Page 12 of Code Name: Typhon

“I’m glad you didn’t get blown to bits, Oleander.”

She wiped away a tear. “The Pernicious did.”

“You wanted to get rid of it anyway.”

She wriggled from my arms, picked up the open bottle of bourbon I’d left on her counter, and took a swig.

When she held it out to me, I declined and sat back down. “How’s Allora?” I asked, feeling like an arsehole once I had.

“None of your business,” she spat.

The look on her face and her tone brought my anger back to the surface. Two could play her fucking game. I’d had enough of Oleander operating like she was an independent without a CO. “I suppose I could say the same thing about Mithras.”

She took another swig from the bottle. “What’s that mean?”

“You don’t talk, neither do I.”

“I see. I don’t tell you about my sex life, and you don’t share intel that would allow me to do my bloody job?”

I rubbed my chin. “You have a point. Instead of telling me about Poseidon, especially since I now know you slept with him…”

“There was no sleeping involved, Typhon. Happy? What other thing that’s none of your business do you plan to blackmail me with? Number of orgasms I had?”

“Definitely not.” My eyes scrunched. She had no hope of winning the battle she was waging. “I think it’s time you told me why finding Mithras is so important to you. Why is it personal, O? And before you tell me it’s also none of my business, keep in mind, after what happened in Sharm el-Sheikh, I can relieve you from this mission without batting an eye.”

She walked over to the windows and turned her back on me.

“Mithras intended to take you out, Jennifer,” I said, using her given name. “Is it personal for him too? What’s the connection between the two of you?”

“There isn’t one.”

“Pharaoh?” I knew I’d touched a nerve when she flinched. It was another name garnering much chatter and always in connection with Mithras.

“Where is the sonuvabitch?”

“Which one?” I asked.

“Both.”

I had her. She wanted answers as much or more than I did. It was my cue to leave. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk, and I’ll do the same.” I stood and went in the direction of the door before issuing my parting shot. “Until you’re ready to answer my questions, you’re on desk duty.”

It wasn’t just Oleander who had me at my breaking point. I hadn’t heard anything from the Countess, and the sources I had in Liverpool, where she was undercover, weren’t able to make contact either.

I’d been awake for over twenty-four hours and knew it would be several more before I could rest, so I shut everything down in my situation room and went for a walk.

Halfway to Claridge’s, where I was contemplating getting pissed, I felt someone watching me. With one hand on my gun, I ducked into the entryway of the next building I came to and surveyed the area. No one in particular stood out to me until I saw a woman heading in the same direction I’d been. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her, something I attributed to my lack of sleep.

While she kept walking, I studied her. She was tall and thin but also well-endowed, and her blonde hair appeared almost white when the sun shone on it. Her head was down, but I could see enough of her face to know she was pretty. It was the hunch of her shoulders, though, that brought out the protector in me. She carried great sadness.

As irrational as my anger was at O last night, my desire to catch up with this woman, ease her pain, and soothe her sorrow was more so.

My mobile vibrated in my pocket, thus saving me from racing after her.

The message I received from the Countess sent chills down my spine. EGGP1199. The first four letters signified the International Civil Aviation Organization’s designation for Liverpool. The numbers were code for agent in peril.

“What’s your twenty?” I asked Hornet when he answered my call.

“Five minutes outside London. In transit to Shere.”

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