Page 37 of Corrupt

I could’ve hugged him.

“Different department, I’m afraid, old boy.” Marcus lifted his Pimm’s. “Immigration and organised crime are more my wheelhouse these days.”

Of course they were.

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Still cleaning up the fallout from that big East London bust?”

Marcus’s expression cooled by a fraction. “Some loose ends. Some people who weren’t where we thought they’d be. The network is… resilient.”

Henry made a low noise and flicked his gaze towards me.

My stomach dropped.

“But that’s the job, isn’t it?” Marcus continued, oblivious. “Cut off one head, and two more snap back.”

Before I could steer the conversation somewhere less suicidal, a shadow stretched across the lawn. My father.

“Good luck,” Henry muttered, then drifted away with Amelia over to the food stations, abandoning me to my fate.

Because beside my father was Lord Wolfe.

Perfect.

Wolfe’s arrival drained the sound from the garden. Conversations thinned. People shifted, angling themselves towards him in practiced deference. Even the champagne bubbles seemed to hold their breath.

Me? I held my nerves.

“Marcus,” my father said warmly, “just the man Lord Wolfe wanted a word with.”

Wolfe’s smile was impeccable. Civil on the surface, cold beneath. “Home Office excellence.” He offered his hand. “Your briefings on the East London operation were… illuminating.”

Marcus squared his shoulders with pride. “Glad to be of service, my Lord.”

Wolfe’s gaze slid to me, softening in a way that scraped across my skin. “Tristan. Always a pleasure.”

Beside him, my father coughed into a handkerchief. Quick. Restrained. But not enough to hide the strain in his breathing. His skin was pale too. Rather odd for a man whose wife insisted he take holidays to the sun regularly, with a sunbed in the attic.

“You okay, Father?” I asked quietly.

He waved me off. “Just the heat.”

I glanced back at Wolfe. And regretted it instantly. He looked at me with such intent. Like an open book, flipping through my pages with idle curiosity. Then I caught sight of Henry being introduced to Grace Fairfax, daughter of the Governor of the Bank of England’s advisory board, and already head of a major art auction house straight out of her Cambridge master’s.

We were all being groomed by someone.

Wolfe turned back to Marcus. “This bust of yours, fascinating work. And timely. These organised outfits in East London have been far too comfortable for far too long.”

Marcus straightened. “We’re determined to correct that.”

Wolfe’s smile thinned to a blade. “As am I, and the ball…” he leant towards Marcus to lower his voice, but his hand grazed my back as he did, “—is, as they say, rolling.”

A cold ripple slid down my spine.

“Excuse me.” I stepped back. “I’ll leave you men to it. Conflict of interest, you understand.”

At least my job was good for something.

I slipped out while they turned to talk strategy, did my son-and-brother duties with Amelia and my mother, then made for the house to make a quiet escape. Unfortunately, Lord Wolfe had the instincts of a predator.