Chapter 17
MIA
The safe house smells like Bayo’s burnt toast and stale coffee, and right now, it’s the most comforting combination in the world.
If only she knew.
From there, I took the elevator down, slipped out through a service entrance, and grabbed the first cab I could get. The driver took one look at me in the rearview mirror and wisely chose not to comment.
Now, I’m sitting on the lumpy sofa in our SOE hideout, wrapped in a blanket that smells faintly of mothballs while Kat and Bayo stare at me like I’ve grown a second head.
The silence is excruciating.
“Soooooo,” Bayo finally says, his voice carefully neutral. “Interesting turn of events.”
“You heard,” I say, panic coursing through me.
I want to die. I want the floor to open and swallow me whole.
“Miss Mia.” Bayo pinches the bridge of his nose. “I heard everything. Every single sound. In excruciating detail.” He shudders. “There are things I can never unhear, things that are burned into my brain forever. I’m going to need therapy. Possibly a lobotomy.”
My face is on fire. “I forgot… The earring… I meant to…”
Oh my God.
“You meant to turn it off before America’s superhero made you come three times on a rooftop?” Kat says, her voice like ice. She’s standing by the window, arms crossed, her face unreadable in the dim light. “That would have been thoughtful, yes.”
“Kat—”
“I had to listen to you moan his name while I was photographing Viktor Kozlov shaking hands with a weapons manufacturer,” she says. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to maintain surveillance focus while your partner is having the orgasm of a lifetime in your ear?”
“Orgasms,” Bayo corrects, holding up three fingers. “Plural.”
I bury my face in my hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t plan for any of this to happen. I certainly didn’t plan on you being there for every moment.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Kat moves away from the window, her boots sharp on the wooden floor. “You didn’t plan. You didn’t think. You just let him fly you off to some rooftop and—”
“I know.” My voice cracks. “I know, okay? I fucked up.”
“You more than fucked up.” She stops in front of me, looking down with those eyes that have seen too much. “You might have compromised the entire mission. If Mank finds out about this—”
“He won’t.” I look up sharply. “He can’t. Kat, please.”
“Why shouldn’t I tell him? Shouldn’t I let him know you’re compromised? Because wouldn’t that mean we’re compromised too.” She tilts her head, studying me.
I swallow hard, trying to find the words to make this okay. There aren’t any, but I try anyway.
“Because I can still do this. I can still complete the mission.” I stand, letting the blanket fall away.
“I’ve been in these situations before. It’s the classic honeytrap.
It’s sexpionage. It’s just this one probably won’t end with death.
I don’t know. I still don’t know what Vanguard was really created to do, don’t know if he’s a threat, and Roger did want me to get as close as possible. ”
“There’s a difference between getting close to a target and getting close because you’ve lost all sense of control.”
“I know. What happened tonight—it doesn’t have to mean anything. It was just physical. A moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.”
“A moment of weakness.” Kat’s laugh is hollow. “Is that right?”
“Kat, you’re being a little hard on her, no?” Bayo comments with a sigh.
“No, it’s fine,” I tell him then look back to her. “I mean it. I let my guard down and I shouldn’t have, but it’s not—” I force myself to say the words. “I don’t have feelings for him. It was just sex.”
“It wasn’t even sex,” Bayo mutters. “It was almost sex. Which is somehow worse, because now, there’s unfinished business.”
I’m not about to argue with him on what actually constitutes sex. I don’t want to talk to him about any of this.
“The point is,” I press on, “I can compartmentalize. I’ve been trained to compartmentalize. You know me. You know what I can do, what I’m capable of. You know how many targets I’ve eliminated. Whatever’s happening between me and Vanguard—”
“So what is happening between you and Vanguard?” Kat cuts in. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like our operative has developed an emotional attachment to her target, one that will cloud her judgment, compromise her decision-making, and potentially get us all killed.”
“That’s not—”
“You kissed him, Mia! And he didn’t die! Do you understand what that means? The implications?”
I go still, my heart sinking until I feel terribly small.
Of course I understand. I’ve thought of nothing else since it happened.
For fifteen years, my kiss has been a weapon.
A failsafe. The last resort that guaranteed I could never truly be captured, never truly be compromised, never really get close to anyone, because anyone who got too close would pay with their life.
And now, that failsafe is gone.
I press my thumbnail into my palm until it hurts. Until I feel something I can name, something with edges, instead of this formless ache spreading through my chest like warmth.
Like thaw.
I can’t afford to thaw.
Not here.
Not for him.
“It means I can’t kill him the way I normally would,” I say quietly.
“It means he’s the first person you can touch without consequences.” Kat’s expression softens slightly. “The first person you can kiss, can fuck, can have. Do you really expect me to believe that means nothing to you?”
I don’t answer. I don’t even know what to say.
She sighs, and for a moment, she looks sympathetic, a rarity.
“I have been where you are,” she says quietly.
“Not exactly, but close enough. Falling for a target is easy, Mia. So easy. They’re the focus of your attention, your energy, your thoughts.
You study them, you learn them, you anticipate their needs, and somewhere along the way, your brain starts confusing surveillance with intimacy. ”
“I’m not falling for him,” I say again.
“You’ve already fallen.” She holds up a hand before I can protest. “I’m not saying you’ve hit the ground yet, but you’re in freefall, and if you don’t pull the cord soon, you will crash. And when you do, you’ll take this mission—and possibly this team—down with you.”
I want to argue, to defend myself, but I can’t find the ammunition.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask quietly. “Pull out? Go home? Tell Mank I failed?”
“No.” Kat exchanges a look with Bayo, something passing between them.
“What I want is for you to get your head out of your ass and remember why we’re here.
Vanguard is a target. He might also be a weapon of mass destruction being controlled by a corporation with ties to human trafficking.
Your job is to find out the truth, not to… shag him on rooftops.”
“I didn’t shag him.” Still a virgin over here.
“Details, details.” She waves a hand. “The point is, you need to put distance between yourself and whatever you’re feeling. Put your heart in a cage and lock it. Your hormones too. Be professional. Be cold. Be the operative I know you can be.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then Mank pulls you out, someone else takes over, and they go about it all a different way.” Her eyes bore into mine. “Is that what you want?”
“No.” I swallow hard, finding my resolve. “No, I want to finish this. I need to finish this.”
I need to make up for Minsk.
“Then finish it.” Kat’s voice is final. “But finish it clean. No more rooftops. No more flying off into the night. No more letting him touch you in ways that make Bayo question his life choices.”
“I’d really appreciate that,” Bayo mutters.
I bite back a laugh.
“Alright,” I say. “I’ll keep it professional. I promise.”
“I mean it, Mia,” she warns me. “Don’t make me make that call.”
“I said I understand.” I meet her gaze steadily. “It won’t happen again.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
The silence stretches, heavy with everything unsaid. Because she knows. She knows this isn’t going to be easy for me. She knows I’m going to fuck up, and I’ll probably do it on purpose.
Then, Bayo clears his throat. “Right. Well. Now that we’ve addressed the elephant in the room—or should I say the multiple screaming orgasms…”
“Bayo,” I admonish.
“Then perhaps we should discuss what I actually learned tonight while you were otherwise occupied.”
I seize the change of subject like a lifeline. “Yes. Please. What did you find?”
Bayo pulls out his tablet, tapping through screens until he reaches a series of photographs. “Kat was busy while you were busy. She got some very interesting shots.”
He turns the tablet toward me, and I see a grainy but unmistakable image of Viktor Kozlov—The Butcher—deep in conversation with a man I don’t recognize. They’re in a corner of the gala, partially obscured by a potted plant, clearly trying not to be seen.
“Who is he talking to?”
“That’s the interesting part.” Bayo zooms in on the second man’s face.
Mid-forties, dark mustache and silver temples, expensive suit, the kind of bland handsomeness that comes from good breeding and better dermatologists.
“His name is Matthew Webb. He’s Vice President of Special Projects at Global Dynamix. ”
Special Projects.
“Like Prometheus?”
“Possibly. Webb’s name appears in some of the files we pulled from the Queens facility, but always redacted or in passing. Sometimes, he’s addressed as Dr. Webb. Whatever he does, they don’t want it on paper.”
I study the photograph, watching the body language between the two men. Kozlov is leaning in, aggressive, making a point. Webb looks uncomfortable but attentive, nodding along like a man who knows he’s outranked.
“What would Global Dynamix want with a trafficking kingpin?”
“That’s what we need to find out.” Kat moves to stand beside me, looking at the tablet over my shoulder.
“But this confirms what we suspected. Global Dynamix isn’t just a tech company playing superhero in this new age.
The darkness they brought from the previous decades isn’t going away. It’s spreading.”
“The Prometheus files mentioned test subjects,” I say slowly, remembering the documents I’d glimpsed during my Queens infiltration. “Failure rates. Neural degradation. What if they’re not just enhancing volunteers? What if they’re…”
“Using trafficked people as guinea pigs?” Bayo finishes for me, his voice grim.
“Why not? The Nazis experimented with mind control on their prisoners. The CIA tried with MKUltra. Let’s not forget Black Americans being used for everything from food testing to cancer cell research.
” He pauses. “It would explain Kozlov’s involvement.
He has access to people society has turned its back on. Refugees, migrants…”
My stomach turns. I think of Vanguard, of his genuine heroism and his desire to help people. Does he know what his employers are doing? Is he complicit? Or is he just another victim, a successful experiment in a program built on corpses?
“We need more,” I say. “We need proof.”
“Which is why you’re going to keep doing your job.
” Kat’s hand lands on my shoulder, surprisingly gentle.
“Keep getting info out of him. Get close—but not that close. You know about him, but see what he knows about the company’s operations.
He’s been their golden boy for years; he has to know something. ”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then we find another way in.” Her grip tightens briefly before releasing. “But for now, Vanguard is our best access point. Don’t waste it.”
I nod slowly, my mind already spinning with possibilities. I know tomorrow, I’ll have to face him again, have to look into those blue eyes and pretend nothing happened, that I didn’t fall apart under his hands, that I’m not already counting the hours until I can touch him again.
Professional. Cold. Operative.
I can do this.
I have to do this.
“Get some sleep,” Kat says, heading for the door. “You’re going to need it.”
She leaves, and I’m alone with Bayo and the weight of my choices.
“Hey.” His voice is softer now, the teasing gone. “For what it’s worth? I don’t think you’re a bad person for wanting something good, even if the timing is shit. I mean, I’ve done some crazy things for the right pussy.”
“Bayo!” I exclaim.
He shrugs in response. “I’m just saying.”
A few beats of silence settle over us.
“But what if he’s a monster?” I say quietly. “Created by monsters. Part of something monstrous. What if he’s really playing me instead of the other way around?”
“Could be.” He shrugs. “Or maybe he’s just a man caught in something bigger than himself, same as you.” He stands, stretching. “Go back to your hotel and get some rest, Mia. And for the love of God, remember to turn off your earring next time.”
There won’t be a next time, is what I want to tell him.
But why lie?