Page 29 of Undercover Infidel
“Anything I can assist with?”
He shook his head. “Not necessary. We’ll regroup in the morning.”
The dismissal stung more than it should have. After our moment of connection in the tunnel, I’d thought perhaps the barriers between us were lowering. That no longer appeared to be the case.
As I climbed the stairs alone, disappointment mingled with doubt. The warning echoed in my mind—not everyone at Blackmoor is what they appear.
Not for the first time since arriving, I wondered how wise it was to trust Con Carnegie.
9
CON
Istared at my monitor, rage and frustration building as another trace program hit a dead end. For hours, I’d been trying to identify who from MI6 had attempted to breach my system, as well as the source of the threatening message sent to Lex. Everything I attempted had either led nowhere, the digital trails had looped back on themselves, or they had vanished entirely.
“Bloody hell.” I pushed away from my desk and rubbed my burning eyes. I’d worked through the night, fueled by coffee and the determination that, now, left me drained and no closer to answers.
My mobile buzzed with a message alert in response to a text I’d sent to Gus, not expecting to hear from him until a more reasonable hour. To my surprise, he’d replied immediately.
Tag and I on our way. ETA 30 min.
I texted back a confirmation and headed upstairs to shower and change. The cold water revived me somewhat, though my thoughts remained sluggish from toomany nights with either too little sleep or none whatsoever. By the time I returned to the ops hub, the two men were already on their way in.
“You look like hell,” said Tag.
“Good morning to you too, arsehole.” I gestured to the coffee station in the corner. “Help yourselves.”
“Did you sleep at all?” Gus asked, handing me a fresh cup.
“Someone attempted a breach. I’ve traced it to MI6, but that’s where it starts to loop,” I said rather than answer his question. As much trouble as I was having putting a coherent thought together, I wasn’t about to try to explain the real reason sleep had eluded me.
Tag’s eyebrows shot up. “Related to Lex?”
“Uncertain.” I took a long sip of coffee. “What’s happening with Nightingale?”
Tag’s face darkened as he sat in the chair opposite mine. “Still nothing. She’s gone completely dark, and Typhon won’t tell me a bloody thing.”
The tension in his voice caught my attention. Tag was typically unflappable, yet Leila Nassar had clearly gotten under his skin.
Before I could comment, Lex walked in.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked.
“Not at all,” I answered. “In fact, we could use your input.”
“What’s going on?” Lex sat in the chair near the workspace I’d set up for her. Just that very small thing made me happier than I’d felt in twenty-four hours.
“I’m concerned about Nightingale,” Tag began, reiterating what he’d just said about his inability to make contact.
“It seems likely that something that happened or that she found in Syria has made her a target,” Gus offered, leaning against a nearby console. “The question is, why did she leave that out of her briefing?”
“Fear?” Lex suggested. “Or perhaps she doesn’t trust the channels available to her.”
“Or she withheld information deliberately,” I added.
“Someone could have gotten to her,” Gus suggested.
Tag shook his head. “We’ve worked together for years. She knows she can trust me.”
