Natasha’s own smile widened at Clint’s cover story and her eyes were practically dancing with mischief. They were definitely on the same page, and by the time they made it back to base they would have all the details of how their escape had gone bad down to a tee. “Such a shame,” she agreed solemnly.

Turning her attention back to the crowd as they descended the stairs, she picked the closest suspect to them from the crowd and tried to get a read on his body language. Their boss had been gone a while now so they should be looking a bit antsy, trying to find him among all the party guests.

“You know me, Barton,” Natasha replied to his question, looking up at him with a mostly concealed, secret smile. “I don’t have nearly the patience you do.” The anticipation of action was practically thrumming through her veins at this point, so the sooner the better as far as she was concerned.