Ciara had just finished a late-night baby feeding and wondered how long before her husband. Tom, at the rate they were going, would have her pregnant again. She smiled at the idea of practicing as she quickly got the used bottles in the dishwasher and took care of the dirty nappy. It was a nice quiet night. She and Tom had Churton Place to themselves as the rest of their MI-6 spy family hadn’t arrived from Cardiff and Paris. And although the London townhouse held all three sets of couples and three children quite comfortably, it was nice to know that tonight the only thing that could interrupt her naughty ideas were her 6-year-old and 4-month-old, both of whom were finally and deeply asleep. Then her tablet rang.
“Angus? Is something wrong?” she asked once his image came up.
“Nothing,” Angus said, his face sullen. He
appeared to be speaking to her from some outdoor café and not the wonderful, five-star hotel room which her brother and Angus were supposed to be staying. This was a very bad sign.