“We still check,” Rafe said flatly. “You trusted your club too, and someone got in.”
The words stung—him more than me. And he was right. Trust was a vulnerability. I knew that. In my personal life as much as within Unit 23. “Typhon,” I muttered under my breath. The unit’s commander would need to know of this compromise. Maybe not of the club, but of me personally.
“Not yet,” Callen said. “Not until we know more.”
Rafe’s mobile buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his expression changed.
“Message from the safe house. Oliver and Ophelia are leaving.”
I cringed. “Where are they going?”
“Doesn’t say. One of my people is following at a distance.” He was already typing a response.
The next twenty minutes were agony. Callen paced by the window, and I stood at my desk, unable to sit, unable to focus on anything but the silence from Glasgow.
When Rafe’s mobile buzzed again, all four of us went still.
“Hospital,” Rafe read aloud.
Some of the tension in my chest eased. That made sense. Oliver had been due for a follow-up. They were being responsible, not reckless.
“Keep someone on them,” I said. “I want to know the moment they leave.”
Rafe nodded, already sending the message.
We returned to work, but my concentration was fractured. Every few minutes, my eyes drifted to Rafe’s mobile, waiting for the next update. The photos on my desk mocked me—evidence of how badly I’d failed toprotect them, how thoroughly someone had invaded our privacy.
Another hour passed. Gus found a potential lead—a shell company in Edinburgh that had purchased surveillance equipment matching the specifications of the exterior shots. He started pulling the thread, following the money through layers of misdirection.
Then Rafe’s mobile buzzed.
“They’re leaving the hospital.” He read the message, and his brow furrowed. “Headed to the airport.”
“Did you sayairport?” The word came out sharper than I intended. “They need to stay in Glasgow. At the safe house.”
“Apparently, they have other plans,” Rafe muttered.
I crossed to the window, hands clenched at my sides. They were leaving. Running to somewhere I couldn’t protect them.
“Kiernan, you can’t have it both ways. You can’t hide this threat from them by forcing them to leave in the middle of the night without an explanation.” Callen’s voice was steady. “Did you expect them to remain in a safe house indefinitely?”
“They don’t know what they’re facing.”
“Precisely. Because you didn’t confide in them. However, they’re intelligence officers. They know how to take care of themselves.”
Gus looked up from his laptop. “I can check airline manifests. If they’re flying commercial, I can find the booking.”
“Do it.”
His fingers flew across the keys. Thirty seconds later, he had an answer.
“Heathrow.” He glanced at me. “They’ll be in London in under three hours.”
Three hours. Then they’d be exposed—out in the open, with no idea that someone might be waiting for them.
“We should alert Snow,” Callen said.
He sent a message through the secure channel. No response. Typical Snow—he’d surface when he had information to share, and not a moment before.
