Page 63 of Undercover Shadow
Not “see you in a few days.” Not the casual departure of an operative heading out for routine work.Goodbye.
I’d dismissed it at the time, too focused on maintaining distance between us, on not reaching for her the way every instinct screamed at me to do.
But the look haunted me now. The sadness in her hazel eyes, the set of her shoulders, the way she’d paused before walking away. What had I missed?
As evening settled over Glenshadow.I walked the corridors, checking systems that didn’t need to be. At one point, I stood outside her room. The door was closed, of course, no light shining beneath it. God, how I wished she were behind it.
No matter how many times I told myself she was fine, the hollowed-out feeling in my chest said otherwise.
I poured whiskey I didn’t drink, stared at maps I’d grown sick of looking at, and waited for a message that didn’t come.
I marked the passage of time by each chime of the clock on the mantel.
At twenty-one thirty, my mobile rang with a call from Typhon. My heart hammered as I lunged to answer it. “MacTaggert.”
“Tag, listen.” My breath caught when I heard an urgency to his words. “Nightingale and Vanguard infiltrated a gala Dalgleish hosted at Brodick Castle on the Isle of Arran?—”
“Arran? She’s supposed to be?—”
“I know what we told you. Viper and I...bent the truth. Nightingale came to us with time-sensitive intelligence. She knew you’d stop her from acting on it, and frankly, she was right. We made a judgment call.”
Every muscle in my body went rigid. “You lied to me.”
“We compartmentalized, and right now, that distinction doesn’t matter because her emergency beacon just activated. Her cover is blown, and MI6 backup support lost contact with her as well as Vanguard four minutes ago. I’m mobilizing now.”
My stomach dropped. “I’m already moving,” I said, grabbing my vest from the cabinet.
“MacTaggert, she came to me because?—”
“We’ll discuss how this happened after I fucking get her out,” I barked, ending the call. I pulled up emergency contacts on my phone and sent a group message.Code Icarus. Brodick Castle. Isle of Arran. Rally point follows.I hit send, broadcasting the emergency to every member of the team.
Responses came within seconds:
Con: Inbound. Arran ETA 25 minutes.
Ash: On our way. 22 minutes.
Archon: Approaching. Holding for orders.
Renegade: En route with Prima.
“Sir?” Douglas appeared in the doorway, gear already on, reading the situation with the instinct of a man who’d spent twenty years in special forces. “The helicopter will be here in four minutes.”
It wasn’t fucking fast enough.
But I nodded and finished my weapons check. My Glock was in my shoulder holster, my backup piece was secured at my ankle, and my knife at my belt. The pocket in my vest held extra magazines and comms equipment. I had everything I’d need to breach a medieval castle and extract an agent from hostile custody.
Not an agent—Nightingale. Leila. The woman I loved, who’d lied to my face earlier today.
She’d looked me in the eye and told me she was doing reconnaissance work. She even let me walk her out to the vehicle where Vanguard waited. Every word she spoke had been a calculated deception. Every moment planned to get around me.
Because she’d known I’d stop her. Known I’d refuse the op. Known I’d insist on going myself, or lock her down at Glenshadow—anything to keep her safe.
And she’d been right.
The thought sliced deep. She’d gone to Typhon and Viper because I couldn’t be trusted to put the mission first where she was concerned. Because of my promise to Idris, my fear of losing her, my inability to separate professional duty from personal terror—all of it made me a liability.
So she’d cut me out entirely.
