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She wore a black t-shirt under a black button-up work shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows but she still felt a little warm in this controlled environment. Her trousers were of the tactical style. She'd grown partial to them during an extended training session with SAS, and the standard issue had required surprisingly little alteration to accommodate her feminine shape. She'd left the legs straight so the cuffs hung comfortably over her boots.
Nikolai was staring at the boots.
The pants over the boots would make him think of motorcycles, but surely not - not with her lack of depth perception.
The boots were black, heavy, with a sturdy sole, thick heel, well cared for but not new. Worn. They were something she'd worn for a long time. They had the unmistakeable aura of the favourite pair.
"That was the hardest part," she said lightly. "Those damn shoes."
His Adele had always worn flats, delicate flats. Ballet-style. Little shoes, patent leather or some sort of cloth like silk. They'd gone with the clothes, in style and colour. Ladies who lunch clothes, but flats because she couldn’t see well enough to risk walking in heels. Or so she'd pretended. Delicate and nonthreatening.
It had been a joy to put on solid, thick, protective boots again.
He looked back up at her eye. She looked back with 20/20 vision. "Contact lens," he guessed.
She nodded, without reason to lie. That had been a bitch, too. Itchy. Distorted vision and headaches. All for the sake of verisimilitude.
He clenched his fists.
"I had to be more than just impaired. I had to be legally blind for it… for the plan to work. I had to look helpless, or you might have guessed I wasn't a civilian. The Russian agent would have figured it out. But no one suspects a blind girl. Not even your Inspector knew until the moment I gave the signal."
"Cunt," Nikolai muttered.
"I'm not your enemy. You were in so deep you didn't know how to get out. We had to get you out without alerting the London vor or the Russians. No one wanted to have to trick you, but you were too stubborn. You know that. And you know the clothes, the eye, everything - it was all necessary to get you out, Nikki."
"Do not call me that, Adelita."
"Fine. Don't call me Adelita."
"Adele."
"Not that, either."
Nikolai opened his hands. Glanced at the door. Sat deliberately on the cot. There was no use in contemplating escape. She would only need to shout, and the large men outside would come inside. Nikolai could take them in a fight, but it would not be a fight, with him like this and them armed and holding the keys. It would be prison discipline. There was no point to getting into that.
"What is it then? Detective? Inspector?" he asked.
"Agent," she said firmly.
He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.
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