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“Will you lie with me?”
“Of course, Bex.” I kicked off my shoes and stretched out beside her.
I opened my arms, and she rested her head on my chest. “You said you’d be with me until I no longer needed you.”
“That’s right.”
“What if I need you forever, Cay?”
“Then, that’s how long I’ll stay.”
The following morning,half of our team left Gozo via two helicopters. A private jet was waiting on the main island of Malta to take us the rest of the way. Z, Nem, Ares, and Delfino were among those returning to the UK with Bexli and me. She and I talked late into the night, and after my repeated assurances that no one other than those working the mission would know she was in Shere, she agreed to return to the village where we both grew up.
Her mother hadn’t worked for my parents for many years, and given the estate now served as a high-security command center, the regular staff had been reduced—those given leave received full pay, of course. The remaining employees were vetted by none other than SIS.
Poseidon, Oleander, Zeppelin, and Magnet led another group staying in Malta. They would remain for an indeterminate amount of time to both wrap up the investigation on Gozo, then move to the main island to dive deeper into Xavier Vella’s inexplicable involvement following Bexli’s escape, as well as to figure out why Charlene Vella-Borg and Francesca Vella were being given diplomatic immunity, particularly from the US.
Several people who’d worked for Mithras’ operation at the villa and who had been taken into custody the night of the raid remained incarcerated. Once the interrogations were finished, the two guards we’d captured during the beach shootout were also put in jail.
Z was working on extraditing them and Vella-Borg. While the UK and Malta had a reciprocal extradition agreement in place, we’d first have to prove the crimes committed should be prosecuted in our jurisdiction rather than Malta’s. That would be easier to do with the guards, given we lost two MI5 agents in the gun battle. It remained a long shot even with them, particularly given we didn’t have much to bargain with. To Z’s knowledge, there were no Maltese nationals currently in custody in the UK who we could offer in trade.
Puck would be returning with us as well. I hoped that once we were on the plane traveling to London, he and I would have a chance to talk about Vulcan’s and Beak’s deaths. I spoke with Z briefly about making arrangements for trauma counseling for him. It didn’t surprise me to hear Puck had turned down the offer.
As Z had said yesterday, Oleander was “fit to be tied” over not capturing Mithras. His whereabouts, along with determining Pharaoh’s identity as well as figuring out who else the two may be working with—if our theory about the acronym for the corporation proved correct—would be the coalition’s primary mission once we returned to England. In fact, those who hadn’t traveled with us to Malta were already working on it.
At some point in the very near future, Bexli would need to be questioned about her ordeal. If I hadn’t pushed back, requesting we wait until she was more stable, Nem would’ve insisted we conduct the interview before departing Gozo. I knew she didn’t like my intransigence; however, Z concurred with my opinion that we should wait. And, while Nem reported directly to Marchand and the UN, she had enough respect for the MI6 chief not to go above his head.
“Would you like to make use of the stateroom on our flight?” I asked once Bexli and I boarded the plane that would transport us to the UK.
Her eyes opened wide, she wrapped her arms around her midsection, and she shook her head.
“How about we sit here instead?” I said, pointing to two seats on the right side of the aircraft.
“I’d prefer it.”
I raised the armrest between us and helped her get buckled in once we’d taken our seats. Bex had always been independent, far more so than even me. I worried I was overstepping in my care for her, but she hadn’t asked me to back off. In this case, I’d rather err on the side of too much than too little.
“Cay?”
“Yes, Bex?”
“You haven’t asked much about Moretti.”
“To be honest, I’ve hesitated intentionally.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve been through the metaphoric wringer, my darling.”
She turned, looked out the window, and didn’t immediately respond. Eventually, she turned back toward me. “Wouldn’t questioning me aid in finding him? Or at least provide some clues?”
I smiled. “Your bravery astounds me. Once we’re in Shere, I’ll let the team know you’re ready to talk about your ordeal.”
“Good.” At that moment, I saw a shift in Bex. It was as though she took several steps toward returning to the woman I’d known—and loved—most of my life. My relief was immeasurable.
It wasn’t long after she rested her head on my shoulder that her breathing evened out, and I knew she was asleep. Rather than worry about waking her by moving, I sent Nem a message.
Bex is ready to talk, it said.
