“We had eyes on him until here.” Watchdog zoomed in, the cursor following Oliver’s silhouette as he ducked into the car waiting at the kerb. “He wasn’t alone.”
The footage flickered. For half a second, the shadow of another figure in the back seat showed, a shape, not a face. Male? Female? No certainty. His stomach clenched with the not knowing.
“Second occupant, rear passenger side,” he said, narrating as though the team couldn’t see. It was habit, the precision of stating variables out loud. “Obscured. No clear ID. Vehicle is a black BMW 5 Series, plates cloned. They switched them again two blocks later.”
He toggled through feeds, cameras from the bridge, street corners, storefronts. Oliver’s car weaving through London traffic, always just ahead of the net.
“We lost him here,” Watchdog admitted, fingers tightening on the keyboard as the car slipped into a blind spot and didn’t reappear. “No recovery.”
A heavy silence fell.
Then Duchess leaned forward, elbows on the table. “He’ll go under now. He’s too exposed, he’ll need to re-group.”
“Agreed,” Bás said. His eyes flicked to Watchdog. “Next moves?”
“Lock down Lena,” Watchdog said instantly. “She doesn’t leave safe protection. Ever. Her girlfriend, too. Both are important to Clara, so they have targets on their backs. Oliver’s already shown he’s willing to use her.”
Lotus nodded, uncharacteristically serious. “I’ll handle it. She’s resting in the downstairs bedroom.”
“And Clara’s parents?” Bishop asked.
The name was a weight, but Watchdog forced himself to meet their eyes. “Already flagged their property. Titan’s pulling satellite sweeps; Bein’s setting up external surveillance. I’ve back-doored their alarm system. If anyone breathes on that house, I’ll know.”
“We need ears inside in case Oliver visits her parents. As far as they’re concerned, he’s their saving grace, the man they were happy to marry their daughter off to, to save their own skin.”
Watchdog lifted his brows, surprised by the angry vehemence coming from Snow over the comms. She was likely pissed she had to stay home, but Fleur had a fever, and Sebastian was in court this week.
Val leaned into Bás, murmuring something he didn’t catch. The look she shot him was grateful.
“Agreed, I don’t trust their motives either. From what I’ve seen and heard, they’d happily believe whatever suits their own needs.”
“Okay, let’s get ears inside there, too. I want to keep up the hunt, keep the pressure on this fucker and delve into his dealings. If he takes a shit, I want to know what colour it is.”
Lotus wrinkled her nose, “Seriously, Bás, do you have to be so gross?”
“Yes.” Bás crossed his arms over his chest and glanced a Val. “My wife likes my dirty side.”
Lotus slapped her hands over her ears. “Lalaalalala. I don’t want to hear about Mum and Dad banging.”
Watchdog smirked, feeling something loosen in his chest. This was comfort, this banter, Lotus referring to Val as Mum and Bás as Dad.
The room shifted then, the mood tilting. Bishop smirked, slow and wicked, leaning on his elbow. “Speaking of banging…” He cocked a brow. “Heard the walls upstairs had a bit of a workout.”
A low chuckle rolled around the table. Titan’s grin flashed, Hurricane huffed a laugh, and Duchess actually smirked.
Heat crawled up the back of Watchdog’s neck. He didn’t look up from the screen. “You lot need better hobbies.”
“Not a hobby,” Lotus said sweetly. “A professional interest. You debriefing Clara sounded… thorough.”
Valentina smacked her arm lightly, rolling her eyes. “Grow up.” But her lips twitched, too.
Watchdog shook his head, keeping his voice dry. “Not my fault this shit hole has paper-thin walls and you lot have overactive imaginations.”
Bishop leaned forward, a grin tugging at his mouth. “No imagination required, mate. It was high-definition sound.”
The table erupted in low laughter, warm and familiar. Watchdog let it roll over him, allowed himself the faintest twitch of a smile. For the first time in months, he felt something close to his old self, the banter, the ribbing, the family rhythm that anchored him as much as his machines did.
Bás let it play out for a moment, then cleared his throat, pulling them back on course. “All right. Jokes aside, Oliver’s underground. Which means he’ll surface only when it suits him. We need to know where. Duchess, you’ve still got MI5 strings?”
