“Oh, Ms. Baxter.” A hand touches my shoulder, light, almost gentle. I flinch. “How do you think I got to be where I am? Everyone tells me everything. Eventually.”
The van accelerates.
The rain drums against the roof.
And somewhere in the darkness of that hood, with Julia’s hand on my shoulder and Cal’s death still echoing through my bones, I make myself a promise.
I’m going to kill you for this.
I don’t know how. I don’t know when.
But I’m going to kill you.
I hold onto those thoughts as the van carries me away into the night.
CHAPTER 42
MIA
The hood comesoff and the light hits me like a fist.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the glare, my head throbbing where one of them pistol-whipped me in the van. Everything hurts. My wrists are raw from the zip ties, my ribs ache from where someone landed a kick during the struggle, and there’s blood in my mouth from biting through my lip when they threw me down the stairs.
Stairs. Underground. I counted twelve steps before they shoved me into a chair and tied my hands behind my back.
When I can finally open my eyes, I take in my surroundings with the clinical detachment of someone who knows she might die here. Concrete walls. No windows. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the kind that make everyone look like a corpse. A metal table bolted to the floor. A drain in the center of the room.
That drain tells me everything I need to know about what happens in this place. I’ve seen drains like that before, and it was only by the grace of god that I lived to tell the tale.
I’m not sure I’ll be afforded that much grace today.
There’s a man standing in front of me. Big and tall, with shaved head and a nose that’s been broken and reset more thana few times. He’s rolling up his sleeves with the casual efficiency of someone who does this for a living, showcasing tattoos. One of them is of The Punisher, and another is of the American flag in blue and black, and that tells me all I need to know. Fucking chump.
And behind him, watching from the shadows near the door, is Dr. Van Veen.
She’s dressed immaculately, of course, why wouldn’t she be? Long-sleeved blouse, tailored trousers, not a hair out of place. She could be heading into a board meeting or hosting a charity gala. The only thing different is that her clothes aren’t pastel as normal, but a dark navy blue.
A color that hides blood stains really well.
“Ms. Baxter.” Her voice echoes off the walls. “Or should I use your real name? Erasmia Reeves. SOE operative. Codename: the Moth.”
My stomach drops, but I keep my face blank. Training. Years of training for exactly this moment. I have to keep it together.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The big man hits me.
His fist connects with my cheekbone and my head snaps to the side, pain exploding across my face in a burst of heated stars. I taste fresh blood. Feel something shift in my jaw that shouldn’t shift.
Maybe he fixed my TMJ, I think absently, the pain throbbing in my vision.
“Let’s skip the part where you pretend,” Julia says, stepping closer. Her heels click against the concrete. “I’ve known who you are since your little incident at Red Hook. British intelligence sent you to evaluate my asset. To determine if Vanguard was a threat. To seduce him for information and, if necessary, eliminate him.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Did you really think you were being clever?”
Her words sound like they’re coming from somewhere underwater.
“I let it play out,” Julia continues. “I wanted to see what you’d do. What he’d do. Consider it a field test. And I have to say, Ms. Reeves, the results were…illuminating.”
“Yeah? Go fuck yourself again.”
