Free All About Evie by Beth Ciotta

Aside from making him feel old, it reminded him of the bureaucratic bullshit that had resulted in him overstepping and his wife stepping out.
    The only time anyone referred to him as Sir or Agent Beckett was when he was at HQ, which, to their mutual relief, wasn’t often. He’d earned a reputation as a hot dog. If he weren’t so tight with the director, he’d be out on his forty-seven-year-old ass. As far as his team was concerned, the A.I.A.—Artful Intelligence Agency—operated on a “the-less-we-know-the-better” policy. He had a directive. Results, within blurred reason, were all that mattered.
    Like the ones tucked away in Woody’s eccentric mind. Milo angled his head. “Where is he?”
    â€œFort Lauderdale. Traveled under the name of Charles Dupont.”
    Arch was a pro at operating under the radar. Woody was good, but he shouldn’t have been able to track him this fast. Arch must have slipped.
    Something was wrong.
    â€œTomorrow he’s sailing for San Juan on an adults-only cruise. The Fiesta line focuses on romance in the golden years. Caters mostly to second honeymooners, couples celebrating anniversaries. Kind of a geriatric Love Boat .”
    The Benson file.
    â€œSon of a bitch.” Milo strode to the hall closet, yanked a suitcase from the shelf.
    The flowery stench followed him into his bedroom. “Do you think he’s up to his old tricks, sir?”
    â€œI think he’s taking an unauthorized vacation.” Read: Defying team policy by acting solo. Worse, acting outside of A.I.A. jurisdiction. Chameleon’s license-to-shill wasn’t valid on foreign soil. They had domestic leeway, not international carte blanche.
    And Arch knew it.
    Milo crammed the case full of casual and formal wear, processing details. Vine and Woody could handle the bar. He’d have to keep A.I.A in the dark in order to keep Arch’s ass, and his own, out of a sling.
    Woody scratched at his sparse goatee, also new. “Guess you’re going after him.” For a smart kid, he often stated the obvious.
    â€œI need you to make travel arrangements.” This was the second time in eight months Arch had gone renegade. Milo’s patience was spent.
    â€œDone.”
    He glanced up.
    The shaggy-haired boy, who presently resembled a modern-day beatnik, shrugged. “Figured it was the next logical move given your mood when you ordered me to track Ace.”
    Aka Arch. Grifters referred to their underworld aliases as monikers. Thanks to Arch, every team member had one. Even Milo. Woody referred to everyone on the team by their monikers, except for Milo. Nope. Milo was Sir.
    Ignoring his twitching balls, he clasped shut his case, pulled on a leather jacket and silently cursed Arch “Ace” Duvall. “I don’t know why I bother,” he muttered.
    â€œBecause it’s what friends do.”
    He let that pass. His relationship with Arch was complicated. No one, aside from Milo and Arch, knew the particulars. He intended to keep it that way.
    Woody handed him a stuffed envelope. “I made arrangements for two. It’s a couples’ cruise.”
    Woody hadn’t been on the team for long but he knew Arch’s history. Knew he was up to something and that he’d just reeled in his friend . Whether he wanted in or not, Milo was now part of Arch’s game. He’d stick out like a sore thumb if he showed up single for a couples’ cruise.
    â€œI called Hot Legs. She’s packing. You can pick her up on the way to A.C. International.”
    Gina Valente, aka Hot Legs, was an ex-cop with a gift for grifting. A valuable asset, she often ensnared marks via her feminine wiles. He wasn’t keen on dragging her into this mess, but now, thanks to Arch, this was Chameleon business. “You’re two steps ahead of me, Kid.”
    â€œThree.” He gestured to the envelope.
    Milo thumbed through the contents. Travel