I felt Natasha tense up next to me and heard a soft, hissing intake of breath. “That’s poopsie,” she said softly. I could hear the hurt and ange... in her voice.“Not now. Not yet.” I tried to say firmly. I had very little confidence in my ability to keep her from acting, but a loud voice called out in my– and her– earpiece saying, “Control yourself, Pusik, we will rescue poopsie, but we have to stick to the plan. You can do it, my little kitten, but we have to follow the plan.”Boris’ words had an. I just hadn’t noticed any telltale bulges or printing that might indicate a weapon, and she was in yoga pants and a long, athletic shirt that hung to the lower curve of her bottom. Come to think of it, she often wore long, loose-fitting shirts, untucked; that might have been a tell if I hadn’t been so distracted by her other charms.She pulled up the front of her shirt and showed me a compact handgun tucked into a belly holster, inside of her waistband just in front of her left hip, the butt of. More

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