“I know,” he said tautly.
“She led you by the bollocks. And you let this go on for years?—”
“Iknow.”
He felt sick, remembering all the things he’d done with her. How he’d been her bloody sexual lapdog. Panting and hating himself even as he went back for more. Even after he had broken free of her, learning for the first time that he was capable of doing good—ofbeinga good man—she had still tried to leash him, this time with blackmail. She’d threatened to publicize the depraved things they’d done—and things they hadn’t—if he didn’t continue to service her.
Primus had put a stop to that. He’d negotiated for her “tell-all” journal, a twisted mix of half-truths and venomous lies. As high as the price had been, it had been worth it to be rid of her. Jack owed his mentor for more than an education in spy craft: the other had also buried his deepest shame.
“Do you need to read it again?” Primus said quietly. “To remind yourself of what your lapse in judgement cost you? What you must never allow to happen again?”
Although Jack hated that Primus had kept that lurid memento, he also knew why. The diary’s existence was Jack’s cross to bear. Only when he overcame its power—by proving its contents wrong—could he find his salvation. Only when he conquered the demons within those pages would he be truly free from his past.
“I bring this up as a reminder.” Primus spoke in, what for him, passed for a gentle tone. “As spies, we must understand our own vulnerability. Yours, Jack, pertains to women. Your chivalrous nature blinds you to the machinations of the fair sex. While your widow may have given you hope of a reunion, she has also shown her skill at deception and manipulation. In other circumstances, I would say she has the makings of a fine spy. But because of you—because I don’t wish the years I have invested in you to be wasted—I see her as something else altogether: a threat.”
Jack shook his head. “Lottie would never betray?—”
“Purposefully or not, she has power over you, Granger. She is Paris’s arrow, and you have no defense against her. You never have.”
His humiliation grew. Was he that weak? That incapable of exercising clear judgement?
For Lottie, you would do anything. And you know it.
“However clever your former spouse may be, she is an amateur and out of her depth. No match for a trained professional. She is a liability—to herself, you, and the mission. Make whatever excuses you need to and extricate yourself. Immediately.”
He lifted his chin. “Is that an order?”
Primus shook his head slowly. “I trust you, Granger. I have given you my counsel and know you will make the right choice.”
Jack’s throat tightened. His mentor’s trust had not come readily. He’d earned it through years of sweat and, sometimes, blood. It was proof that he’d made something of himself and precious to him…just not as precious as Lottie.
Conflict continued to war within him.
He said curtly, “I will talk to her.”
Primus studied him for a moment longer. “Then let us move on to other pressing concerns. Did you find any clues that might lead us to the First Flame?”
Jack grabbed onto the change of topic like a man trapped in quicksand to solid ground.
“I believe so.” He reached into his jacket pocket, removing the leather pouch. “We found this amongst Tony Quinton’s belongings.”
The spymaster took the pouch. Untied it and looked inside.
His forehead creased. “What is special about this?”
Jack frowned. “The liquid in the vial is quite volatile?—”
“What vial?”
Primus showed him the contents.
As the realization hit Jack, he choked out a sound that was half-oath, half-laugh. Inside the pouch was not the vial of liquid but sand from the cavern floor. The clue had been nicked…by his amateurish and out-of-her-depth wife.
Twenty-Two
“Who did this to you?” Devlin leaned his hands on her desk, scowling at her.
Sitting on the other side, Charlie strove for patience. After traveling all day, she was tired and in no mood for an interrogation, no matter how well intentioned. But Devlin had ambushed her as she arrived on her doorstep. Now they were in her study, and it was past midnight. All she wanted was a bath and her own bed.
