“No food?” Hamish dropped beside him, eyes wide. “Good God, man. What the devil is the matter?”
This couldn’t be happening. But everything lined up. The timing, the delay. He was a married man, with a precious wife at home. If he got called away now, there’d be no one to protect her. Not even a lord could sluff off his duties to present himself when the demand came straight from the Crown.
The game was ending, forced by a man who’d lost too many battles but who was determined to come out the victor. Nic wouldn’t show mercy or restraint. What transpired between Hamish and Charlotte, and even Renard and Camille, had been nothing but petulant tantrums by a man bored with too many skills to remain inactive. But what lay between him and Percy, that was personal.
“He will kill her.” Nic was going after Daniella. The reinstatement was a way to tie Percy’s hands. He lifted his gaze and saw his own horror reflected in his best friend’s face. “He’s going after my wife.”
*
After vetting therunners he’d hired and confirming with Hamish that Danny was safe and guarded at Fellow Hall, Percy made his move.
He had no need for an escort. The floors may have been polished, the walls painted a new coat of the same slate grey. Agents may have come and gone, internal promotions switching figureheads like stacking dolls all with the same empty heads, but one thing the Home Office never did was change.
Entering the private entrance by way of a false pillar, Percy fought his stealth training and walked confidentially down the hall, his hat tipped back. Up a secret staircase to the second-floor offices, he opened the third door on the right.
Percy defended on instinct.
The blade came a second later. He caught the knife between his middle and pointer finger, a mere inch from his open left eye. Grinning, Percy lowered the weapon and regarded his former handler as he sat behind his desk, looking the same—if not a bit tired around the eyes—as always in a dark suit, bored expression, and a curled wig. “Nice to see you too, Ridley.”
If David Ridley was surprised to see Percy’s handsome mug, he gave nothing away. The man had always had the most unnerving poker face. “You haven’t lost your touch, Percy.”
One eye on Ridley, Percy used his other to admire the room with its golden inlaid mantel and burgundy drapes, and finally landing on the woodblock at the edge of the man’s wide, mahogany desk. “Congratulations on your promotion, Home Secretary.”
“Not nearly as impressive asyournew title.”
Percy laughed and crossed the room to toss the blade onto the stack of papers on the desk. “You know why I’m here?”
Ridley leaned back in his chair. “I cannot go against official commands.”
Percy’s fingers itched for his own blade concealed in his sleeve. They’d been friends once, a rare description Percy had handed out to a smaller number of people than the fingers on one hand. They both knew a single letter and Percy’s service would be dissolved and his person free. But nothing about the Home Office was truly that easy, or free.
“I might, however, be able to request termination of your orders if you were to show good faith in your continued loyalty to the Crown,” Ridley said.
Percy waited.
The man shifted through some papers, looking both busy and inconvenienced, a demonstration of his power over the situation. “There’s a matter of your last mission.”
“The French ambassador is dead,” Percy said. The only thing that had gone right that night.
“Yes, a job well done,” Ridley said. “Since you managed it while being in French custody at the time. We’ve missed having a man of your caliber.”
Percy shrugged. It wouldn’t do to give the man all the gory details. Ridley would know them all by now, anyway. “You planto blackmail me into reinstatement of a different kind, then?” He shook his head, infinitely disappointed. “Poor show, old man.”
“A single mission,” Ridley said. “For a man of your talents.”
Meaning subterfuge, espionage, and murder. “There’s a mouse in the works?”
“More like a rat.”
“And you need a snake.” Because the last chase hadn’t ended with him in a French prison. Percy cursed. “A fine metaphor, but I left for a reason. What’s catching rats when there’s a mongoose holding your tail?”
“Your capture was never part of the plan.” Ridley’s expression hardened. “But it happened, and you escaped, as expected. The reason you are here remains, to clean up the mess you made.”
Then HO knew.
Percy ignored the fingers of dread trailing his spine. A rogue agent was a blemish on any service, but one who kept their head down and their nose clean was of little consequence when there were other, more pressing men who needed killing, the reason Percy imagined he hadn’t been hunted down like a fox in the woods. But an agent who attacked the peerage and left bodies lying in the street...
“You knew of Officer Brandt’s recent activities,” he accused. And the HO hadn’t lifted a finger to stop it. Rage burned his insides, but Percy’s mask remained cold. “Your complacency nearly cost two dukes their lives.”
