Lachlan balled up his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat. “Themeeting.”
Today they would discuss the fake sabotage coming in only a fortnight. With winter weather limiting his trips across the firth, he might not attend another meeting before then.
Although the plan didn’t sit right with him, it would prove Cilla’s merit as an Abwehr agent and build German trust in her so MI5 could run her case more effectively.
If MI5’s plan succeeded, they could keep Cilla safely in Scotland, where she could continue to enchant and encourage and ... and enrich his life.
A wry smile rose. If he was in trouble, why did he enjoy it so much?
Lachlan rested one elbow on the roof of the forward cabin and peeked around the side to get a better view of the bay.
His family’s motorboat,Mar na Creag, rested by the stone ramp.
Motion aboard. A blond woman in a blue jumper fiddled with the motor.
Cilla?
Questions careened in his head, banging into each other, congealing into a dark lump.
Why was she in a boat? His family’s boat? Alone?
That dark lump plunged into his gut. What possible reason could she have for wanting a boat?
Only one—only one reason.
She was escaping. No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t. But no other reason remained.
The selkie had found her skin.
That lump, as dark as coal, smoldered, burned, and crackled into flame.
Lachlan had been betrayed—again. He’d trusted her, and she’d fooled him, fooled them all. He’d kept up his guard for so long, and when he lowered it ...
“No.” The word ripped a scorching path up his throat and warbled with grief.
She wasn’t a double agent, but a triple agent!
Where did she think she was going in that boat? To Germany? She’d never make it. Unless she was meeting a U-boat.
Lachlan released a choked cry and thumped the roof of the cabin. If she met a U-boat, how many Allied secrets would she pass along? She’d tell them about the Double Cross program, warn them that many of their agents had turned.
His free hand found the hard mass of his revolver under his greatcoat and jacket. Yardley had issued it to Lachlan for this very reason. He’d almost stopped carrying it.
Lachlan clenched his fists and screwed his eyes shut. He couldn’t. He couldn’t shoot her.
But he could stop her. He had to.
Hands trembling, Lachlan unbuttoned his greatcoat, reached inside his jacket, and wrapped his hand around the handle of the revolver.
A black ribbon of grief wound through the throbbing red fury. What could he say to her? Would she beg him for mercy again?
His chest caved in. Mercy—why did it always lead to betrayal?
The naval boat pulled to the opposite side of the ramp fromMar na Creag.
Cilla lifted her head, met Lachlan’s gaze, and her expression widened into joyful relief. “Lachlan! Thank goodness.” She scrambled out of the boat. “A fishing boat exploded. It’s sinking. The men—they’re in the water. We need to rescue them. But I—I can’t start this motor.”
Lachlan’s hand slipped off the revolver, and the lump spun in a new direction in his gut, spitting out everything he knew, everything he assumed. “Wha—what?”
