Chapter 22
Mia
Morning arrived all too quickly, bright sunlight piercing through the flimsy curtains. I was already up, dressed in Connor’s clothes, and my hair pulled back in a ponytail. I was on his phone, speaking in hushed, urgent tones.
“—need to know if he’s under surveillance,”
I was saying. “Yes, I understand the risk. But this is our only shot.”
Connor stirred, instantly alert. “Who are you talking to?” he asked.
I turned to him. “An old friend. Someone I trust. Someone who might be able to help us.”
“You should have woken me,”
he said, running a hand through his hair.
“You needed the rest,”
I replied simply, then refocused on my call. “We’ll be there by nightfall. Have everything ready.” I hung up and handed the phone back to him.
“Care to fill me in?”
he asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“I have a contact in the agency—someone who’s been wanting out for years. She’s going to help us get to Matheson.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Just like that? She’s willing to betray her boss, risk her life, all because you asked nicely?”
I allowed myself a humorless smile. “Not exactly. She’s been gathering evidence of Matheson’s unauthorized operations for years—hits that weren’t sanctioned by the oversight committee, black funds, personal vendettas. She needs a way out, and we need a way in. Mutual benefit.”
He considered this as he stood and stretched. “And you trust her?”
“As much as I trust anyone from my old life,”
I admitted. “Which isn’t completely, but enough for this.”
“Alright,”
he said, reaching for his jeans. “What’s the plan?”
“We meet her in Toronto at noon. She’ll provide us with Matheson’s schedule, security protocols, and access codes. After that...”
I trailed off.
“After that?”
he prompted.
“After that, I go in alone.”
He froze, one leg in his jeans. “Like hell you do.”
“Connor,”
I said, my voice taking on that professional edge he was still getting used to, “this isn’t up for debate. I know the agency, the protocols, the building layout. You don’t. If you come with me, you’ll be a liability, not an asset.”
“And if it’s a trap?”
he countered, finishing.
“It’s not,”
I replied, my lips forming a hard line.
He shook his head. “I’m not letting you go through with this. After we meet her, we’re heading back to the estate to talk things over with Declan and Rory.”
Twenty minutes later we were on our way to meet my contact in Toronto. But only after I agreed that once she gave me the intel, we would head to the estate.
The drive was mostly silent. I stared out the passenger window, watching the landscape blur as Connor pushed the truck well above the speed limit. My mind was racing with contingency plans, escape routes, all the details I’d need to take down Matheson. The weight of what we were about to do pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe.
“You’re spiraling,”
Connor said, breaking the silence. His eyes remained fixed on the road, but I could feel his awareness of me like a physical touch.
“I’m compartmentalizing,”
I corrected, though he wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Tell me about your contact,”
he said, clearly trying to pull me out of my head. “How do you know her?”
I hesitated, then decided he should know if things went sideways. “Her name is Elise. We trained together. She is the only person at the agency I ever considered a friend.”
“And you trust her with our lives?”
“I trust that she wants out as badly as I do,”
I replied. “Matheson has something on her—something she’s desperate to escape. Our interests align.”
“What does Matheson have on you?”
I sighed. I hated to even think about it, but he had a right to know. “He has my sister.”
Connor’s head whipped toward me, eyes wide with shock before returning to the road. “Your sister? But Wren is—”
“Not Wren,”
I clarified, my voice tight. “My other sister. Wren’s half-sister, Lily. She’s thirty, a teacher. She was just a baby when our mother died, she doesn’t even remember me or know about Wren. When our mother died, child services contacted our father, that would be Wren’s father too. But he wanted nothing to do with me, Cookie or Lily, so we were placed in foster care. Matheson found her when I tried to leave the agency five years ago.”
“Jesus,”
Connor muttered, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “What did he do to her?”
“Nothing yet. But he’s been... watching her. Making sure I know he can reach her anytime.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “He sends me pictures. Her at school. Her with her students. Her with her boyfriend.” I took a shaky breath. “The message is clear: one wrong move and she suffers.”
Connor was quiet for a long moment, processing this new information. “So, when you refused to kill Declan and me—you were risking not just yourself, but her too.”
I nodded, unable to speak past the knot in my throat.
“Why?”
he asked softly. “Why take that risk for us?”
I turned to look at him, really look at him. “Because some things are worth fighting for, even when the odds are impossible. Because I couldn’t be the person who destroyed Wren’s happiness. And because...”
I trailed off, uncertain if I should continue.
“Because?”
he prompted.
“Because when I met you, something changed. I started to see a future beyond the next mission, the next target. A future I wanted to be part of.”
Connor’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. I knew my words were hitting their mark, even if he wasn’t ready to acknowledge it.
We reached the outskirts of Toronto by late morning. The city sprawled before us, skyscrapers glinting in the setting sun. He followed my directions to a small, nondescript café in a quieter part of town.
“We’re early,”
I noted, checking my watch. “Elise won’t be here for another hour.”
“Good,”
he said, pulling into a spot that gave us a clear view of the café’s entrance. “Gives us time to check for surveillance.”
I smiled despite myself. “You’ve done this before.”
“Clan business, happens all the time,”
he replied with a shrug. “I’ve only been actively going out on missions for the past year, but I know enough to be cautious.”
We sat in companionable silence, scanning the area for anything suspicious. The street was relatively quiet—a few pedestrians, mostly locals going about their morning routines. Nothing that triggered my internal alarms.
“There,”
Connor said suddenly, nodding toward a woman approaching the café. “Is that her?”
I squinted, then shook my head. “No. Elise is shorter, with red hair.”
“Just checking if you were paying attention,”
he said with a hint of a smile. “You seem distracted.”
“I’m thinking about what comes after,”
I admitted. “If we succeed—if we take down Matheson—it doesn’t end there. His die-hard followers will come.”
“One problem at a time,”
Connor said firmly. “First Matheson, then we’ll deal with whatever comes next.”
I turned to him, suddenly needing to make him understand. “Connor, there might not be an ‘after’ for me. The best I can hope for is to disappear completely. New identity, new country. I will always be looking over my shoulder.”
His eyes hardened. “That’s not acceptable.”
“It’s reality,”
I insisted. “Even if we take out Matheson, I’ll always be a liability to you and your family.”
He sat there, staring at me for a few seconds. “Doubtful. What’s Matheson’s connection to my family? You never said.”
The question I’d been dreading. I took a deep breath. “I don’t know everything. But from what I pieced together, your father refused to partner with him on something big—something illegal enough that Tomas could have exposed him. Matheson doesn’t forgive, and he never forgets.”
“He did realize he was working with the most notorious man of his time, right? Tomas… my father was a ruthless bastard.”
He turned to me, and I could see the hurt in his eyes as he continued. “One time when I was a kid, I saw him shooting a man between the eyes for stealing a loaf of bread out by the pond at the estate. After three days of him laying there, they finally buried him. I made a cross out of sticks and stuck it in the ground where he’d lain. He was a stable hand for Christ’s sake,” he said, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “Like he would turn Matheson over to the cops. So now this is revenge. He’s trying to destroy my family because my father said no to him.”
“Connor, I’m so sorry you had to see that. But it’s more than that,”
I said carefully. “Matheson believes your clan has something he wants. Something valuable enough to risk exposing his operation.”
His brow furrowed. “What could we possibly have that would interest him?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Everything with Matheson is classified. All I knew was my target.”
We lapsed into silence again, the implications hanging between us. Finally, he spoke.
“After we meet your contact, we’re going straight to Declan. He needs to know what we’re facing.”
I nodded, not looking forward to that conversation. “He’ll want me dead when he finds out who I am.”
“Probably,”
Connor agreed, not sugarcoating it. “But I won’t let that happen.”
His simple declaration warmed something in my chest, despite the coldness of our situation. “Why?”
I asked, turning to study his profile. “After knowing about everything I was sent to do—why protect me?”
Connor was quiet for so long I thought he might not answer. Then, without taking his eyes off the café across the street, he said, “Because I believe there’s more to you than what they made you. And because...”
he hesitated, then continued, “because when I look at you, I see the woman I want, not the assassin they sent.”