“So what are you? Like, my babysitter?” I ask, my voice just slightly cold as my gaze narrows.

I watch as you move around the large living area, checking through the curtains and making sure windows are locked. Some may say thorough, but I would rather say paranoid. It’s ridiculous behavior. Borderline embarrassing.

A few weeks ago, I got into some less than legal activities outside of the country. Nothing unusual for me or my organization, but one of my rookie men fucked up and left a trail right back to me.

MI6 was on me like my guard dogs with bacon.

After a lot of negotiating and reminding the lead agent of some photographs I have of him with a woman who is not his wife, I managed to make a fair deal: I share information on rivaling organizations, and I pay a small fine. Easy and quick.

Except the part where they put me in a temporary witness safety program with a damn babysitter.

I guess you’re another agent who was assigned to be my handler for this whole process. I actually would be complaining a lot more, but you’re not terrible to look at. Maybe I’ll manage.

Maybe.