Page 86 of Under Arthur’s Protection

Two.

Nothing else came.

I rolled down my window and listened. No vehicles on the road. No footsteps on the gravel.

“Was someone—” Gwen began, but I put up a finger to silence her.

More minutes passed, while my heart pumped so hard I practically heard it.

I started the engine, pulled onto the road with my lights off, and drove a mile in the opposite direction before cutting south onto a different route.

Mirror clear. No one behind us.

Gwen’s breathing had hitched during the turns, but she hadn’t made a sound. She was probably crying. Again. Because I’d stopped, assuming we’d be safe. Assuming no one would have followed us after the archive.

There was a tracker on the car, you fucking idiot!

I couldn’t deal with any of that right now. We needed somewhere to stop. “I need you to call someone for me.”

“Okay.” Her voice was so small, but at least it was there.

I handed my phone to her. “My passcode is 7-7-2-9-6-8.”

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the screen. What now?

I glanced at her, unable to see her face while the vehicle’s lights were cut. Seeing her won’t tell you what’s going through her head anyway, Penn. “What?”

She said, “7-7-2-9-6-8.”

My passcode. My phone. Every contact, every message, every piece of operational data Round Table Security had. I’d handed it to a woman I’d known for six days. If Merlin were here, he would have crucified me for the security breach. Too fucking late now. “I need you to call Merlin. He’s listed under John Ambrose.”

“Not Lance?” she asked.

“Merlin.”

Lance would want to talk about it. He’d ask if Gwen was okay, and I couldn’t handle lying to him or sharing the story at eighty miles an hour with blood drying on my face. Merlin, on the other hand, would focus on getting the fucking job done.

Gwen found him and dialed. She put it on speaker and held the phone up for me.

“You’re up late. What’s going on?” That was what I needed. Straight to business.

“I need a place to stay. Off the books. Something no one will find.”

“Define no one.”

“Has Lance briefed you on what happened at the archive in Champagne?”

“He did. A forged document, three men in the parking lot, and you having him fly out of Malta on a whim.”

“Rick Younge’s involved.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You sure?”

“He just beat the shit out of me.” I adjusted my grip on the wheel. “He said he wants the sword and Gwen’s research, so it’s definitely related.”

“Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll have a location for you.”

“And I need someone to dig into whatever the fuck Rick’s been up to for the past five years. Morganna’s been ghosting me, so I need another reliable resource.”