The flat is empty.
Kit left without saying goodbye.
I instinctively know why he did it—to spare me the burden of guilt and responsibility for whatever happens at this meeting—but that does nothing to take the edge off as I pace through the flat in a haze of fury and anxiety, itching to throttle something with my bare hands.
I text him fourteen times before I finally decide he’s ignoring me on purpose. Or that something has gone horrifically wrong, and he’s lying in the middle of the road outside a pub, bleeding from a bullet wound or a knife to the throat or—
I shove away that mental image and inhale deeply. He’ll be okay. Singh will make sure of it. Except if they pushed the meeting up this quickly, did MI5 even have time to sweep the area? Do they know what Kit’s walking into? What if the ABR planted someone in every pub within a two-mile radius of Christ Church, or—
Yet again, I stop that runaway train of thought with a sharp intake of breath. The PPOs stationed outside the flat would know if something bad was going down. They’d tell me. Except deep in my gut, I’m sure they wouldn’t, because they know exactly what I would do—run right into danger as fast as I could, because that’s what Kit would do for me. And because maybe,maybethere would be some way I could help him.
But if I follow him now, I’ll only be putting him in more danger, especially if the ABR expects me to be there. If this is a trap, and Kit is the bait…
Have you considered the possibility that they might bring him back into the fold, only to silence him for good?
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I nearly drop it. A text.My heart thuds against my ribs, and I tap the icon so aggressively that I have to try again. Finally my messages open, and—
It’s not from Kit.
Instead, it’s from an unknown number, one I texted with back in January. Ben—I thought it was Ben at the time, but it can’t be now, can it? Frowning, I open the new message and suddenly feel like I’ve plunged straight into an icy lake.
It’s a picture of Kit sitting alone in a cozy pub, taken through what looks like a long lens. Of a paparazzo’s camera? From a phone zoomed in?
But then I see the thin black cross, and I know exactly whatitis.
The scope of a rifle.
Chapter Six
Evan
Don’t hurt him
I have no intention, so long as you follow my instructions.
Evan
Which are?
Make your way to the west entrance of your building and wait. Bring nothing and no one with you.
Evan
I’m not where you think I am
I know exactly where you are.
Evan
I have guards
You’re a smart girl. You have five minutes.
—Text message exchange between Evangeline Bright and a prepaid mobile number, 1 February 2024, 5:11p.m.
My pulse is racing, andI shove my phone in my pocket as I search the flat for an escape route. The usual pair of bodyguards are outside my door. Likely more throughout the floors we’ve taken over, and at least one lookout in the lobby. It takes two minutes to get from the flat to the west entrance of our building, which leaves me less than three to figure this out.
I spot the pink mug that Singh left on the counter, and suddenly I know what to do.
