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“I’M SORRY I LEFT WITHOUT saying goodbye,” I said, gazing at her affectionately from across the table.
She waved a dismissive hand, letting me know that she harbored no ill will. “Thanks for leaving the car.”
“The least I could do,” I agreed.
“So do you have any information on Southie?” Clark asked.
“No,” I replied. “Do you?”
“No,” she said. “That’s why I’m in London early without telling MI6. I’m supposed to see if I can get any information before my official arrival.”
“Understood,” I said with a nod.
It made sense that the CIA would want to get a handle on the mole in British Intelligence before alerting us that Clark was on the ground. I appreciated her meeting with me and knew how much trouble she could get in if it was revealed that we were working together. I could get in hot water too for not revealing that she was in England before she was scheduled to be there. But I didn’t care.
What mattered was getting to the bottom of the kidnapping and untangling the threads that bound MI6 and Dark Sparrow together. If Clark and I could uncover the leak together and trace the culprit back to his or her superiors, maybe we could bring the missing agents home alive. Maybe we could also get revenge for Ryan Abrams, someone I knew Clark cared about very deeply.
We traded information for a while. I told her about my meeting with Reg, and she told me about her phone call with Jasmine. We were treading on very thin ice, letting each other into the sanctuary of our relationships with our respective handlers. Whatever was shared between operative and mission control was supposed to be confidential. But I felt closer to Clark than I’d ever felt to Reg. And something about the dual lines we were being fed didn’t sit right.
If Southie really existed, then someone had to know something. Reg’s sudden insistence that he was out of the loop when it came to everything about the mission had me worried. Either he was lying, or someone else was pulling our strings. Was that someone Southie? I didn’t know, and I couldn’t in good conscience just wait around to see.
Clark didn’t have a lot more information, but the CIA had apparently confirmed the existence of Southie. Whether they had access to records or some corroboration of Vinny’s statement, I couldn’t be sure. Neither could Clark, but Washington was taking Vinny’s warning seriously enough to put Clark in the line of fire again.
Gradually, we transitioned to other topics. I complimented her dress, and she said she’d picked it up in Rome. I had visited the Holy City a few times in my life, and we talked about our favorite places to eat and some of the more outrageous experiences we’d had in Italy.
“This one time,” Clark said, stirring her drink with a plastic sword, “I was supposed to catch this man who had—”
I thought I saw someone glancing our way, and it bothered me. I’d seen that particular face turn toward us three times in the past twenty minutes, more often than I was comfortable with. Clark saw that I was distracted and trailed off, leaving her story unfinished. She followed my gaze, turning around in her seat to zero in on the person in question. When she turned back, I saw that something was wrong.
“Get out of here,” she said quickly, rising to her feet.
I didn’t know what was going on, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave her alone to face whatever threat this pubgoer posed. Instead of heading for the exit as she instructed, I stuck to her side, walking with her as she approached the culprit.
“Theo,” she objected, giving me a shove. “Go.”
“I’m not leaving,” I informed her.
The guy didn’t wait around for us to finish our argument. He pushed his beer away and got up from the bar, walking swiftly toward the exit. He knew he had been made and that destruction was about to rain down in the form of one beautiful young woman.
Clark followed him outside, still not filling me in on what was going on.
“Who is he?” I demanded.
“I have enemies,” she said unhelpfully.
“So do I,” I responded. “But which specific enemy?”
“I don’t want you involved,” she snapped.
Outside the pub, we paused our conversation to look left and right, searching for the escaping criminal. Clark spied him to the right and hurried after him. I joined her, matching her stride for stride into a dark alley.
“Stop it,” she objected, trying to get away.
“Not on your life,” I swore, wondering what kind of man she thought I was that I would run away in the face of danger. Who on Earth would allow his girlfriend to follow some stranger into a dark alley without offering to help? Certainly not anyone that I was acquainted with.
“Hey!” Clark shouted, breaking into a run.
The guy who had been spying on us sprinted away, turning left then right down the back streets to try to shake us. Both Clark and I were in terrific shape, and keeping up with the man was no problem. I pulled ahead, longer legs speeding me toward our quarry. But Clark poured on the steam and caught up with me, tackling the suspect before I had a chance to reach him.
I watched with equal parts horror and amusement as the two of them rolled across the pavement. The stranger wore a blue jacket with dark jeans, and Clark was a splash of color above him in her bright red dress.
The man was clearly outmatched, even though I could tell he had some training. He held his hands up to shield his face and attempted a few well-placed punches. But it was nothing compared to what Clark dished out. I didn’t have to do anything but stand by and watch as she beat the snot out of the poor kid.
When it was clear that the man wasn’t going to be moving any time soon, I helped Clark to her feet. She straightened her skirt, regaining some of the dignity afforded to her by her appearance. Wobbling slightly on her heels, she took a step back, flipping through the wallet she had lifted from her victim.
“Dark Sparrow?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said, passing the wallet over.
It was an operative’s wallet, with a London-based ID card that was clearly a fake. A few bills and a single credit card were the only other things available to make any kind of identification. As a source of information, the wallet was worthless.
“Should we take him to my penthouse?” I asked.
“What for?” she asked.
“Maybe he knows something,” I replied, surprised that she would even ask.
She crouched beside the man, grabbing his collar. “Do you speak English?” she demanded.
The man spat in her face.
I kicked him in the side without even thinking about it. The nerve of that bastard to treat my girlfriend so poorly when all she had asked him was a simple question. Never mind that she just delivered a devastating beating and that he was lying on the ground unable to move. He should have had the decency to be more courteous, in my opinion.
It didn’t escape my notice that was twice I had thought about Clark as my girlfriend. Though it was a little premature, it felt right. We were closer than two operatives had any right to be, and we were sharing information off the grid. There had been no official declaration of romantic intent, but I’d seen her naked. Maybe it was reckless, or maybe it was naïve, but I thought we might be able to be something more to each other than simple colleagues.
I took over the interrogation for the simple reason that sometimes people responded better to a man than they did to a woman. I wasn’t making any judgment calls about Clark’s abilities, just trying to use all the tools at our disposal to get answers.
“Why were you spying on us?” I demanded, hauling the man to his feet.
“I got orders,” he replied.
“Orders from who?” I asked.
“I’ll never tell,” he complained, twisting and turning in my grip. “You have to kill me.”
“We can do that,” I agreed.
“I am Dark Sparrow,” he claimed, jutting his chin out as if he was proud of the fact. “I am not afraid to die.”
“Who do you answer to here in London?” I asked.
“No one,” he swore. “There is no one in London.”
“Liar!” Clark shouted, punching the man in the gut.
“I swear!” the man groaned.
“All right,” I said calmly, putting a hand out to stay Clark’s next assault. “Just tell me what you know.”
“I work for Lukas,” the man said.
“Where?” I demanded.
“I don’t know,” the martyr complained. “He sends me to London to follow you. That’s all I know.”
“We can’t let him live,” Clark said, narrowing her eyes. “He’s seen us together.”
I didn’t want to think about murder, but she was right that it was dangerous to allow someone with that kind of information to walk around free. With my back against the wall, I knew there had to be a better way.
“Let’s take him to the police station,” I said.
Clark looked at me as if I was speaking a language she’d never heard before. “We’re not cops.”
“No, but I have some influence,” I said. “I’d rather not kill him actually, if it’s all the same to you.”
“That’s a mistake,” she warned.
“Maybe I’m a fool,” I responded. “But it seems a waste.”
“All right,” she said with a sigh. “We’ll do this your way. But don’t expect these guys to appreciate what you’re doing for them. They’re going to come back and bite you in the ass when you least expect it.”
“I’d like to think maybe they’ll save my ass,” I replied, hoping for a smile.
She gave me one, and it was just as brilliant and beautiful as I’d hoped. We hauled the guy off the pavement and tied him to a lamp post. Putting in a call to the police, we described him as a thief without giving any particulars about our own identities.
“I’d like you to come back to my apartment,” I said.
“What makes you think I don’t have my own place?” she retorted.
“I’m sure you do, but it would make me feel better if I could keep an eye on you,” I answered. “That guy wasn’t looking for me; he was following you.”
She gave me a longsuffering look but finally gave in. My place was right around the corner. I’d done that on purpose so that I wouldn’t have to call a cab or move my car. But the evening stroll gave us time to compose ourselves.
Seeing her in action made me hot. In the back of my mind, I wondered what might happen when we were alone together. No one on my side of the pond knew that she was in town, and no one on her side of the divide knew that she had hooked up with me. We were in uncharted territory and off the grid for the moment.
I didn’t share my home address with anyone. Of course, there were a few people at MI6 who knew it, and the potential was always there for discovery, but it was a small pool of individuals who had the specifics. And I generally felt like I could trust them.
I pointed to my building and held the door open for her. She seemed impressed, glancing up at the vaulted ceilings as we walked through the lobby. I ushered her into the elevator and pressed the button, sending the car riding up to the top level.
There were several luxury apartments on the upper floors, each one taking up nearly a quarter of the building’s footprint. I opened my door with a combination of high tech and low tech locks. A key as well as a combination pad provided dual layers of protection. It wasn’t enough; it would never be enough. But it was more than most criminals and lowlifes could contend with.
She seemed to approve, her energy somewhat calmer than usual. Inside, she circled the apartment, checking out all the nooks and crannies. I let her go, knowing that it was something she needed to do in order to feel safe.
“All clear?” I asked her.
“All clear,” she said, dropping her purse on the couch.
She wandered over to the window to take in the view. I couldn’t help myself. She was so delectable, standing there with her back to me. I walked over and put my hands on her shoulders, and she didn’t even flinch. Though I knew that getting involved with another agent would give unknown assailants leverage, I didn’t care. I wanted her badly.
She turned around, her movements exceedingly gentle. We were two divinities of vengeance, taking a break from all the violence. When I kissed her, she nearly melted in my arms. The effect was so warm, so inviting, that I felt the immediate stirrings of my soldier down south. It was all I could do not to tear her clothes off and press her up against the window. But I held my breath and forced myself to continue at a snail’s pace.
