I level him with a flat, unimpressed glare.
“Don’t push me away because you’re having an internal fight with yourself. You’ve got to get your shit together and plan what’s next. You both do. He’s all over the news, trending on most social media platforms. We can’t keep him hidden here; he needs to go back to Westminster.”
“And put him in the firing line? Are you mad?”
“Think about it as Kara. Not Lucy. Work through the problem.”
I’m silent as I think it through, taking a sip of the rich liquid, the explosion of flavour hitting my tongue.
“Treacle, melon, pineapple,” I muse.
“And…”
I taste it again. “Banana.”
He smiles at me. “Good girl. Wait for the finish of warm walnuts and vanilla. It’s my favourite.”
“I can see why.”
“Do you remember when I took you to Edinburgh?” he asks, and I smile, remembering the whiskey tour. “Your first taste of the stuff.”
“I was so sick.” I smile fondly at him, and he chuckles. There’s a moment of silence between us. “Thanks for coming today. When I called for the extraction, I didn’t think you would do it personally.”
“This is a high priority case, little one. Of course I’d be there.”
“The case,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. He’d never admit it was because he was worried about me. Or cared for that matter. “You’re growing soft, old man.”
“I’ll have your tongue.” His eyes twinkle.
“Any luck on finding who put the hit out on me?”
“Nothing.” We sit in silence for another moment, the crackle of the fire filling the otherwise silent room. “You said something earlier,” he says.
“I said many things earlier.”
“In the hallway. He has a hard drive. That’s what made him a target?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“He said he would inform whoever was going to be assigned to him. I’m assuming that he has filled you in.”
“In some aspects,” I reply, taking another sip, “but not everything.” I shift in my chair, leaning forward and popping the glass on the antique table. The condensation drips down the crystal glass. “All roads lead back to Luca Knight.”
“And the Covenant?”
“Unsure.” I admit. “Looks like our mutual friend sent something to Owen before he died. Something that will see the whole of the government implode.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“I’ve seen the hard drive, but not the contents. I’m assuming Owen has, otherwise he wouldn’t need the protection—and he wouldn’t be so hell bent about who he passes it onto.”
“And who’s he passing it onto?”
“I don’t know. He’s waiting.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
