Page 126 of Under Arthur’s Protection

I wanted to throw the phone out the window. Yell at him through it. Shake it so hard he felt my hands around him. But my temper tantrum wouldn’t save Gwen. “We were there with a historian. She was authenticating a medieval sword the FBI seized a couple of weeks ago. Someone wants it back, and they took her. The man running the op to grab her was Rick Younge⁠—”

“He was on Legacy, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. He and four other men snuck into the cave while she was doing her research. We suspect they’re working out of an estate on the North Cornwall coast.” Suspect? More like I hoped she was there. Hoped she wasn’t at the bottom of the Celtic Sea.

“How did he get the jump on you?”

“Ethan’s working with them.”

“Fowley?” The name drew the first hint of emotion from him. If my father valued anything beyond money and power, it was loyalty. He demanded it. And this news would rock him. “You have proof, I assume?”

Proof, no. A string of coincidences too long to be random. “We were staying at the cottage, and I’d called him to open the place up before we arrived. The men who took her have been circling us ever since, and seemed to know where we’d be before we got there. I’m fairly certain he’s been feeding them intel all along.”

“I’ll send someone to speak with him.”

“He’s evidence, not a target.”

“He’s both. If you won’t leave the PR to me, leave Ethan to me.” My father’s voice didn’t rise. It cooled, which was worse. “But Ethan isn’t why you called, is he?”

Hedgerows flew past the window, and a few raindrops hit the windshield. Where were we driving? Was Lance taking us to the cottage? That would have been safe ground. Unless Ethan set up a trap for us. Why hadn’t I thought about that, either?

Because you only figured out his involvement ten minutes ago.

I caught Lance’s eye. He didn’t give me the playful smile or the jealous scowl he’d been switching between for the past week. He just nodded. I didn’t have to explain my plan—he always had my back.

“I need men who’ll break British law tonight and won’t blink afterward. Men you trust absolutely. And I need them beside me within the hour.”

My father was silent for a breath. When he spoke, his voice had warmed by a degree, which for my father was a bonfire. “My boy. You’re finally coming into your own.”

Coming into my own?

The fuck?

He’d sat through the announcement that I’d graduated first in class at Annapolis while answering emails from the third row. When I earned my trident, his assistant mailed a fountain pen with a card he hadn’t bothered to sign. When I joined Pendragon after leaving the Navy, all I got was a ‘Good.’ None of those counted to him. They were expectations.

But a phone call asking for the family’s men and the family’s reach—that counted.

“This isn’t me coming into anything,” I said, rather than hang up. “My client’s gone, and you have what I need. That’s the whole call.”

“As you like.” Leather creaked on his end of the line. It sounded like the chair in his Miami office. “This client. She matters to you.”

“She’s my client.”

“Mm.” He didn’t press it, which was a data point in itself. He’d figured me out. “Send me the address where you need the team.”

“Hold on.” I pulled the phone from my ear and texted him the coordinates Morganna had secured.

“Interesting,” he mused.

I stared out the window at a sliver of sunlight fighting its way through the clouds overhead. My father held all the cards right now, and he wouldn’t volunteer more than Interesting until I asked. It was always a transaction. “What’s interesting?”

“Twelve years ago, the owner wanted a safe room put in under the main hall,” my father said. “He wanted the work kept quiet, and a client put us in touch. I had one of our logistics teams install a prefab for them.”

What? “You’ve been there?”

Lance glanced over, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“I can send the survey drawings, the approach, the utility runs, and the build sheet on the door.”