“Uh, no, no you do not. You have the egg. You need to give me a full update. Is anyone aware of the switch?”
He’d left an exceptionally good forgery in the gallery. A fake that had come courtesy of the CIA. “Of course not. I’m a professional.” Where was Simone going?
“And you’re away from the scene?”
“Uh…” Not quite.
“You have left the property and are returning to London, yes?”
He had to go find Simone. “About that…”
“What about that?”
“There’s a storm.”
“So? I’ve literally seen you drive through hurricanes.”
Guilty. “My date doesn’t like storms. So we’re staying overnight at the country estate.”
Silence. The ominous kind.
“Your…date? You mean the woman you were using as a cover?”
“I don’t love the word ‘using’,” he mumbled back. “Makes me feel less than noble.”
“Ryan.”
“She’s on the move, something I find concerning since she said she wanted to be alone, so I have to go stalk her and find out what the hell is happening.”
Jezebel seemed to choke. “Excuse me? You’re going to stalk your date?”
He was already doing just that. He’d slipped out of the guest room and was heading for the staircase.
“Where is the egg?” Jezebel’s voice rose in his ear. “The egg is the priority! It is a stolen egg.”
Yes, and not just because he’d stolen it. The egg should have been in a Russian museum, but Konstantin and his crew had taken it years ago. Getting it back into the proper hands was a major deal for the CIA. “It’s safe. Got it close to my heart.” Truly, he did.
“Ryan.” She did not seem reassured. “I want the egg, and I want what is inside of it.”
He was aware.
“You know the contents within the egg are of vital importance to me.”
Yes. That was why he’d taken the damn thing. Because the material inside the egg was of extreme importance to the CIA. It wasn’t simply about acquiring a fancy trinket. He’d already glanced inside the egg to make sure the real prize was in place.
“You need to get the hell away from that location and meet the team at the rendezvous as we agreed! Ryan, Ryan, are you listening to me?”
“I always listen,” he assured her. Did he always follow directions? Nope. Because sometimes, you had to do your own thing in this world.
“Forget your date! Get away from that estate before you get burned. Stay mission-focused.”
“Mission-focused, check. On it. I am locked and loaded. Goodbye, Jez.”
“Ryan!”
He glanced down the staircase. Then up. Which way had Simone gone? Up would lead back to the party, one that was still in full swing. The party—and the big gallery with all of the stolen art. Down would lead to the estate’s main exit, a route that Simone would have taken if she was intent on dashing off into the night.
Choices, choices.
