Excerpt from Killers of a Certain Age by Deanna Raybourn, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Got it," she tells him. She watches him for a second as his hands move over the switches and levers, working through the preflight check. He is at ease, loose as an athlete who has trained and drilled until there's nothing left but the big game.

Sweeney draws her attention by giving her a nudge. "Tell the brunette I want a drink when this is all over."

"You know the rules. No fraternizing," Gilchrist reminds
him.

Sweeney makes a noise like a wounded puppy. "Easy for you to say. You've got Anthea." He drags the name out on three syllables. "Ahhhhn-theeee-aaaah," he repeats in a country club drawl.

"You got a steady girl? Good for you," Billie says to the pilot.

He pulls down the visor to show a small snapshot of a girl with a dark flip like Jackie O's, a serious expression in her wide eyes.

"Pretty," Billie says.

"And riiiiiiiich," Sweeney adds in a sulky tone.

"What's your problem, Sweeney?" she asks.

"I'm jealous, of course. He's got a rich, pretty debutante and all I've got is a stiffy for the little brunette with the curly hair out there."

"The little brunette has a name," Billie tells him. "Natalie."

"The future Mrs. Charles McSween," Sweeney says solemnly. "At least for this weekend." He raises a warning hand. "And don't tell me it's forbidden. That just makes it more exciting. It's like they're daring me to take her out."

Billie looks from one to the other. "I'm surprised neither of you is chasing Helen," she says. "She's the prettiest of us."

They both shrug. "Pretty, yes," Gilchrist admits. "Beautiful even. But she's what we Canadians call a Winnipeg winter."

"A Winnipeg winter?"

"Great natural beauty but capable of freezing your dick off if you're stupid enough to get naked," Sweeney explains. He surveys Billie with a practiced eye. "Of course, you would just-"

Billie holds up a hand. "Never mind. I don't want to know. Coffee is brewing. I'll have Mary Alice bring you some."

Mary Alice is pouring two fresh cups when Billie enters the galley. The air smells of burnt coffee and Mary Alice gives her an apologetic look. "I spilled some on the burner."

Billie waves a hand. "Who cares?" She reaches for the foil-wrapped package of mixed nuts and sticks it into the warming drawer.

Mary Alice nods towards the cockpit. "How are our fearless leaders?"

"Quoting films and trying to decide which one of us they get to take home for the weekend."

Mary Alice pulls a face. "God, I hate them."

Billie lifts an eyebrow. "They're not all bad. Vance Gilchrist just gave me a vote of confidence, a little pep talk for the evening's adventure."

Mary Alice snorts. "Only because he's in charge and if we screw up, it's on his head."

"Probably," Billie agrees. She reaches out and straightens Mary Alice's name tag. It is printed with the name margaret ann. Her own name tag reads bridget.

Always choose an alias with your own initials, their mentor has told them. At some point, you will be tired or distracted or simply human and you will start to write or say your real name instead of your alias. It is far easier to correct your mistake without arousing suspicions if you have at least begun with the proper letter. Also, it means never having to change your monogram. Remember, ladies, your lives are lies now, but the fewer you tell, the simpler it is to keep them straight.

Helen appears, poised and unruffled although her eyes are unusually bright. "Showtime," she tells them. "The Bulgarians are here." Natalie joins them as they hurry to the side of the plane, watching through the round windows as the long black bulk of a limousine approaches.

"Oh god," Natalie murmurs. "It's happening. Finally."

Helen lays a hand on her wrist. "Breathe, Nat."

Nat pulls in a long breath, flaring her nostrils as she watches the car glide to a halt. The expected quartet of passengers gets out: the principal-a man they refer to only as X-his private secretary, and a pair of bodyguards.

Excerpted from Killers of a Certain Age by Deanna Raybourn. Copyright © 2022 by Deanna Raybourn. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.