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There’s an arrow pointing to another name:
Callen.
“Shit,” I mutter.
A clock on the wall chimes to let me know my time is almost up. I haven’t learned much about the Dukes’ clients, but I have my own questions. Who is Vincent, what is his connection to Callen, and why was Freddie tracking the black cab that saw us the night I disappeared?
I hurriedly put everything back where I found it and scamper through the opening. As soon as I swing the fireplace door closed, the panel slides from the floor into its normal position. Neat, but I can’t stick around to admire their architecture. I fly down the sets of stairs. As I approach the living room, a floorboard creaks. It’s not the sound an old house makes in the wind. There’s weight behind it.
“Callen?” I call. He’s the type of man who stomps and declares his presence. No response. “Pippy?”
I don’t have any weapons on me, but I move cautiously. Pippy whines from another room, and her collar jingles as she runs away. When I turn the corner, a familiar figure confronts me.
“Tweedledee?” I look him up and down. He’s panting. His entire face is beet red, and he scans the room for signs of life. “What’re you doing here?”
“Where are they?” he grunts.
His eyes are wild. From a glance, I can tell he’s lost control of his emotions. His grief has compromised his judgement.
I stay calm. “How did you find me?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he snarls. “Where are they, Ivy?”
From the way his jeans crease and his jacket pockets bulge, he’s armed. Guns, knives, and likely enough firepower to take down the entire street. Has he forgotten we’re supposed to be inconspicuous or that he’s breaking another crucial principle? Nothing can jeopardise the mission of another agent.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I remind him. “I still have twenty-four hours.”
“I don’t care about the fucking club!” His throat is hoarse from desperate anguish. I recognise it. It’s how I felt after Daisy died. I was too weak to leave my hospital bed, but my thirst for revenge was stronger than anything I’d experienced before.
I see now why Alaric made me wait to start ticking names off my hit list and sent me overseas. Tweedledee is blind to reason. When your feelings run rampant, your other senses dull. Alaric tasked me with completing this job. A loose cannon like him threatens everything.
“You need to leave, Tom.” I use his real name for the first time—well, what I assume is his real name. You can never be sure. “If the club finds out you’re here, there will be consequences.”
I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, but it’s his last chance. If he has slipped out of HQ undetected and returned quickly, he stands a chance at keeping his job. I’ve only heard about one other agent who broke their oath. He revealed his identity and went rogue. He met his end in a furnace.
“I understand how you’re feeling,” I say, daring to step closer. “But this isn’t how we do things. You need to leave this to me.”
“Leave this to you?” He draws his gun and levels it at me. “I don’t think so.”
No way, Josephine! Nobody points a gun barrel at me, agent or not. Now I’m pissed. We circle each other.
“How do you know Frederick James?” he demands. “Why did he want to protect you?”
They’ve identified Freddie. Do they know about Seb and Callen, too? Did Bram break his silence, or did Penelope’s sleuthing unveil their identities?
“If Stephanie and Alaric trust me, that should be enough.” My eyes narrow. “Put down your fucking weapon, or we’ll have a real problem.”
“Where are they?” Tom doesn’t lower his weapon. The fucker raises it at my head instead. “Are they here?”
“They’re not here.”
“I don’t believe you,” he sneers. “You’re protecting them.”
“Why would I do that?” He’s getting on my last nerve. “This is my mission. Killing them now is not part of the plan. I need more information first.”
“I don’t care about information!” He clicks the safety off. “I care about putting bullets in them. They killed Aaron! Don’t you get that? If you stand in my way, I’ll shoot you.”
His eyes dart around, presumably searching for a massive man crouched behind the sofa or hiding behind a curtain, and I take my split-second chance. I hurtle across the room and knock him to the ground. The element of surprise catches him off-guard. I don’t want to kill him—maim him perhaps—but I will if I have to.
