35

Kirkwall, Orkney Islands, Scotland

Jason sat in a rental car across the street from the Arcaibh Inn.

He was fuming.

He’d done plenty of stakeouts before. Plenty. That’s not what was bothering him. He’d also been trained to modulate his emotions. Not just on the surface, but to erase them completely through meditation and distraction. This was a standard stakeout. The only twist was that the building was set up in such a way that someone could sneak out the back without setting off an alarm. Jason had secured the back door with a shovel and parked out front.

Problem solved.

Yet, he found himself frozen with a rage so cold that he imagined he would shatter like ice if he moved too quickly.

The issue was that the Grimalkin had known Salem Wiley would end up at the Gloup—just like he’d known she would travel to
Blessington—before Salem Wiley herself knew. Jason didn’t like that. It wasn’t that he needed to know all the ins and outs. In fact, he preferred to avoid the politics and the debates and be told only the desired end goal. Rather, the problem was that the Grimalkin was playing.

The Grimalkin was toying with Jason, leading him forward inch by inch rather than telling him where to go, and he was downright clowning with Salem. The Grimalkin had ordered Jason to keep watch on this hotel, to follow Salem if she should unexpectedly leave her room.

The Grimalkin wanted to hide a present for her. It was unprofessional. Dangerous.

“A present?”

The Grimalkin had giggled. Nodded. Like they were kindergarteners rather than assassins for the most powerful organization in the world.

Jason had scowled. “Is the Gloup the end of the Stonehenge train? Is she about to solve its mystery?”

The Grimalkin answered the question with a command. “Let me watch you do it.”

They’d both been sitting in the rental car at that point, parked near the hotel, as conspicuous as aliens in this small town under this unnatural sky. Jason’s eyes narrowed. He knew what the Grimalkin was asking. Jason gripped the steering wheel. His hands seemed to be trembling, but that could not be. Steadiness was his calling card.

“I will not,” Jason said. A childish retort reached his tongue but did not make it past his lips: And you can’t make me. What was the Grimalkin doing to him?

“You will. Change the shape of your face. I want to see it.”

“No,” Jason said. The tremble had reached his voice. His knives weighed heavily against his chest. How fast could he draw them? Fast enough to kill the legendary Grimalkin?

“Yes.” Like a playground taunt.

The unfamiliar, uncontrolled rage caught Jason off guard. It was so powerful that it popped his Scottish nose out of joint. The shape he’d taken care to create flattened as if it had just been smashed by an invisible fist.

“Marvelous!” The Grimalkin had clapped.

Jason had stewed in fury.

“That’s all for now, but I’ll need to see more later. An entire face change.” The Grimalkin stepped out of the car. “But first, I must run this errand. It’s important to leave gifts for women so they know that you see them and appreciate them. Watch the hotel. I don’t think she’ll leave, but if she does, track her.”

Jason followed the Grimalkin’s command for thirty minutes. Then, his almost religious dedication to the Order took over. The Grimalkin was costing them something important, Jason knew that, and he needed to inform them, even if it violated the chain of command.

He decided to phone the remaining Barnaby brother.

Cassius’ brother Carl had hired Jason, mentored him, almost became a father to him. All of Jason’s directives had come from Carl. He’d felt a weakening of his personal discipline since Carl was jailed. Maybe Carl’s brother could stabilize the imbalance Jason was experiencing?

The inside of the car was hovering near 50 degrees. Jason lifted the collar of his coat to keep his body heat close. He dialed the phone.

Barnaby picked up on the fourth ring, his voice thick with sleep. “What is it?”

Jason stuffed down the unpleasant sense that he was tattling. “I have a report to deliver,” he said, falling back into the corporate-speak he’d perfected with Carl Barnaby. “About the business prospect?”

The silence made Jason feel good, like Cassius Barnaby was weighing his words. That sensation dissolved when Barnaby came back on the line. “And?”

“I can offer a recommendation at this point. She’s good at her job and has the exact skills we’re looking for.” Jason gripped the phone. “Unfortunately, my colleague is not using our time wisely. It’s hurting our acquisition. I’d like permission to complete this project on my own.”

Barnaby’s second silence lingered longer. A light flicked on in the bakery up the street. The town was waking, though Jason didn’t imagine these people ever slept deeply, not with the haunted light. He’d never tried Scottish baked goods. There must be a specialty for this region. There always was some—

“You called me at home in the middle of the night to complain about your assignment?” Cassius Barnaby popped off each word like a bullet.

Blood drained from Jason’s face. With it slipped his control. He could feel his flesh melting. He’d spent so many years stretching and morphing it that it pooled near his chin without constant concentration. “I’m sorry.”

“Goddamned right you’re sorry. Don’t call me again until that job is done. No, don’t even call me then. I only want to hear from the Grimalkin.” Barnaby hung up.

Jason held the warm phone, feeling more unsettled than he had in his entire tenure with the Order. There were protocols to be observed, the most basic of which was not to name names.

Barnaby had spoken a name.

A name most guaranteed to alert security agencies.

Jason pulled himself back together. He needed to destroy the phone. He and the Grimalkin needed to leave the Orkneys as soon as possible.

Always, the Order had known best.

But they were shaken. Cassius Barnaby dropping protocol evidenced that.

And that unsettled Jason.