Lotus lifted her chin, affronted. “That copper had it in for me. You saw the way he looked at me. And, anyway, I’m not even driving, so don’t start on me, jerk nozzle.”
“You were doing eighty in a forty zone,” Bishop shot back, “and jerk nozzle? Really?”
“It was sixty and yes, jerk nozzle.”
“Forty,” Bishop repeated firmly.
Clara’s lips twitched. For the first time since she climbed in, Watchdog could see her shoulders ease a little.
Watchdog kept his eyes on her, pretending to scan the feed scrolling across his tablet. The banter was background noise, familiar, grounding. But his focus stayed on the way her mouth curved, the way she looked younger, freer, when she smiled.
She turned then, catching him watching.
He dropped his gaze instantly, heat crawling up his neck.Idiot.
Her question caught him off guard. “Isn’t this overkill? Two vans, drones, the whole army, just to meet my friend?”
He lifted his eyes, met hers squarely. He let her see it, just for a moment, the truth carved into him. “These men are evil personified. I’m not taking the chance they’ll get to you. Not after what I personally know they’re capable of.”
Her expression faltered. Her throat worked as she looked away quickly, staring hard out the window.
His stomach twisted. She knew. Or she guessed enough.
He braced his hand against the window ledge, fingers curling tight. The van’s vibration buzzed through his bones, but it wasn’t enough to steady him. He wanted to go back, to the simplicity of drones and code, numbers that didn’t judge, facts that didn’t pity.
Instead, he was here. Opposite a woman who had kissed him, who looked at him with soft eyes that terrified him more than any enemy ever had.
And then the thought landed, sharp and unwelcome: he’d given her the clue.
The words he’d chosen, the way he’d let the truth bleed into his tone. He could’ve kept it clinical, vague, but he hadn’t. He’d wanted her to see. Wanted her to know.
His chest tightened. Why?
He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want questions. He didn’t want anyone prying open the wound he’d locked away so tightly it was suffocating him.
And yet… a part of him, the same reckless part that had kissed her back like a drowning man, wanted her to understand. To see him, scars and all.
That realisation rattled him more than the memory itself.
Because letting her see him meant letting her in.
And that might be the most dangerous thing he’d ever done.
The safe housewas a narrow townhouse tucked into a quiet London street, curtains drawn, the air outside thick with drizzle and exhaust fumes. Inside, the lights were dim, the walls bare, a staging ground rather than a home.
Bás gathered the team in the front room, his presence commanding even in the cramped space. “Duchess, you and Bein handle perimeter contacts. Reaper, Bishop, you’re backup on exit routes. Titan, you’re with me. Val, dogs ready, secondary sweep if needed. I want everyone ready to move the second we see something going south. I want eyes on Clara at all times. Lotus, you know what you have to do. Stay with Clara. If Lena asks, she’s a new friend from the Museum.”
Heads nodded. Everyone knew their part.
When it came to the tech, all eyes shifted to him.
Watchdog straightened, his laptop already open, screens flickering to life. “Drones are calibrated. I’ve got eyes on three streets out in every direction. Comms are tight, nothing leaks. Any unusual chatter, I’ll see it before they do.”
“Has there been any chatter overnight?” Bishop asked, cracking his neck as he paced.
“Nothing unusual and nothing pertaining to this.”
“Got it.”
