He knew about the power struggle between the UMG and MI6. Agencies always tried to one up each other when it came to ferreting out intelligence. Sharing wasn’t usually the name of the game, but after today, they couldn’t afford not to. That didn’t mean either agency would give up information easily. Liam was used to the subtle give-and-takes between high-ranking people. He might have been a metahuman and an agent with the UMG, but beneath the trappings of the uniform he wore, Liam was still a prince. Bailey knew better than to forget that.
“The liaison position isn’t being terminated. You could’ve waited until tomorrow for an update.”
“I have Crown business with Agent Archer.” Liam smiled thinly at Bailey. “It couldn’t wait.”
If Bailey was surprised he went down that route, she didn’t show it.Instead, she folded her hands over her desk, the embedded computer there locked down. Bailey studied him with eyes that knew too many secrets.
“This is not your domain, Colonel Wessex. Remember that.”
Liam inclined his head toward her. “Ma’am.”
Bailey picked up a tiny solid state drive off the corner of her desk. “For Chapman’s eyes only. It’s keyed to his biometrics and voiceprint.”
Liam stepped forward to retrieve the solid state drive and pocketed it. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”
“My aide will escort you to the medical wing.”
“Ma’am.”
He spun on his heel, exiting Bailey’s office and returning to the care of the woman who had met him in the lobby. She wasn’t friendly, but Liam wasn’t there to make friends.
Liam had worked with MI6 and been at their headquarters several times while with the SAS before joining the UMG. The halogen lit corridors hadn’t changed much over the years, even if the personnel had. Getting through the interior maze of MI6 required an escort, and he made sure not to deviate from the path Bailey’s aide led him on.
This wasn’t his agency, even if Liam had run joint missions with them before. War never saw uniform or rank or ethnicity when the bullets flew, because in the end, everyone’s blood ran red. MI6’s goal was to secure the safety of the country from foreign threats. Liam was realistic enough to know that no country could ever be fully secure in this day and age.
They took a lift down to the restricted corridors that snaked below the London streets. Much of MI6’s more delicate, clandestine work was done in the subterranean levels. It was also where the agency housed the medical wing for its agents to recuperate in when it was too dangerous to leave them in hospital where the public had access.
When they reached the medical room Oliver had been assigned to, the agent wasn’t happy to see him. Oliver looked up from the portable regen machine wrapped around his arm, the nanites there knitting together new bone. His dark blond hair was a mess, but the bruising that had been on his face was gone.
All of Oliver’s injuries had looked terrible in the wreckage of the train, but he’d been mostly conscious when the medics had pulled him out. For that, Liam was grateful, because the thought of burying anyone he fought beside always left a horrible taste in his mouth.
Liam gave Oliver a quick once-over, relieved to see he looked healed. “You’re looking less banged up.”
The anger that flashed in Oliver’s light brown eyes was impossible to miss. “I didn’t invite you.”
“I suppose it’s a good thing I invited myself then, isn’t it?” Liam said as the aide took up a post near the door. Liam would’ve asked her to leave, but he doubted she’d have listened.
Oliver scowled at him, looking exhausted where he lay on the biobed. Liam’s hand itched with the desire to smooth back Oliver’s wayward helmet hair. “If you came to check on my status, I’m fine. I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”
“I never doubted your work ethic. While I’m here to check up on you, I’m also here to give you a ride home. Your car is parked back at the UMG. It’ll be quicker if I drive you. The streets are an absolute mess right now, to say nothing of the Underground.”
“I’d rather get my car than ride in yours.”
Liam rolled his eyes. “That’s a bit harsh. Here I came to make sure you’re doing all right. You must be if you’re willing to insult my hospitality like that.”
Oliver knuckled his eyes with the hand that wasn’t impeded by a portable regen machine. “Why are you here, Colonel Wessex?”
Liam supposed the truth was important, but it wasn’t something he was willing to discuss within the walls of an agency that had no problems listening in on their agents. “I already told you. I’m here to take you home.”
Oliver opened his mouth, then snapped it shut after glancing over at Bailey’s aide. Whatever he was going to say, Liam knew it was personal simply because Oliver didn’t say it in view of his coworker. “I don’t need you to look after me.”
“I don’t like it when people under my command get hurt,” Liam replied quietly. “Let me make it up to you. It’s just a ride home.”
It felt like more than that, but Liam wasn’t willing to acknowledge what it could mean in the bowels of MI6. He didn’t think Oliver wanted to either. They could’ve had a row about everything left unsaid between them, but they were both professionals. They knew this wasn’t the time or place for old hurts to bubble up.
“I have at least another thirty minutes of treatment. The break was pretty bad and nearly nicked the artery.”
Considering how Liam had found him in the train, they were lucky he was still alive. Liam tried to shove aside the memory of the twisted way Oliver had looked amidst the damaged train car. It wasn’t one he wanted to keep.
