Chapter 17 Nightingale
NIGHTINGALE
Gunshots still echoed in my ears—sharp cracks that had ended four lives.
I couldn’t look away from McLaren slumped against the terminal where she’d made her final stand, the Damascus codes, her last gift to the world.
Blood had pooled beneath her, dark against the stone.
Her eyes remained open, fixed on nothing, but I felt like she could still see me.
Behind us, I could hear Lex crying while Con murmured something low and comforting.
Ash said nothing, but his silence carried more weight than words.
He stood over his uncle’s body, the gun still in his hand.
“Leila.” Tag’s voice cut through the fog, and his hands gripped my shoulders. “We need to go.”
I nodded, but my feet wouldn’t move. The drugs MacLeod had injected still clouded my system.
“Now.” He pulled me toward the door, with his arm around my waist, holding me upright when my legs threatened to give out.
But I couldn’t leave yet. I pulled away and moved to McLaren’s body, kneeling beside her despite Tag’s protest. Her hand was still warm when I took it.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I closed her eyes gently, the way Idris had taught me to honor the dead. When I stood, Tag was there, ready to catch me if I fell.
We passed MacLeod on our way out. Renegade had him secured with zip ties, but the fight had gone out of him completely. I stopped in front of him. His eyes met mine—broken, desperate, seeking something I couldn’t give him.
“Is your wife involved in this?”
He shook his head. “She knows nothing. I kept her out of it. My daughter too. Isla’s in Norway, doing research. She has no idea what her father has done…” His voice cracked. “What will happen to them?”
“That’s not for me to decide,” I said, stopping myself from pitying him. He’d made his choices, and he’d pay the price.
Tag’s hand found the small of my back. “We need to keep moving.”
He stayed by my side as we made our way down the spiral stairs, each step jarring injuries I hadn’t noticed yet.
My wrists were raw from the zip ties. No doubt they bore angry red marks that would turn purple by morning.
My throat ached where someone—Dalgleish most likely—had grabbed me.
The injection site on my neck throbbed with each heartbeat.
Through the corridors, we passed MI6 response teams sweeping the castle. They’d arrived just minutes after we’d stopped the countdown. The gala guests were being evacuated, most of them oblivious to how close they’d come to being at ground zero for a global catastrophe.
“Agent Nassar needs medical attention,” Tag barked at a passing operative.
“Medical staging area is just off the main room, sir.”
Tag changed direction, guiding me through unfamiliar hallways. My vision blurred at the edges as the sedatives fought their way out of my system.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled.
“You’re not,” Tag said, his arm tightening around me. “You were drugged, beaten, and nearly—” His jaw clenched, and he stopped himself.
The room we entered had been transformed into a field medical station. Vanguard sat on one of the antique settees, holding an ice pack to his head while a medic checked his pupils.
“Nightingale!” He started to stand but swayed.
“Sit down, Morse,” the man attending him ordered.
“Is he all right?” I asked.
“Concussion, but he’ll live,” the man replied. “Now, let’s look at you.”
Tag helped me onto an examination table they’d set up. Another medic—a woman with kind eyes and steady hands—began her assessment while Tag hovered, refusing to move more than a foot away.
“Bruised ribs, two, maybe three.” She pressed gently, and I hissed. “Gashes on wrists, contusions on throat, arms. What did they inject you with?”
“Midazolam, I think. Maybe something else. I was unconscious for at least thirty minutes.”
She shone a light in my eyes, checking pupil response. “Any nausea? Double vision?”
“Some nausea. Vision’s a bit fuzzy.”
“We’ll run bloods to be sure, but it looks like you’re metabolizing it normally.” She turned to Tag. “She needs rest, fluids, and observation for the next twelve hours. No strenuous activity.”
Tag’s hand found mine, and he nodded.
“Nightingale.” Viper’s voice came from the doorway. She entered with Typhon at her side. They must have come directly from London the moment my beacon activated.
I tried to stand, but the medic pressed me back down. “Stay put.”
When Viper approached, her composure cracked momentarily, but she quickly recovered. “Your beacon activated at twenty-one forty-seven. We mobilized everything we had.”
“What in the bloody hell happened?” Typhon said, his voice gentle despite the curse.
“Idris left codes for me. I didn’t understand what they were until tonight.” My words were vague, certainly not accurately conveying the hell we’d lived through, but each one cost me energy I no longer had.
“You saved the world,” Viper said simply.
The weight of it settled on my chest. I’d been focused on the immediate threat, on Tag finding me, on stopping Ambrose. But the scale was staggering.
“The full debrief can wait,” barked Typhon. “Get her out of here. We’ll handle cleanup.”
They left, and the medic finished her examination. “You’re lucky. Nothing’s broken, nothing that won’t heal. But you need rest.”
Tag helped me stand. In the corner, I saw our team gathering. Con had his arm around Lex; Gus stood with Renegade, both of them silent; and Ash sat alone, staring at nothing.
I pulled away from Tag and went to him. He looked up as I approached, his eyes hollow.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
I sat beside him and took his hand. “You saved my life. Not just mine. You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
“I know.” His voice broke. “My father’s own brother turned into someone evil and twisted. How do I explain it to the world?”
“You can’t. You are not responsible for his actions or his mental state.”
He squeezed my hand, then let go. “Thank you. For memorizing those sequences. For stopping it.”
I wanted to say more, to ease his pain, but there were no words for this. Sometimes, people we loved became monsters. Sometimes, we had to stop them. The cost was always higher than we imagined.
Tag knelt in front of me. “The helicopter’s here. Time to go.”
Outside, the night air hit my lungs like ice, sharp and clean after the mustiness of the castle.
The chopper waited with the rotors already spinning, and the pilot stood by the open door.
His eyes widened when he saw me—the marks on my throat, the blood on my clothes that wasn’t all mine, the way I was shaking.
“Get us home. To Glenshadow,” Tag told him.
Glenshadow. The word felt foreign and perfect all at once.
Tag helped me into the cabin and climbed in after me.
As we lifted off, I watched Brodick Castle fall away below us—that tower, that room, those bodies.
Emergency vehicles covered the grounds. So many people had responded to clean up our mess, to hide what had almost happened from a world that would never know how close it had come to ending.
My body shook harder as we flew over the dark water toward the mainland. My teeth chattered despite the heated cabin.
“Shock is setting in,” Tag murmured, pulling me against him.
But it was more than that. The adrenaline that had kept me functional was crashing, leaving behind the raw reality of what had happened.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered against his chest.
His arms tightened. “Not necessary.”
“But I lied. I went to Viper and Typhon instead of you.”
He was quiet for several seconds. “I would have stopped you.”
“I know.”
“If you hadn’t been there, if you hadn’t had those codes…”
“McLaren would have found another way.”
“No.” His voice was firm. “She was dying. She knew she had seconds. She gave you the clue because she knew only you would understand.”
The tears came then—hot and unstoppable. For Idris, who’d died protecting this information. For McLaren, who’d died activating it. For MacLeod’s wife and daughter, who would wake tomorrow to find their world destroyed. Even for Ambrose, the broken man who’d let bitterness turn him into a monster.
Tag’s hand moved through my tangled hair, murmuring words I couldn’t make out over the helicopter’s noise but understood anyway.
When we touched down on Tag’s estate, Mrs. Murray stood in the doorway, waiting. She took one look at Tag and me and raced toward us.
“Oh, lass,” she said, putting her arm around me. When Tag let go, her embrace was fierce and warm and everything I needed. “Thank the Lord in heaven you’re all right.”
When she pulled away, her eyes were wet. “I’ll have a bath drawn. Food will be waiting when you’re ready.” She looked at Tag with an expression that held both worry and trust. “Take care of her.”
“I promise I will.” His words sounded like a vow.
Douglas appeared. “Sir?”
“Get in touch with Typhon. I anticipate a briefing if not tomorrow, soon.” Ever efficient.
“Roger that. I’ll take care of everything.”
Tag grinned as he squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Douglas.”
The walk to my room felt endless. Each step sent pain through my ribs. Tag remained by my side, holding as much of me as he could and ready to catch me if I stumbled. When we reached my door, he hesitated.
“The heating’s acting up again. Best if you’re with me.”
“Your room then,” I said quietly.
He let out a breath of relief, then led me to his suite.
His rooms were warmed by a fire already crackling in the hearth. The bathroom was full of steam, the claw-foot tub already filled and waiting. Mrs. Murray had anticipated everything.
I stood, staring at the water, unable to make my body move. My hands shook as I tried to reach behind me to unfasten my tattered gown.
“Let me do it.” Tag’s voice was soft.
He lowered the zipper and eased the fabric off my shoulders. Marks on my arms were already vivid—purple and black where they’d grabbed me. He traced one gently, his jaw tightening. “I should have been there sooner.”
“You came exactly when I needed you.”
He helped me out of my undergarments after removing my weapons that Ambrose and his goons had been too crazed by power to look for. Not that I would’ve been able to reach them.
He was careful of the injuries on my ribs, and when I was naked, he guided me into the tub. The heat sank into my bones. I closed my eyes and let myself float.
“I’ll give you some—”
“Stay.” The word came out as a plea.
He pulled a stool over and sat beside the tub. After a moment, his hands moved to my hair, working shampoo through the tangles. Neither of us spoke. The silence was enough—proof we were both here, both alive, both whole enough to put back together.
His fingers found a knot and worked it free gently. The simple domesticity of it—Tag washing my hair while I soaked away the nightmare—made my chest tight with emotion.
“I thought I was going to die.” The words tore out of me. “When I realized who Janus was, when he said he knew you, I thought you’d walk into his trap and we’d both—”
“We didn’t, and that’s all that matters.”
When the water cooled, Tag helped me stand and wrapped me in a heated towel before pulling me against him.
“I didn’t trust you.” The confession came from somewhere deep inside him, and I leaned away so I could look into his eyes. “I didn’t trust that we could be different, that we wouldn’t become my parents.”
“We won’t. Not ever.” I touched his face.
His eyes closed, and he leaned into my palm.
“I thought I’d lost you.” His voice cracked. “When that beacon activated, when I realized where you really were—I thought I’d lost you before I could tell you how much I love you.”
The words hung between us, honest and vulnerable.
“I love you too.” My voice broke. “I’ve loved you for so long.”
His forehead dropped against mine. “How can you forgive me? For pushing you away? For making you feel like you couldn’t trust me?”
I pulled him closer. “Just love me. That’s all the apology I need.”
“I do. God, I love you so much.”
“Then show me.”
He carried me to the bed even though I could walk, but I understood—he needed this, needed to care for me after hours of being unable to protect me.
The sheets were cool against my heated skin, and he stood beside the bed, looking at me like I was precious, like I might shatter if he wasn’t careful.
I reached for him. “Please, Tag. Be with me.”
“You’re sure?” His voice was rough. “After everything—”
I pulled him down, and the kiss we shared started out soft, then deepened.
“I need you,” I whispered against his mouth as he settled beside me. “I need to feel alive.”
Understanding crossed his face. This wasn’t just about desire—though I ached for his touch—but about proving to ourselves that the worst was over.
When he entered me, it was slow and reverent, and his eyes never left mine. Every movement was gentle, conscious of my injuries but also of what we’d both nearly lost.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you.”
We moved together unhurriedly, savoring each touch and kiss and breath. This was a promise being made in the language of bodies, a vow that we’d chosen each other despite everything that had tried to tear us apart.
When release came, it washed over us—profound and gentle and perfect. He pulled me against him after, holding me close as exhaustion tugged at my consciousness.
“Sleep,” he murmured against my hair. “I’ll be here when you wake.”
His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear as darkness pulled me under—not the terrifying dark of the tower, but the peaceful dark of safety and home and love.
Tomorrow would bring debriefs, decisions, and consequences for the choices we’d all made. MacLeod would face justice while his wife and daughter faced shame. The world would keep spinning, never knowing how close it had come to stopping.
But tonight, in Tag’s arms, with his breath warm against my hair and his heart beating steady beneath my palm, I was exactly where I belonged.