Mrs. Undercover «GENUINE ANTHOLOGY»

Brenda raised an eyebrow. “Glitter glue?”

“Welcome to the neighborhood!” the woman chirped. “I’m Brenda. I live three doors down. Just brought you my famous tuna surprise.” Mrs. Undercover

Ellie grabbed a butter knife, popped the lid off the dish, and stared at the tangled mess of wires inside. Red, blue, yellow. Standard. But the Serpent never did standard. She saw the trick—a secondary loop hidden under a blob of what looked like congealed cream of mushroom. Brenda raised an eyebrow

That was the problem. After ten years of marriage, three of them deep undercover as a wife , Ellie had become her disguise. The Agency had stopped calling. Her handler, a chain-smoking cynic named Harris, had retired to a shrimp boat in the Gulf. She was, for all intents and purposes, a ghost. I live three doors down

Her husband, Dave, a pleasant but profoundly unobservant accountant, kissed her forehead. “Big day at work, honey. Budget meeting.”