Chapter 3 Nightingale #3
I pulled up the files and turned the screen toward him.
“First, the communications. Encrypted channels between Damascus, Cyprus, and somewhere in Scotland. The coding was complex, but once I broke it down, I discovered the messages use technical terminology she coined. Specific phrase constructions. Even the way she structures her arguments—it’s like hearing someone’s voice in their writing. ”
Tag moved to stand next to me and studied the screen. “That’s not proof.”
“No, it’s not. Second, the financial trail. I found transfers also through Cyprus but in Malta too. Small amounts, nothing that would trigger standard monitoring protocols, but they aggregate over time.”
I swiped to the next file. “Third, operational patterns. Cells we thought were eliminated are active again. Different leadership on the surface, but the same infrastructure, same tradecraft. And fourth, technical signatures. Only two people ever understood the AIWS technology at this level—Orlov and her.”
“And Lex,” he added.
“Yes, Lex neutralized the interface at Orlov’s lab, but she learned from McLaren’s and Orlov’s work. She didn’t pioneer it.”
He didn’t speak for several seconds. “The people following you in London. They don’t want to kill you. At least not yet. They want to know how much you know.”
I closed the tablet. “I agree.”
“So we act on the assumption that they know you’re onto them.”
“Yes. And, soon enough, they’ll know I’m with you. If they don’t already.”
Tag didn’t react. People like him—myself included—never did. We couldn’t. If we spent all our time looking over our shoulder, we’d sign our own death warrant.
“It could be someone else who learned from McLaren,” Tag said, his shoulders tense.
“Yes.” I crossed my arms. “Or it could be her. Whoever this is has been cautiously acquiring resources, technology, and personnel.
“If she’s alive, then is the supposition that she’s trying to recreate what was destroyed in the explosion?”
“No idea. Although I don’t think she’s Janus—the mastermind. I found references to her communicating with someone about moving into phase two. She isn’t calling the shots.”
“There’s something else,” Tag said. “Sullivan Rivers traced Tower-Meridian’s shipments out of Tees, then through Felixstowe. The working theory is that AIWS components are being moved through ancient tunnel networks. If they exist.”
I considered it. “It makes sense. The very definition of Labyrinth is a complicated and irregular network of passages.”
“Not terribly clever on their part,” he muttered.
“They have far bigger things on their minds,” I agreed.
Tag’s gaze fixed on something beyond the window. “You ran again yesterday. Why?”
“Viper said they were getting closer. Bolder.” I sank into the chair. “She arranged for an MI6 extraction team, but then I received word that hostile forces were moving in. I couldn’t wait.”
“Kestrel again.” He approached the table, pulled one of the chairs out, and motioned for me to sit. After I had, he pulled the other chair closer to mine. “I have another question, and this time, I want you to answer me honestly.”
I waited, biting my lip.
“Leila, did you want me to find you?”
Of everything he could’ve asked, that question might be the hardest for me to answer. Yes, I had. Maybe because I was tired of being on my own. Maybe I missed Idris so much and Tag was the closest connection I had to him.
He spoke before I did. “Three years ago, I promised your brother I’d look after you. That promise doesn’t have an expiration date. You know that, don’t you?”
It was as though he’d read my mind. “I do.”
“What you aren’t sure of yet is how much you can trust me with.”
“I…” I shook my head.
“It’s okay, Leila. Either way, you’re stuck with me.” He winked, and for the first time since our conversation began, I smiled.
“He’d be disappointed in how little I’ve accomplished. Months of investigation, and I’m no closer to understanding the full scope of Project Labyrinth.”
“You confirmed Bennett was dirty. You found evidence suggesting McLaren is alive. That’s not nothing.”
“It’s not enough.”
“It’s a start.” He took my hand in his. “And you’re not working alone anymore.” For a moment, his thumb brushed across my knuckles, and something flickered in his eyes—something warm and unguarded. Then, as if catching himself, he jerked his hand away and stood abruptly.
Before I could react, Tag’s mobile chimed. He glanced at the screen, then set it on the table between us and put it on speaker.
“Hey, Renegade.”
“Hiya, boss. How’s the family castle treating you? Fair warning—the plumbing screams like a banshee and the west tower’s been trying to fall down for thirty years or more.”
Despite everything, Tag’s mouth quirked. “You’re underselling the place’s ambiance. We’ve got heat in about half the rooms and a generator that might last the week if we’re lucky.”
“Sounds about right. The chimney in the library smokes if the wind is from the north, and whatever you do, don’t trust the third step from the top on the servants’ stairs. How’s Nightingale? Is she surviving the Dunravin hospitality?”
Tag’s eyes flicked to me. “She’s…adapting. Any updates?”
“The storm is getting worse. The news outlets are calling it a once-in-a-generation event. You’re looking at a week minimum, possibly longer.
Several roads are already compromised—some are completely washed out.
Even helicopter extraction would be dicey until this passes, since winds are gusting at ninety miles per hour. ”
“Copy that,” Tag said before ending the call.
A week. Possibly longer? How in the hell would I get through it?
Silence stretched between us, broken only by the rattling windows and the rain hammering stone. Tag picked up his mug and set it in the sink. His back was to me, but I could see how his knuckles had turned white with how hard he gripped the edge of the counter.
“We need to establish clear boundaries. Professional boundaries.”
He turned to face me, but his eyes focused somewhere over my shoulder.
“Last night, sharing the bed—that was about survival, nothing more. It can’t happen again.
I’ll take the room across the hall tonight.
We should set up a schedule so we’re not…
” His jaw tightened. “So we’re not in each other’s way unnecessarily.
We’ll need to conserve fuel for the generator anyway, so coordinating our movements makes sense. ”
The clinical tone in his voice, the way he couldn’t even look at me—as if this morning when we’d woken tangled together meant nothing, as if taking my hand moments ago hadn’t happened—told me everything I needed to know about where I stood with him.
“Sorry, I need to…” I pushed away from the table and headed for the stairs, needing distance before I said more I’d regret. Not about Idris. About him and how much it hurt that he was planning our week like we were strangers who needed to avoid each other.
My emotions were raw enough from all I’d confessed. I couldn’t deal with more right now. I needed space. Time to think. Maybe confiding in him was a mistake. One of the biggest of my life.
“Leila, wait—”
I took the stairs two at a time, but partway up, my foot caught the edge of a worn step. The stone crumbled under my boot. I pitched forward, hands scrambling for the banister that was too far to reach. The momentum carried me sideways toward the steep drop.
My shoulder hit the steps, then my hip scraped against the wall. The world spun. Four steps, five—
Strong arms caught me, and Tag’s body absorbed my impact as we both continued falling. He’d managed to turn us so his back took the brunt of it. His arms locked around me as we slid to a stop at the landing.
“Christ, Leila.” His voice was rough against my ear, his chest heaving beneath me. “Are you hurt?”
I couldn’t respond. Not because of pain—though my shoulder throbbed and my hip would definitely bruise—but because of how tightly he held me. Like I might disappear. Like he actually cared.
His hands moved over me, checking for injuries. “Your shoulder—”
“I’m fine.” My voice came out shakier than intended.
“You could have broken your neck.” His words were fierce, almost angry, but his arms didn’t loosen. If anything, they tightened. “These stairs are ancient—”
“I said I’m fine.”
We were sprawled on the floor, with me on top of him. His heartbeat hammered against my chest, and his hands stilled on my waist. When I lifted my head, he looked like he was in shock.
“You caught me,” I said stupidly.
“Always.” The unguarded word came out raw, and his hand moved to my face. His thumb brushed along my cheekbone where I’d scraped it against the wall. “I’ll always catch you.”
“Tag,” I whispered.
Something shifted in his eyes—a decision made in an instant. His hand slid into my hair, and he pulled me closer, or maybe I was the one to do it, then again, perhaps we met in the middle. But his mouth found mine, and three years of wanting exploded between us.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was frantic and impassioned, with everything we’d been denying poured into it. His other arm wrapped around my waist, holding me against him as his mouth devoured mine. My hands gripped his shoulders as I kissed him with equal fervor.
When we finally broke apart, I stared into his eyes that were black with desire.
For a heartbeat, the truth lay bare between us, then reality crashed in.
His walls rebuilt, and I saw the instant he remembered all the reasons why this couldn’t happen.
His hands dropped away after he helped me sit up.
“We should—” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat, tried again. “We should, um, make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m not,” I whispered.
His eyes scrunched like he wasn’t sure if I meant literally, but rather than move away, he gathered me in his arms so my cheek rested against his chest, like it had when we woke this morning.
When he leaned away and cupped my face, I prayed he’d kiss me again, but he didn’t. He rested his forehead against mine and whispered words that broke my heart.
“We can’t do this.”