Page 11 of Code Name: Typhon

“No, I’d rather you hear this too. It’s about the cottage in Alfriston.”

“Go on,” I said.

He explained there was a stipulation in the title that stated the property could not be sold without approval from all the heirs. Other than my father, Niven and I were the only two.

“I assure you I have no interest in it whatsoever,” I said, leaning forward. “If you need me to have the solicitor prepare a document for me to sign stating such, I’d be happy to.”

“It might be a good idea, if you wouldn’t mind. Another thing you should know is that if he intended to sell, I could demand he deed it to me.”

I studied him. “Meaning he’d have to give it to you.”

Niven nodded.

Neither of us needed to say it out loud. This would not sit well with my father. In fact, I’d predict he’d do everything he could to circumvent the stipulations set forth in the title—legally or otherwise. A feeling of dread settled in the pit of my stomach.

I didn’t think Niven should give up his pursuit of ownership out of fear of my dad’s reaction; however, he was well aware that this would most likely result in a permanent estrangement in our already small family.

My eyes met his again. “I’ll back you on this, Niv.”

His nod was solemn. “You’re certain?”

“Yes.” If it came down to it, I would choose him over my parents.

Niv looked at his phone when it vibrated. “Ashford is here,” he muttered.

“Ashford?” I asked Harper when he got in the lift and the door shut behind him.

She shrugged, but who the man was didn’t matter. It was time for me to leave. Not just the apartment. I had to get the hell out of London.

I gathered my bag and sweater, and when my cousin returned, I approached him and the man with him. “Niven, if we’re finished with our discussion, I’ll say my goodbyes.”

“We are, for now. By the way, Decker, this is my cousin, Eliza. Eliza, meet Decker Ashford.”

“I’ll say hello and farewell at the same time.” I shook the man’s hand, then rushed forward to stop the lift door from closing.

Once in the lobby, I decided to walk to Claridge’s rather than search for a car for hire. Less than a block from my destination, someone exiting an apartment building on the other side of the street caught my eye. At first, I thought I was imagining things like I had with the Spaniard, but after looking twice, I knew I wasn’t. It was the mystery man I’d seen during my first night in town at the Fumoir.

Deciding fantasies were best left as such, I lowered my head, not wanting to know where he was headed. It didn’t matter. By tonight, I’d be back in Edinburgh, where I belonged.

5

TYPHON

It had taken two hours for the team in Sharm el-Sheikh to disarm the explosives affixed to Oleander’s yacht, then another twenty minutes for the report saying they’d lost two operatives—Frick “Zig” Ziegler and Drita “Qetë” Hoffman—to come from Z. Everyone else on board, Oleander included, were discovered alive and well in the safe room.

The combination of anxiety, lack of sleep, and a profound sense of relief turned into irrational anger. In my fury, I’d sent Oleander a message, ordering her to divert to London after learning she and the rest of the team were on a flight headed for Gatwick, arranged by Z.

When she arrived at her apartment at zero one hundred hours, I was there, waiting.

“What if I hadn’t arrived alone?” she snapped, setting her bag on the floor and slamming the door behind her.

I’d had it with her withholding information from me and went on the attack with what I knew was her biggest vulnerability. “I’m not surprised to hear you and Poseidon are?—”

“Stop…Right…Fucking…There.”

“Come now, O. You both almost died.” I sneered.

Her wounded stare undid me. The woman had nearly lost her life, along with several other agents. She didn’t deserve my ire right now. Later, yes, and then she’d receive it full force. I stood from her sofa, walked over, and embraced her.

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