“Mira,” he said, at the same time.
“No.” She shook her head. “Stop talking. You don’t have to answer that.”
What did she want him to do, get down on his knees like this was a movie? Tell her that his heart beat only for her?
She swallowed the lump in her throat. She was not so foolish.
“Mira—”
She opened her mouth, but the door clicked open. She faced forward. “They’re here.”
And Emi was listening to this soap opera. She inhaled, then exhaled and looked at Naveen.
He gave her a subtle nod. “I have your back.”
Warmth spread through her, replacing the icy parts. In this, at least, she knew he did. “And I have yours.” Mira tried to regulate her breathing and the beat of her heart. “I think I’m going to throw up,” she admitted. Another moment of foolish neediness.
Naveen rested his palm on Mira’s neck and rubbed it. “It’s okay.”
Soft footsteps came down the hallway.
Burberry walked into the room, arm still in a sling, gun in his other hand. He sneered. There was a new bruise on his face, and Mira wondered if his boss had given it to him on account of his letting them get away.
“Your friend’s holding my partner,” he said in greeting.
Sunil. The man had done something right. “I don’t know anything about that,” Mira lied.
Burberry’s smile was terrifying. His nearly invisible eyebrows drew together. “I’m sure you don’t.” He prowled around the room, checking everything, even the cabinets and under the TV.
Emi, I hope you hid those bugs well.
Naveen held out his hand, and Mira put hers in it. All she wanted was to be out of here. Soon. With her sister.
“It’s clear,” the agent said low, into his phone. He left the room, and came back a second later.
Mira forgot about her own safety and stood when he yanked his bound captive in.
Mira hadn’t seen Sejal in years, but she’d never seen her big sister like this. Sejal had always had a large frame, and she’d filled out in the past decade, her shoulders broad, her muscles impressive and standing out in her tank top. The shirt had torn, revealing even more muscles, her abs a perfect six-pack.
None of Sejal’s brawn could take away from how poorly she’d been treated. There was blood in her short hair. Her face was badly bruised, one eye nearly swollen shut. They’d tied her hands behind her back, and a dirty gag had been shoved into her mouth.
Mira covered her mouth to hold in her cry of dismay. Sejal staggered as the man pushed her to her knees. “Sejal,” she said quietly, then louder, to be heard across the distance between them. “Are you okay?”
Her sister barely raised her head. She swayed, held upright only by Burberry’s hand on her shoulder. Either they’d beaten her so badly she was concussed, or they’d drugged her sister to bring her here.
Mira’s anger roared to life, and it stiffened her spine, trumping her fear. She rose to her feet. “What did you do to my sister?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she clocked Naveen giving her a warning look, but she ignored it.
“She’s fine, Mira,” came a soft, dulcet tone. “I wouldn’t hurt either of my babies.”
Mira finally looked past her sister, and her knees grew watery. She was barely aware of Naveen guiding her back to the couch. “What the fuck,” she whispered.
The South Asian woman who had entered was in her fifties, svelte and beautiful. Her hair was thick and tumbled to her shoulders. She had a hint of an Indian accent, but it had morphed after years in America. She sounded nothing like the digitally modified voice that had been on the phone. Her red suit hugged her figure and highlighted her brown skin and dark hair. She was no taller than Mira, even in her thin stiletto heels.
“Mom?”
Naveen didn’t react, which meant he’d already put things together. To be fair, her mom hadn’t visibly aged much since that old family photo they’d found in the storage unit.
Her mother gave Mira a sweet smile. “Hello, my dear. It’s been so long. Look at you. You’re as beautiful as your sister.” She stopped next to Sejal and dared to pat her on the head, like she was a puppy. Sejal sluggishly jerked her head away. Mira was happy to see at least that much fight in her. “Don’t worry, Mira. The drugs’ll wear off soon. She’s not permanently damaged.”
“You . . . you’re Cobra?”
Her mom gave a lilting laugh, and Naveen’s hand tightened on hers. She looked at him, but he hadn’t taken his gaze off her mom. Mira thought she had a poker face, but his was utterly blank.
“What a silly nickname that is,” her mom said. “I hate it.” She surveyed the tea in front of them. “How nice of you. I could use some tea. What do you have?”
“Darjeeling,” Mira answered.
“That will do. Pour it.”
Mira responded automatically to the directive. “I’d love to know what’s going on here.”
Her mother—her mother!—accepted the teacup and took a sip. “Well, obviously, my dear, I’m not dead.”
“I see that.” She sat back on the couch and tried not to look at her sister. If she looked at Sejal, she wouldn’t be able to think.
We had shit luck when it came to parents.
Don’t listen to her.
Sejal had been trying to warn her. Not that Mira would have ever conceived that this would be where their adventure led to. “Can we back up more? Who are you, exactly? How are you Cobra?” Her mother would have been a child when Cobra was active.
“I’m not Cobra. At least, not the original one. Cobra was my father. Vassar worked for him occasionally.” Her face softened, like she wasn’t a monster. “We did love each other back then. When my father died and things got a little warm for me, Vassar told me to come to America. We would be married, it would be the perfect cover. And then, of course, he told me kids would be an even better cover, and that he would take care of you and your sister so I wouldn’t have to.” Her lips twisted angrily. “I didn’t realize until it was too late that he was trying to keep me trapped with him. Silly man.”
Your mother is alive and she never wanted you.
Mira had been a cover before, for her father. This shouldn’t hurt. Stop hurting.
She was so tired, but she mentally pulled out a fresh empty bottle, and put those feelings away. “Can I ask why we thought you were dead?”
Their mother took a sip of tea, her pinky up. “Your father said you might feel abandoned if you knew I left you all.”
It didn’t take a child psychologist to puzzle that out, but Mira was still surprised her father had been that sensitive.
“Apparently his sister insisted he tell you I was dead instead of gone. What was her name? Rena? Rekha? She was always sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.”
“Rhea,” Mira said faintly. Okay, it made more sense that Rhea Auntie had proposed this solution.
“Yes, Rhea.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Mummy had a business to run, dear.” Her mother cocked her head. “Speaking of which, let’s get to the business at hand, eh?”
So that was that. The entire unpacking of her mother’s faked death.