Page 10 of Dagger’s Shield

4

DAGGER

Iwatched as she scrolled through image after image. In each of them, Givre’s father was with Géraud.

The current set of photos she was viewing showed the men on the terrace of what could be a hotel or high-end apartment building. They were seated close enough to talk without being overheard.

The man she’d said was her father was impeccably dressed, and his hair appeared to be graying at the temples. I glanced at the metadata below the photo, which confirmed it was from nine years ago.

It was hard to tell with the graininess, but if I had to guess, I’d say Givre resembled her mother more than her father.

She scrolled to another image and grimaced. I followed her line of sight to the photo of her dad with a woman.

“Is that your mother?” I asked.

“No.” She answered me, but her gaze remained riveted to the screen. While every intelligence operative was trained to give no visible reaction, she was so still it was unnerving.

Except this was different. Her own father was in surveillance footage with the man we now believed Vasiliev had answered to. Vasiliev’s bombs had destroyed Minerva Protocol’s headquarters and almost killed her. Not to mention the thirteen who did die.

I watched as she continued scrolling through the images. Every so often, she’d zoom in on one before moving on.

Would I have reacted in a similar way if it were my father rather than hers? I couldn’t fathom it. Not that it was possible anyway. He and my mother had passed away years ago. My sister, Alena, code name Verity, was the only person left in my immediate family, but since she was also an intelligence agent, currently working for the United Nations Coalition Against Human Trafficking, I would have assumed she was undercover.

“Forgive me, but are you certain?”

Her head snapped when she turned to face me. “Am I certain? Are you suggesting I don’t know my own father?”

“Right. Apologies. That was daft,” I muttered.

When she huffed and looked away from me, I felt relief. At least she’d had a reaction. Truth be told, I normally loved the tone of voice she used when she was annoyed with me. Now, I couldn’t allow myself to goad or tease her into continuing.

I racked my brain, trying to recall what I’d learned about her family from her dossier. Her father, Bertrand, was younger than my own father had been. He’d inherited a centuries-old domaine in France’s Burgundian region. It was called Domaine Valais and was known, like most in the appellation were, for its Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. They also grew and produced award-winning Gamay and Pinot Blanc varietals.

Her mother, Chantal, was from a wealthy French family, not in the wine trade. By all accounts, she was elegant and gracious—like her daughter.

“Does your father do much business in Geneva?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t know if he did. My father doesn’t discuss such things with me.”

That surprised me. She was an only child. Wouldn’t she be expected to take over once he passed away?

“Givre…” I waited until she looked at me before continuing.

“Yes?”

“Would you like me to see what more we can learn?”

She rested against her chair and stared at the blank wall in front of her. “What are you suggesting?”

“We look into your father ourselves—his accounts, his travel, his business dealings. Quietly, without your family knowing.”

I understood her hesitation in answering. I had no idea how I would respond if someone asked about gathering dirt on someone I was close to.

“How about this? Let’s sleep on it and decide in the morning.”

She closed her laptop, pushed away from the table, and was headed for the door before I’d gotten up from my seat.

“I guess that’s an affirmative,” I said when I caught up to her. That earned me another glare. “Do you want to stay in Ahnósta tonight?”