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"Got it," Eve said, pocketing a tiny drive. "Now for the final part."
She turned to Agatha, and for a wild, hopeful moment, Agatha thought she saw an apology forming. Instead, Eve pressed a small, smooth object into Agatha’s palm. A spare key. long con part 3 agatha vega, eve sweet
They breached the penthouse. The warlord was alone, his guards drawn away by Eve’s diversion. He was a fat man with quick eyes, reaching for a panic button. Agatha was faster. A single, silent shot to the shoulder—non-lethal, precise. He screamed, clutched his arm, and Eve was already there, sweet-voiced, coaxing the satellite phone and the crypto-wallet from him with the gentle persuasion of a scalpel. "Got it," Eve said, pocketing a tiny drive
"You're not coming?" Agatha’s blood ran cold. A spare key
"You used me," Agatha breathed. The betrayal cut deeper than any bullet. Not because of the money, but because she’d admired Eve. She’d respected the quiet efficiency, the way Eve could sweet-talk a security guard into handing over his keys while looking like a lost librarian. They were supposed to be partners.