Chapter 10 Not So Secret
CHAPTER TEN
NOT SO SECRET
Harlow
Just when we thought one family couldn’t be embroiled deeper in Secret Intelligence Service news, another Donnelly agent surfaces.
Like his sister, Isabella Donnelly, whose name hit the news years ago for being framed in connection to terrorist activities in Spain, the new Donnelly on the street is not immune to conflict within the secret organization that fights crime in the UK and around the world.
Devon Donnelly, the MI6 secret agent is no secret any longer.
His name was leaked to the media following the tragic death of a fellow intelligence officer during an operation gone wrong.
Hugh Bancroft lost his life in the warehouse disaster that rocked London last month.
Bancroft, whose tenure at the SIS added up to more than a decade, did not escape the fiery explosion.
During the internal investigation into Bancroft’s death, Donnelly’s name was leaked to the media.
It turns out, Donnelly has generational ties to England’s most secretive intelligence agency.
Not only did his grandfather and father serve the United Kingdom, but so did his sister.
His father, Thorne Donnelly, is now a worldwide bestselling author with more than a handful of titles under his belt about his career as an agent.
Devon’s sister’s career was cut short when she was embroiled in an international political scandal.
Isabella Donnelly left SIS after her name was cleared.
Her whereabouts are unknown, though it’s been said she moved to North America.
This makes Devon the latest in a line of Donnellys whose identity has been made public after serving his country.
Bancroft was serving on Devon Donnelly’s case when he was killed in the line of duty.
From the information collected by the BBC, this is Donnelly’s first public appearance since the leak to the media last week.
He’s shown entering Vauxhall with his father and a team of solicitors.
Now that his name and picture have been reported internationally, it’s unclear if the intelligence career of the newest Donnelly to hit trouble will come to an end.
Ididn’t exactly sleep with one eye open, but that doesn’t mean I slept well.
I locked myself in the bathroom and talked to Chrissie for over an hour last night. She didn’t believe me at first. Like me, she thought our plan was airtight.
It might be when it comes to Janie, but not Devon Donnelly. I specialize in philanthropic giving. I’m no James Bond—present or retired—but the moment I hung up with Chrissie, my curiosity got the best of me.
I may have half of Hollywood stored in my contacts, but that doesn’t mean anything when it comes to keeping up with retired MI6 agents. I worked with the tools available to me.
A basic internet search for the win.
I didn’t expect to find much with him being a secret agent and all, but it seems Devon Donnelly wasn’t kidding when he said there are no secrets when it comes to his prior career.
I read every article I could find. There were plenty from all over the world. Even though his career’s demise occurred in London, he was big news in the U.S and all over Europe.
There was scrutiny into how his associate died. Hearings, inquiries, and internal investigations went on for months after the tragedy.
In the end, Devon wasn’t held responsible. There was nothing he or anyone at SIS could have done to prevent it.
The articles are heartbreaking.
After the tragedy, someone leaked his name. I read every article and studied every picture I could find.
I fell asleep with my cell in my hand reading one from the BBC. When I reread that last article this morning, I had to fight the urge to feel sorry for Devon. He not only lost the career he loved, but it sounds like he lost a friend in the process.
I slept as long as I could. After taking my time getting ready, I packed everything that I unpacked less than twenty-four hours ago. I haven’t heard anything from inside the suite. Not running water, a toilet flushing, or the door slamming.
Chrissie texted a bit ago and confirmed my car has been delivered. Before I drag all my things to the lobby, I decide to take my chances and grab a cup of coffee and check on my new ride.
I unlock my bedroom door and pray Devon is off doing manor things. Maybe he sails boats, too, and is spending the day with Silas and Mel.
The suite is silent. When I tiptoe around the corner, everything is as it was when I stormed through last night and locked myself in my room ... other than an enormous bouquet of flowers.
It’s as wide as it is tall and more colorful than a springtime Easter basket. It sits on the round table in the entryway of the suite.
I love fresh flowers. I’m not a professional by any means, but one of my favorite things to do when I lived in SoHo was to buy a fresh-cut bouquet from the market to arrange at home. They looked nothing like this work of art, but it always made me happy.
I walk over to it, but I don’t smell them like I normally would. A tented note catches my eye. It’s the same stationery I used to let the rat bastard know I was done with him forever.
But this time, it’s my name that is scribbled on the front.
My heart speeds with anticipation as I pick it up.
Harlow,
I have the keys to your new car. If you thought you could skip town without talking to me, you were mistaken. Come to the front desk. I’ll be in my office waiting for you.
Devon
P.S. I took it for a spin. Nice ride.
Oh, this man is too much. He thinks he can hold my new car ransom to get me to talk to him.
And he took it for a drive.
Asshole!
Or, should I say, arsehole.
I grab my keycard and stuff my cell in my pocket. The last thing I need to worry about is Devon Donnelly nosing around in my life. I can barely keep up with my own drama.
I have too much pent-up energy to bother with the elevator.
I take the stairs and push through the door that leads to the atrium.
It’s busier today. Guests are dressed to spend time at the pool or lake.
Kids zip past me in a rush with tennis rackets, and I’m upset I won’t have a chance to play.
It’s been months since I’ve hit the court.
I stand in line at the desk behind a family checking in for the week. When I get to the front of the line, a woman wearing a floral dress looks surprised to see me. “Ms. Madison! How are you?”
I smile. “Fine, thank—”
She interrupts me. “We spoke on the phone. My name is Felicity Fahnestock.”
“Oh, yes. It’s so nice to meet you in person.”
“I’ve seen you. You looked amazing at the rehearsal dinner. I’m sure you were equally beautiful before, you know...” She leans forward and lowers her voice, as if anyone who cares to keep tabs on me doesn’t know by now. “You canceled the big event.”
“Well, thank you. It was a lovely dress. It just wasn’t meant to be.”
“Exactly,” she stresses the word with her tone and her expression. “When a woman knows, she knows. Everyone respects your wishes, but the staff is curious about the magazine article.”
“Yes, I heard about the bet. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s so kind.” She looks around me where a guest is waiting and clears her throat. “Your car arrived. Mr. Donnelly has the keys and paperwork.”
“That’s why I’m here.” It’s my turn to lower my voice. “Would there be any chance that you could just grab those for me? I don’t want to bother him, and I’m sort of in a hurry.”
She shakes her head in quick succession. “No can do. Mr. Donnelly requested to speak to you. He wants to make sure he gives them to you. And I need to stay here at the desk.”
“Ms. Madison.”
I turn to the side when I hear my name in a low timbre.
There he is, standing in the doorway that’s probably ten feet tall.
The door is dark-aged, heavy wood and reminds me of something I saw in an English countryside castle.
Devon looks equally comfortable and cocky as he stands there leaning a shoulder on the antique frame with his arms crossed.
He’s ditched the tie and jacket today—going casual with linen trousers and a button down that’s rolled at his forearms.
It's the most relaxed I’ve seen him. His hair is even mussed just enough to upgrade his rugged handsome looks to another level of hot.
“How long have you been standing there?” I demand.
“Long enough to know you tried to run away from Winslet without speaking to me,” he says.
“See,” Felicity utters under her breath. “I told you.”
I turn to her. “You must be an angel sent straight from heaven to work for him. I wish you all the luck.”
Her eyes widen as her gaze darts between me and her boss.
“She is.” Devon agrees with my backhanded comment and holds a hand out low for me to enter his private office. “Let’s have that chat.”
The man is insufferable when it comes to his chats. “Fine. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can be on my way.”
Felicity gasps more dramatically than necessary.
“What? Mr. Donnelly said you were staying for a few weeks. What am I going to tell the staff? They’re excited to have you here after Blake told everyone that you’re not the spoiled rotten woman everyone thought you’d be.
And, just for the record, I never thought you acted that way.
Not that we’ve hosted many brides yet. And I worked at Winslet Mortuary before this.
We didn’t have a lot of brides there either—actually, not one that I can think of, thank goodness.
But you were not a bridezilla. Not that anyone would be a bridezilla at the mortuary.
They’d be dead. Still, nicely done, you. ”
When you’re an heiress to billions, I’m used to people thinking all kinds of things about me. Spoiled rotten is the least of the offenses I’ve been accused of over the years. I certainly wasn’t a bridezilla since I simply showed up. I had no choice as Janie insisted on planning the whole thing.