Page 66 of Undercover Shadow
“Coincidence?” His tone said he didn’t believe in those any more than I did.
“Not sure yet.” I touched his arm, feigning affection while my fingers found his pulse point—rapid but controlled. “It is disconcerting.”
“We should consider extraction,” he murmured against my hair.
“Not yet. I need to know what Dalgleish knows.”
Our host returned a few moments later, his silver hair catching the chandelier’s light. He wore the same smile, but something in his eyes had shifted. The warmth had vanished, leaving behind the look of a man recalculating the odds. MacLeod must have signaled him somehow.
“Ms. Moore, it occurred to me that you might be interested in seeing a few of the pieces I’ve installed in the castle’s private gallery. They are available only to the most discreet collectors.”
The invitation sounded casual, but his body language screamed trap. His weight had shifted to the balls of his feet, ready to move. His right hand stayed close to his jacket, where a shoulder holster would sit. Behind him, I counted three men in servers’ uniforms who’d stopped circulating with their trays.
Vanguard’s hand tightened on my elbow. He felt the shift in the room’s temperature as I had.
“What a kind offer.” I forced warmth into my voice while my mind ran through the escape routes. The main entrance was forty feet away through a crowd. The terrace doors were closer, but MacKenzie still lurked there. The service corridor might work if we moved fast enough. “Perhaps another time.”
“I insist.” Dalgleish gestured toward the archway where I’d first spotted MacLeod, then grasped my arm with more force than necessary. “This way.”
Vanguard’s hand fell away from my elbow as Dalgleish yanked me forward. Behind us, I heard a brief scuffle—a grunt, the meaty sound of impact, then something heavy hitting the floor. They’d separated us, and from what I’d heard, not gently. I caught a glimpse of one of the fake servers wiping blood from his knuckles as he rushed by us alone. Vanguard’s blood, most likely.
I tracked the footfalls coming from behind us. The gait was wrong for servers—too balanced, too ready. These were soldiers.
Dalgleish stopped at a heavy wooden door located in an area where the corridor grew darker as it narrowed. Medieval torches provided the only light, their flames casting shadows on the stone walls. When he turned to face me, his expression switched to sinister.
“Ms. Moore.” He practically seethed. “Or should I say, Agent Nassar?”
“You’re mistaken.”
One set of footsteps behind me stopped.
“Come now, lass.” MacLeod’s words were heavy, weighted with reluctance. “We both know that’s not true.”
Our eyes met for a moment, and I saw regret there, but also determination. Whatever had brought him here, he’d made his choice long ago.
Ian MacKenzie emerged from the shadows behind MacLeod, his expression cold and calculating. “We’re wasting time. An extraction team could arrive at any time.”
“They won’t.” Dalgleish’s confidence was absolute.
I calculated exits, distances, and odds. One corridor stretched behind me with MacKenzie and MacLeod blocking it. Dalgleish stood in front, and an unknown number of other adversaries lurked nearby. I had no good options for escape. My weapon remained strapped to my thigh, but even if I could reach it, I’d be dead before I could raise it to shoot.
“Where is Mr. Sutherland?” I asked.
“Your partner is being dealt with,” said Dalgleish, confirming my suspicion. “Mr. Sutherland—or should I say Morse?—won’t be joining us. He’s currently unconscious in a storeroom, though whether he stays that way depends entirely on your cooperation.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Nothing permanent yet.” Dalgleish’s cold expression never changed. “But head wounds can be so unpredictable. Without proper medical attention in the next hour or so…”
He let the threat hang between us.
My hand moved toward my clutch. If I could just trigger the beacon?—
“Dinna do that, lass.” MacLeod’s voice carried a warning.
But I was already moving. I made the choice in a heartbeat, finding the small bump through the silk and leather. When I pressed hard with my fingertip, the device gave the slightest vibration, and I knew the signal had been sent. As I triggered it, I let my clutch fall to the floor with the clasp open so our backup team from MI6 would at least know the location I’d sent the alert from.
“What did you just do?” Dalgleish lunged forward, but MacLeod was faster.
