared full faced. How in heaven's name did you end up at MI5? Shame on your in-take officer. “Good friends, looks like,” he said. If she worked in Britain’s domestic intelligence service’s Archives, her friends probably worked in MI5’s A4 surveillance squad, the Watchers Unit, he guessed. How else to exp
