Liam grimaced. “I was a shit friend, is that what you want to hear?”
“No,” she said quietly so no one else could hear. “I want you to do what you feel you need to do. If that means skipping out on team dinner to go look after him, then we’ll miss you, but we’ll understand.”
“You know, with instincts like that, you’d make a good leader.”
“So I’ve been told.” She flashed him a soft smile. “By you, no less.”
“I’ve always meant it.”
“And I’ve always meant it when I said I never wanted to lead without you.”
Liam called for the lift, looking at Samaira because he owed her his full attention. “I know, and I appreciate that, really, I do. You’ll tell the others that I’m sorry I couldn’t make it?”
Samaira patted his arm as the lift doors opened. “I’ve made excuses for you for years. What’s one more?”
“Shut it,” Liam said with a laugh as he followed after her.
He regretted having to miss a meal with his team, but Liam was glad Samaira understood why and didn’t judge him too badly for it. If she knew how he’d treated Oliver in the past, he had a feeling she’d judge him ferociously for that.
And honestly, he’d deserve her ire.
* * *
The MI6 buildingat Vauxhall Cross wasn’t too far from UMG headquarters. An imposing building that overlooked the Thames, MI6 had turned it into an urban fortress over the last couple of centuries, spurred on by rising floodwaters in the past and escalating property prices in London. Britain’s foreign intelligence service needed to be accessible by those in charge, and it had been cheaper to renovate than to buy somewhere new far from the heart of government.
The building was surrounded by security and wasn’t subtle about trying to blend into the background of London life. By being so open with the location, it could work in secret, a model the UMG had copied when it was first formed to regulate metahumans. While there was no getting through the front gates if one didn’t have correct identification, there were always exceptions to the rules.
Liam parked his car on the street directly in front of the building. He killed the engine and got out, waving indifferently at the security cameras he knew were embedded in the walls around him. He headed for the security gates where a pair of MI6 security personnel stood guard, watching his approach with assessing eyes.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Liam said, flashing an easy smile. “I should be on your list.”
When he was younger, being on a list was more for the clubs he used to frequent, or the exclusive dining options always clamoring for his attention in London. These days, Liam had no desire to lose hours in a club only to come out the next morning absolutely pissed. The thrill of it had lost its appeal years ago.
“You are,” the taller man replied. “You’re clear through to the lobby.”
“Just the lobby?”
The agents didn’t respond, most likely too low on the totem pole to know what would happen to him beyond the main entrance to the building. Liam took that to mean he’d be saddled with a nanny, which was never enjoyable.
Sighing, Liam followed the pathway to the sliding plas-glass doors that opened into a sterile-looking lobby. More security personnel manned a front desk, but it was the stern-looking woman in her mid-forties standing in front of it that caught his attention.
“It’s a bit short notice for a visit, Colonel Wessex,” the agent said.
“It’s a bit rude not to introduce yourself,” Liam replied lightly.
The woman in question ignored his request and turned smartly on her heels. She strode over to the biometric locked security gates, which led to the long bank of lifts that gave access to the rest of the building.
“As this is not a royal engagement, I see no need to give you my name. Come along. Chief Bailey wishes to chat with you.”
Liam internally winced. Even though the UMG had rung ahead about his visit, he knew his appearance at MI6 probably wouldn’t go over well with anyone of rank within these walls. But he’d come—Chapman’s request aside—because this was where Oliver was.
Liam followed her to a private lift that took them up to one of the higher levels. He was escorted down a long hallway to Bailey’s office. His minder knocked sharply on the door before palming it open and ushering him inside.
The office was a bit austere, and what commendations Liam could see were many, but clues to the personal life of the steel-spined woman who ran MI6 were nonexistent. Bailey didn’t acknowledge him when he entered, but Liam was used to power plays in his life. Liam waited her out with the patience he’d learned while in the SAS and figuring out the right time to kill a man.
It took over a minute before she finally looked away from her holoscreen, her sharp-eyed gaze taking in Liam with an air of annoyance. “This visit wasn’t necessary. I had a messenger standing by to deliver the package.”
“I didn’t come here to just see you, ma’am. I made arrangements to check in on Agent Archer’s status as well. It seemed silly to send a messenger when Chapman trusts me to bring him whatever information you’ve found,” Liam said.
