Page 4 of 72 Hours

“Sure. It’s a given.” I didn’t meet his eyes. It hadn’t been Simon’s choice, whatever the circumstances. I knew exactly who to blame for my exile, self-imposed or not. “Take Judith’s tea in for her, will you?”

He picked up the two mugs, looking at the random spring flowers on one and a leering kitten—mercifully faded—on the other. I could see his mental count. “What about Niall?”

“Didn’t ask for anything.”

“You’ll want to talk to him about all this, of course—”

“I won’t,” I said.

His eyes blinked, rather too quickly. “It’s not much to ask, Tanner. You’ve always been a tolerant person.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said. My voice sounded hoarse. “That’s where your Team speech fails, Simon. Because just now and then, I’m fucking not. I’m doing this for reasons that stick in my throat, although I’ll stand by my word. But I don’t have to be tolerant at all. And don’t you forget it.” I ignored the splash of brown liquid on the counter and the burning mug handle against my thumb. I pushed through the bead curtain and emerged back into the bubble of tension that was hovering in my meagre living room.

Which was now uncomfortably full of people I’d thought I’d left behind.

IT WAS LIKE ONE OF those Mexican stand-offs. I stood, leaning against the wall nearest the kitchen, paying about as much attention to my tea as I would to weather reports on the moon. Simon sat awkwardly beside Judith on the couch, which was never the most comfortable of seats at the best of times. The fourth inhabitant of the trailer stood beside them.

Niall. Niall Sutherland, alongside the boxes he’d delivered to my home in a strange, bitter little plea for protection. His hands hung at his sides, and he didn’t meet my gaze. He looked like he was frowning, but I was pretty sure that was just the way his face had settled. His mind would be busy on other things.

Simon stared at the two of us with something ominously close to despair. “We weren’t followed here. We’re pretty sure no one knows about this place except for us. But you must inform us at once of any strangers on the site.”

I snorted. I wasn’t working at the moment, so I saw most people as they came and went, but barely twenty percent of the population stayed on the park more than three days in a row. That was the nature of this place, didn’t he know?

He continued, regardless. “Niall will need communication with us. I’ll leave you with a cell phone for that exclusive use. It’s linked to the emergency numbers for the Team we all know—and only we know.”

“The numbers we never expected to use?” It had been a bit of a joke during initial training. We’d thought it was way too James Bond.

Simon ignored my sarcasm. “Niall mustn’t have any other external interaction. He mustn’t be seen, mustn’t leave here until we give clearance.”

“You want me to sit through the briefings on security again?” I thought my voice was steady enough, but Simon frowned.

“No, of course not. Don’t be so damned sensitive. I know you know your job. I just wanted to stress some specific things.” He wriggled on the couch and glanced over at the unnaturally still man standing beside him.

So did I. Tall, a little slimmer than I remembered, dark hair looking pretty unkempt. The shadow of a cut under his chin. My gut shuddered a little, and I didn’t think it was because I’d missed a couple of meals this week.

Simon glanced back and caught sight of my scowl. “Cut me some slack here, Tanner. We’re all very disturbed by this. Like I said, we need to support each other.” His voice was just the right side of pleading, just the right side of appealing to my better nature. He negotiated well, but of course he’d met his match in me. My better nature was snoozing in a corner, wrapped in a blanket, hibernating for the season and dreaming of Mediterranean beaches. I think Simon could see that in my eyes. “Perhaps none of us are thinking as clearly as we should. You’ll need to discuss your own arrangements with Niall, work out your own timetable. And you’ll need twenty-four seven contact between the pair of you, of course, to monitor this.”

That’s when Niall’s head jerked up, when his eyes met mine at last. His frown was reflected in the depths of his eyes.

My mouth went dry. “Twenty-four seven contact,” I echoed. “I rather think that’s the last thing I need. And though I’m the one you might expect to be kind of prickly, I’m guessing your colleague feels much the same way.”

Simon stood, rather abruptly. He looked from me to Niall, and then back at me. His shoulders tightened. Guess he recognised the daggers drawn in two sets of dark pupils. I think I saw Judith’s hand stretch out slightly, as if to hold him back. I did notice that he hadn’t drunk a whole lot of his tea.

His next words were bitter. “Okay, so maybe I wanted this to work just a little too much. But look at the pair of you! What the hell made me think that it would?”

I turned my head away, losing eye contact with all of them, trying to tune him out. He made me feel ashamed, I’d admit it. A brat. But I was in no mood today for Simon Wagner, the Project Team’s man who “got things done.” Couldn’t he see that?

But he didn’t let up. “Dear God, you’re glaring like gladiators at each other. As if there’s a danger you’ll kill each other before any enemy has the time to track you down!”

And then Judith Harrington herself pitched in. The slender, elegantly attractive, dark blonde woman who currently sat on my couch and sipped at a stale tea, more bitter than my shrivelled emotions. A woman with a black belt in martial arts, which no one would ever guess from her quiet, controlled attitude, unless perhaps they were on the receiving end. The keenest brain that had ever thrashed me at chess, and the woman I’d listened to—been directed by—for a long and very interesting time. The woman I’d been surprised to see here today, in person. Guess that’s what made me realise this whole bloody farce was real.

Her voice was sharp, and the reproof was aimed at me. “Tanner MacKay, I don’t want to have to pull rank, but I will if I have to. This is for the good of the Team, not individuals, do you hear me? I’ve worked damned hard to get what support I can, and I won’t let something like this close us down. This directive has been unofficially sanctioned by certain sympathetic channels in the Department, and if you want any chance of ever working in the field again—in any capacity—you’ll do your very best to cooperate and keep Niall Sutherland safe. Do you understand?”

There was a sudden, awkward pause. You could’ve heard the last drop of condensation drip in the kitchen onto the linoleum.

“Okay,” I said, slowly. “No problem. I understand all too well. I’m not aware that you—of all people—ever had any problems with plain speaking.” We both knew the insouciance was a ploy of mine, to play for time, to retain my dignity. I was actually quite shaken by her vehemence. Judith’s management of us had always been calm and reasonably voiced. “But you are asking me to put my home on the line, right? To come out of my quiet, anonymous little world—to offer it back to your organisation, with all the risk that currently seems to attract.”

“You’re still officially an employee of the Project Team,” she snapped.