"So what, I'm just supposed to put her on the bench?"
"Redirect her efforts, perhaps. I won't go into the reasons for why you would want to comply with this request. I understand that your predecessor picked his battles."
Roger sat back then and folded his hands in his lap. "Lord Hale—"
I put up my hand to interrupt him gently.
"Please. You can just call me East or Mr. Hale. Lord Hale is my father."
"All right, Mr. Hale, then. I don't really care about your organization. You lot run around being London power brokers or whatever, and it doesn't affect me or influence me. I don't care. And I want to make it perfectly clear that I don't care how many times you invite me to the fancy inner circle. If you do something illegal, I will stop you. As long as there's nothing illegal happening, I don't care what you do. You can keep your organization secret. But, if I find out that you're stepping your toe out of line, I'm going to take the leash off Nyla, and I guarantee you, I have sixty more agents just like her.”
"Excellent, Roger, that's what I wanted to hear. Now, if you don't mind, reassign Agent Kincade to something, anything else so that she can focus less on our organization and move forward."
His gaze studied mine for a long moment. Assessing, as if trying to see what my angle was, what else I wanted. "And if I don't comply?”
I shrugged. "That's up to your boss's boss's boss to decide. I won't threaten you. I won't threaten your daughter. That’s not what I'm here for. I'm in essence asking for a favor. From a citizen who has done nothing wrong. I just don't want your daughter picking at things she has no business picking at only to find that, while nothing illegal is happening, she's unearthing centuries of long-buried secrets. And that knowledge could be potentially dangerous to her."
Nyla
I’d taken great care with my makeup that morning. It had been a little tricky to cover up the bruise along my cheek, but I just wore my hair down, styling it artfully to cover up most of the bruise and then taking care of the rest with makeup, so I didn’t have to get too heavy-handed.
What I couldn’t cover up was how I winced every time I had to walk. When I’d fallen, I’d taken a bump to my head, which was the kind of pain that most people only read about. Bone deep and jarring with every damn step. I couldn’t even stand to wear heels, so I’d slipped on some flats. But flats hardly felt like the body armor I was going to need. Obviously, it was a tough day because it was new assignments day. And my father, well, he wasn’t inclined to give me any choice pickings. God forbid he looked like he was playing favorites.
I dragged open the heavy glass door to the London Interpol Offices, ready to do the whole scan and swipe thing to get past security when I caught sight of the group gathered in the lobby and skidded to a halt.
My stupid fuckwit ex, Denning Sinclair, also known as the man who had stolen my job as Associate Section Chief, was playing prolonged tonsil hockey with his new love… whom Amelia had dubbed ‘the teenager’ on account of her being so damn young. She was some kind of graduate student. Just what I needed today.
The person who came behind me through the door cursed as he bumped into me, and I was shoved forward by his momentum.
“Oi. Watch where you’re standing.”
“Sorry.” I kept my voice low, because God help me if Denning heard me.
He had his hand on her ass, and I felt like I was going to throw up a little bit in my mouth.
But you don’t want him anymore, right?
I pulled my hair up, scraping it back off of my forehead and dragging it up into a bun at the top of my head. Then I remembered I had a bruise to cover, so I couldn’t even do the whole nonchalant, I-don’t-care hairstyle thing. I tugged my hair back down. It was better I not get asked why I was bruised. I’d done a decent job with the makeup, but my father would see through that.
God, you’re a mess.
I could do this. I could walk by them and give no shits. Not a single one. This was not going to hurt at all.
Lies.
Luckily, the lobby was crowded. People were milling about, deliveries coming in, couriers going out. It should be easy to mix into the crowd. So I tried that. Join the throng, make it past the barricades, ID out, swipe, swipe, hand over my bag for gate check and—
“Nyla?”
I forced out a slow, steady breath. “Sir.” I spat the word out like an epithet. The fact that he insisted on all of us calling him sir was such bullshit. A year ago, he’d been one of us.
Apparently, he’d been able to separate himself from his octopus of a girlfriend. I didn’t know how he’d managed it.
“Why are you in such a rush? Are you going somewhere?” His gaze narrowed, and he scanned my face. “What’s wrong with you?”
I injected a note of sarcasm into my voice. “No greeting, just ‘What’s wrong with you?’” I rolled my eyes. “Try this instead. Good morning. Now, you just repeat that.”
He sighed. “You don’t have to be so sensitive.”
“Not the
