CHAPTER 70
Jameson
Tallinn, Estonia
The first thing I heard was the monitor.
A measured electronic pulse marked time somewhere to my left.
The second thing I felt was Brynn’s hand wrapped around mine.
I opened my eyes.
White ceiling. Low light. A private room with a closed door, one narrow window, and medical equipment positioned too neatly around the bed.
Brynn sat beside me with her coat gone and her hair pulled back from her face. Dried blood covered the sleeve of her sweater.
My blood.
Her other hand rested over the curve of her stomach.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
Her eyes closed for one second. “No.”
“The baby?” I asked.
Brynn’s grip tightened around mine. “She’s fine.”
I tightened my fingers around hers.
Pain pulled through my shoulder and across my chest, deep enough to interrupt my breathing. The monitor accelerated.
Brynn leaned forward. “Don’t move.”
“Tomar?” I asked.
Brynn’s expression hardened. “Dead.”
“The repository?” I asked.
“Handled,” Brynn said.
That was not a sufficient answer.
I turned my head.
Rook stood near the window with her arms folded. A fresh bandage crossed one palm, and her weapon remained secured beneath her jacket.
Harrison stood against the wall on the opposite side of the room.
He had changed his shirt.
Black again.
The collar sat open at his throat, exposing the chain around his neck and the upper edge of the tattoo across his chest.
He watched me with the same eyes I had seen in mirrors my entire life.
Older now.
Harder.
Alive.
My grip tightened around Brynn’s hand until she shifted closer.
“How are you alive?” I asked.
Harrison did not look away. “I almost wasn’t.”
He pushed away from the wall and came closer, stopping well beyond the reach of the bed.
His fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt.
He opened three of them and pulled the fabric aside.
A pale, jagged scar crossed the left side of his chest. It disappeared beneath the dark wings of St. Michael and emerged again near his sternum.
Harrison traced the edge of the scar with one finger. “The glass cut into my heart. They lost me twice before they got me into surgery.”
I stared at the scar.
I remembered the glass protruding from his chest.
The blood spreading across the café floor.
His hand dragging through the ash as the medics lifted him.
“Why was I told your ambulance was ambushed?” I asked.
Harrison let the fabric fall back into place. “Because it was.”
“Who ambushed it?” I asked.
His attention shifted briefly toward Rook. “The Directorate.”
Rook spun around, but she did not interrupt.
I looked between Harrison and Rook. “What is that?”
“A multinational intelligence division with no public charter and no single government willing to admit it exists,” he said.
“Who controls it?” I asked.
“A council of representatives from the governments funding it,” Harrison said. “Operational authority shifts depending on the target, jurisdiction, and intelligence involved.”
It sounded like the team that had pushed for Mirrorstream. Enough people involved to authorize it. No one close enough to own what it became.
“And when an operation goes wrong?” I asked.
His gaze held mine. “Responsibility becomes difficult to assign.”
Pain tightened beneath the bandages when I tried to sit higher.
Brynn pressed one hand against the center of my chest. “Stop.”
I looked down at her hand.
He waited until I settled back against the pillows. “The Directorate had been watching the organization behind the Minsk attack. They knew the meeting had been compromised before we did. They didn’t know when the strike would happen or who the target would be.”
“They let us walk into it,” I said.
He shook his head. “No. They failed to stop it.”
“My mistake.” My jaw tightened. “They only failed badly enough for Rook to spend months being cut open and put back together. She still can’t sit for more than an hour without pain.”
He held my stare. “They couldn’t risk exposing the operation.”
“No, they just risked us.” I glanced at Rook, then back at him. “They let us bury you when they knew you were alive because whatever they were protecting mattered more.”
Something softened in his face. Pity, maybe.
Harrison’s fingers returned to the open buttons of his shirt. “The ambulance was intercepted six minutes after it left the café. The medical team was replaced. The transport record was altered, and the original vehicle was destroyed.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Subtle.”
“They made it look as though the men who attacked the café had finished the job,” Harrison said.
Rook unfolded her arms. “The report said the ambulance burned before local security reached it.”
Harrison looked at her. “That was the point.”
Harrison turned toward her. “I was unconscious for most of the first three days. When I woke, they gave me the casualty report.”
Rook’s mouth tightened. “And you never contacted us.”
“No,” Harrison said.
“You let us believe we watched you die,” Rook said.
Harrison remained perfectly still. “Yes.”
The single word cut through the room.
Rook turned back toward the window.
I could feel her anger from the bed.
Brynn’s thumb moved slowly across the back of my hand.
“What happened when you woke up?” I asked.
Harrison refastened his shirt, leaving the top button open. “They gave me an opportunity to remain dead and dismantle some of the worst criminal organizations in the world.”
“Or?” I asked.
Harrison’s hand dropped from his shirt. “Come home.”
Silence filled the room.
“You chose them,” I said.
“I chose the option that didn’t lead the men who ordered the attack back to us,” Harrison said.
“You could have warned me,” I said.
His expression did not change. “No.”
“You let me believe you were dead for eight years,” I said.
“The Directorate already had an opening inside the Bratva,” Harrison said. “The Pakhan had a nephew who’d grown up in America and was expected to return.”
“You replaced one family with another,” I said.
He drew a slow breath. “I’d like to tell you that if I could’ve gotten word to you, I would have. But the truth is, once I understood what I was walking into, I couldn’t risk it. Not for you. Not for Rook. Not for anyone.”
“So you became him,” I said.
Harrison held my stare. “I did.”
“How?” I asked.
“They spent a year preparing me. Language. Family history. The habits and loyalties Lev was supposed to have.” His expression hardened. “I had no phone, no network access, and no contact with anyone outside the program.”
“And once you were inside?” Rook asked.
“One mistake could have exposed me,” Harrison said. “If the Bratva discovered who I was, they would have traced Harrison Mercer back to you.”
“So you stayed dead,” I said.
His gaze remained on mine. “I heard you had been recruited for another task force. I told myself you had structure again. Work. People around you who would notice if something changed.”
“You decided that must mean I was fine,” I said.
Harrison looked away for the first time. “I told myself you would be.”
“I needed my brother,” I said.
His attention snapped back to me. “By then, I was too far inside to leave without exposing both of us. And I was terrified that one mistake would send the Bratva to your door.”
Brynn studied him. “Then why is this okay?”
Harrison looked at her. “What?”
“You’re standing in the same room with Jameson and Rook. We know who you are, and you’re not exactly hiding it anymore.” Her eyes narrowed. “If contacting them was too dangerous for eight years, what changed?”
“The Pakhan has been bedridden for nearly a year,” Harrison said. “He isn’t expected to recover.”
“And that makes you safe?” Brynn asked.
“It means I’ve been running the Bratva in his place,” he said. “There’s no one left with enough authority to question where I go or who I meet.”
Brynn’s expression hardened. “So it isn’t safe. You’re just the one everyone’s afraid to challenge.”
“At the moment,” he said, “there’s very little difference.”
“Then what explains the last year?” I asked.
He went still.
“You’ve had the authority to go where you want and meet whoever you choose,” I said. “Why didn’t you contact me?”
His gaze held mine. “There’s no reason that excuses it.”
“What would you call that?” I asked.
He didn’t hesitate. “Cowardice.”
The word stopped me.
I looked toward the ceiling until the pressure behind my eyes passed.
Brynn tightened her hand around mine.
His attention shifted to her.
He studied her face, then the hand resting over our daughter.
His gaze stayed there long enough for something unfamiliar to soften the severity of his expression.
A real smile appeared.
Small, but unmistakable.
“Congratulations,” he said.
Brynn glanced at me before answering. “Thank you.”
“Do you know what you’re having?” he asked.
Brynn nodded. “A girl.”
His smile deepened by a fraction as he looked at me. “Then you’re already outnumbered.”
Brynn’s mouth curved despite herself. “He is.”
He studied her again. “You look better than you did at the gala.”
Color rose across her cheeks.
“What gala?” I asked.
Brynn’s fingers tightened around mine. “Geneva.”
I looked at her. “You met him in Geneva?”
“Briefly,” Brynn said.
His mouth shifted. “That is one interpretation.”
Her cheeks darkened further.
“What happened?” I asked.
Brynn avoided my eyes. “Nothing relevant.”
I watched her.
Harrison looked entirely too composed.
“We will be discussing what you consider irrelevant later,” I said.
Brynn exhaled through her nose. “Of course we will.”
She shifted her attention to Harrison. “How long were you supposed to remain Lev?”
“Eighteen months,” he said.
Rook turned from the window. “You went into the Bratva for the Directorate?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“When did Tomar become part of it?” I asked.
His expression closed again.
“When she came to me for financial backing, I knew her only as Ingrid,” he said. “What she described reminded me of the task force you had been working on after Minsk.”
My fingers tightened around the bed rail.
He looked at me again. “I said yes. But I was concerned because if you recognized Lev, my cover would have been gone.”