“Soon, I’m sure,” says Dylan, and he offers him a terse nod. “Go back to your fan club, Kitters. I’ll text you when Guy’s ready to arrange a meeting.”
Kit makes a vague sound and steps out of the room, turning his back to Dylan. Rather than returning to the relative safety of the party, like I expect, Kit pulls on his overcoat and heads straight for the side door, stepping out into the cold January night.
“That’s enough,” he says quietly. At first I don’t understand, but when Singh exhales a sigh and presses the mic button, I realize Kit is finally,finallyleaving the party.
“Alpha team, shadow the asset until he rendezvous with transportation,” says Singh. “Beta team, keep an eye on thesuspect until he’s out of sight. Mind the exits until the asset is collected.”
While he speaks, Kit takes off down the dark street at a hurried pace. As he buttons his coat, the camera catches sight of his hands, and my heart wrenches with dread.
There’s nothing subtle about the way they tremble now.
Chapter Four
Did he like it?
You scared my prized blue blood away.
You were done with him anyway. Did he cry?
Dylan said he was stoic.
Pity. I would’ve liked the footage.
You’ll have to find something else to wank to.
I have a few ideas.
—Text message exchange between two prepaid mobile numbers, 1:12a.m., 1 February 2024
It’s well past two inthe morning when, after a long debriefing with Singh, Kit finally unlocks the door to our flat and slips inside.
“There you are,” he says tiredly, and I fly to my feet and fling my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as I dare. Like he’s been injured, and I’m not sure where the open wounds are. Which isn’t far from the truth, metaphorically.
“Are you okay?” I say. He nods against my hair, pulling me to him until my body molds perfectly to his.
“They didn’t touch a hair on my head,” he promises, and whilehe’s trying to hide it, I can hear the weariness in his voice. It’s not just exhaustion. It’s something else, too—that same something that sparked into existence when Dylan gave him thatgift.“Singh isn’t thrilled about the lack of intel, but it’s better than nothing.”
I murmur my agreement into the soft shoulder of his undershirt, which smells faintly like his cologne. The button-down with the camera is gone. “Singh said something about Guy testing the waters. Waiting to see if Dylan was arrested before coming out of hiding.”
“The whole party was a test, I think. A test for me.” Kit sighs and rests his forehead against mine. “Singh also mentioned you watched the feeds with him.”
The worry in his voice is obvious, as if I’m the one who risked my life tonight. “I’ve had better evenings,” I admit, brushing my lips against his chapped ones. “Especially when Dylan showed up with that gun.”
Kit tenses. I’ve hit a nerve. “MI5 took it as soon as I got in the car. I doubt it was loaded—Dylan isn’t that stupid.”
“And it’s old, right? An antique?” I say, hoping this isn’t too much to scare him off the topic. “It can’t be all that deadly.”
Something flickers in Kit’s eyes—that samesomethingas before. “Old, but likely still functioning,” he admits. “My father used to own an identical model. It doesn’t aim particularly well, but it’ll get the job done at close range.”
Close enough for Dylan to have been able to threaten Kit in that parlor. Close enough for Kit to have done the same. My realization must show on my face, because he tilts my chinupward, his deep brown eyes seeming to drink me in under the warm lamplight.
“Thank you for not coming tonight,” he says. “For not forcing the issue. I’m sure it was incredibly difficult being left behind, but if you’d been there…”
“I want to help next time,” I say, lacing our fingers together. “I want to be useful.”
“I know. I’m sorry. For making you feel useless, I mean. But I’m not sorry you weren’t there tonight, and I suppose I’m sorry for that—”
“Stop.” I manage a wry smile. “We’re a team, and I want to be part of that team with you. Not sidelined. That’s all.”
