Page 69 of Ravens
“Very funny,” William says quietly.
“I’m not laughing.” I stare until his eyes meet mine in the mirror.
The Agency isn’t going to capture them and put them on the world stage and accuse Britain of breaking alliances—that’s not what they want. They’ll try to pump them for information that leads to me, because I’m their biggest threat, but I wonder if they even know that now that Russel is dead.
Did my secret die with him?
It could go either way. It could be in a file somewhere . . . on a drive. It’s better to assume they all know. Just because Russel is dead doesn’t mean his orders died with him.
We drive by the building, and I lean over Carter to peer out the window. The building across the street is under construction, getting a facelift apparently, so there is scaffolding up. That’s where they want me. I can’t be on the scaffolding, though; it’s too exposed. I’ll have to find an accessible window somewhere.
“What’s in that building?” My fingers start combing over my vest to check I have everything.
“Residential,” William says.
Great. A million potential witnesses to contend with on top of the fact that most of the place will be inaccessible. William is headed up to the roof of a building off the nearby square. It’s farther, but an easy enough distance for a sniper of his caliber; plus, it will give him a shot at any approaching backup that might come.
We drive around the block and park at the curb, where York slides out first and pulls my gear from the trunk, handing me the soft case that I sling across my back as if it were a guitar. I don’t look discreet, and as the clock ticks toward the end of a usual business day, I have to get off the street before it gets busy.
“Be careful,” he says, closing the trunk. “I need you to exfil as agreed. I need you to be at the meeting point. Do you understand?”
“You’re very good at saying a lot without saying a lot.” I look into his eyes, and neither one of us is smiling. “How much do you reallyneedanything from me?”
His brows pinch together as he stares at me, and it makes him look younger, vulnerable. All the things flitting through his mind, I can see them. All his thoughts are a flash on his face. I imagine he’s wondering if I’m dense.How can anyone be so clueless to emotions? Does she really not understand me? Has she not believed a single thing I’ve told her? How can I make her trust what I’ve said?
I’m not dense. I believe and understand him more every day.
I just don’t feel the same . . . not yet. I don’t see the same ending as him.
He grabs the collar of my vest and jerks me forward. “I’m tired of explaining myself to you,” he grumbles a few inches from my face. “I’ve said plenty. You’re not the one out on the limb, Theresa.”
The horn honks, and he lets me go, walking back to his door and disappearing into the car before it pulls away from the curb.
He’s right. In his own way, he’s been candid with me, and I envy his certainty and how well he knows himself. I’m inherently less reliable. Although I find myself constantly stealing glances at him, wanting to be near him, enjoying his company at night and talking to him, for what little gets said of consequence, but I fear that may change on a whim.
York wants to love me. I want to be loved. I want to love him, but I’m not sure I can.
The only way I know how to manage that is by deflecting and being difficult. By making it about sex. We’ve been around each other for such a short time, and half of that I spent fearing he was just going to kill me when I outlived my usefulness. That feeling isn’t completely gone, although perhaps that concern is something I’m feeling about everyone except him now.
Still . . . hard to know my head or my heart when this began the way it did.
I hurry up the street and slip the heavy-duty magnet from my tac vest, sticking it to the black metal door on the side of thebuilding and sliding it toward the edge until it clicks. I pull it open and remove the magnet as I slip inside.
The stairwell has windows on every floor, but as I suspected, they don’t open. William expects me on the scaffolding about ten stories up, but I’ll be damned if I get caught out there in the open like that.
Moving my ass, I jog up the stairs until I reach the top where the roof access door is located. It isn’t locked, so I pass through. It’s a bit windy but not unmanageable, and I cross the roof to where it looks over our target.
I shuck the case off and begin setting up the rifle. It only takes a few minutes, and then I’m on the ledge, perusing the scene around me through the scope. This position is not ideal for the Agency building, but when I shift and swing the gun forty-five degrees, I have a perfect view of William’s nest. He’s not in position yet.
I sit, cradling the rifle in my arms as I rest my elbow on my knee and look down at the street. There isn’t any foot traffic in or out of the Agency building. The brownstone is only five stories high, with several large windows across the front of the main floor and then smaller, regular windows at regular intervals on the other floors.
Mostly the blinds are drawn in the windows, blocking my view into the building, but there are a few open. At this angle though, all I can see is the shitty tile floor. I take stock without the scope, sweeping my eyes along the road and sidewalk. Theexplosion won’t be too near, so it’s not a direct and obvious threat, but it will be near enough that it gets their attention.
If it’s too close, it will just create chaos and possibly force them into lockdown. They could lock down either way, though. Raising the rifle, I check William’s position again and see him striding out across the roof. His building sits lower than mine, giving him a better line of sight, but then again, I’m not supposed to be up this high.
I watch him set up and lie on his stomach, shouldering the rifle and looking around.
“Radio check.” William’s voice crackles in my ear.
