Chapter 7

Something was wrong.And it wasn't just the emptiness in the pit of her stomach. The overwhelming desire to throw up. What Blair attributed as side effects from having to leave Walker after finally getting everything right. Finding that sense of homecoming she'd been looking for all her life.

Admitting she loved him, even if she'd only been able to put it to paper.

This was subtle. Like a muted alarm sounding in the operative part of her brain. Nothing concrete — just a scratching between her shoulder blades. Those hairs on her neck that kept prickling. Warning signs that something sinister was brewing. And she had a bad feeling she'd just walked willingly into a trap.

Blair stared out the window, taking in the palm trees blowing in the wind. How the clouds obscured all but a hint of the other islands, the ocean reflecting the gray tones in the sky. What looked to be a rare June thunderstorm brewing. Big storms didn't generally impact the main island until later in the summer, but if the incoming front was any indication of the inbound storm, Tortola was in for one hell of a light and sound show.

Maybe she was the reason for the unstable weather. A reflection of her mood. Because nothing about this mission felt right. From Montgomery's call in the middle of the night, to the fact she hadn't had any cell service the entire drive to Big Sky. Sure, coverage was spotty at best in the area, but not a single bar enabling her to send Gretta a text was odd. And why hadn't they simply left out of West Yellowstone?

Questions she wouldn't find the answers to while sitting in the plane as it taxied to the far side of the terminal. The start of what she hoped would be her last mission with MI6 — if Walker wasn't so pissed he simply shut the door in her face once the op was over.

Assuming, of course, she made it out of this assignment alive. A big ask when she'd been tasked with impersonating a major player in the weapons' trafficking front. A woman named Faye Carrington. The same arms dealer who Gretta had uncovered was the supplier to the terrorist cell she'd been investigating before her op had gone pear shaped, killing that MI5 agent, Chadwick McClaren — the reason she'd left MI6. According to the brief, in the months following that sideways mission, Carrington had been obsessed with furthering her reputation as the savviest and most dangerous arms dealer smuggling guns into the UK as fodder for the local gangs. A multimillion-dollar market MI5 had been trying to infiltrate for several months in the hopes of finally uncovering exactly who Faye Carrington was.

Which had proven impossible. Carrington was essentially a ghost. Only a handful of buyers and terrorist-cell leaders had ever actually met with her face-to-face, and no agency had managed to get so much as a grainy photo of her.

Then, a month ago, the MI5 agent who'd been watching the villa an informant had confirmed belonged to the illusive Carrington, witnessed what he believed to be Carrington's vehicle careen off the road — wrap itself around a few trees. Killing all three occupants on impact. It had taken two weeks and making a deal with a suspected terrorist being held in Belmarsh, to confirm the female body in the wreckage was indeed Carrington.

The kicker — no one other than SIS and the MI5 agent who'd witnessed the crash knew Carrington was dead.

That's where Blair came into play. Judging by the photo taken at the scene, Blair could have been her sister, and likely the reason Montgomery had been willing to put Gretta's freedom up for grabs. A justified offering considering the risk Blair was taking. If just one person recognized she wasn't really Faye, by either her looks, her mannerisms or simply the way she talked…

No need to outline how it would all go down.

Blair tucked the folder into the bag Montgomery had sent, along with some clothes and toiletry items. Proof the bastard had assigned someone to shadow her over the past couple days — maybe a week. She doubted it had been longer than that. Not with Corbin and Walker hanging around. Surely, one of them would have caught on, if not her or Gretta.

True, Blair definitely had tunnel vision where Walker was concerned. But it was unlikely the man sitting on the other side of the airplane would have gone unnoticed for more than a day or two.

Duncan Leland. The MI5 agent who'd been present at the crash. Who'd most likely spent the past couple months trying to get any kind of photo of the woman, only to be shipped off to Montana with orders to bring Blair back into the fold. In that same truck Walker had questioned.

Though, Leland didn't look like any MI5 agent Blair had ever worked with on the occasional joint missions between the two divisions. This guy was large, bulky, but moved like a wraith. No wasted energy. No sound. The way Corbin, Walker, and their teammates moved. What she'd equate to someone inside the Special Reconnaissance Regiment.

More likely, Leland had simply retired from there, then joined MI5. Better hours. Less risk. Though, if he'd been camping out in the rainforest, attempting to photograph Faye Carrington for a few months — while systematically following anyone who came or left the villa on the off-chance she was in the vehicle — he'd definitely been putting his life on the line. Which Blair hoped meant the guy would have her back.

She snorted at the thought. There were only three people she trusted to have her back, and they were all in Montana, probably cursing her name.

Blair glanced at the phone Montgomery had sent along. Leland had taken her personal cell as soon as she'd boarded the plane — stashed it until the op was over. Standard protocol considering they were heading directly to the infilsite. Personal devices were a security risk, and the last thing Blair needed was something that tied back to her real life. Maybe put Gretta or Walker on someone's shit list if her true identity was discovered.

She'd have to find a way to make it up to Gretta for disappearing without a trace. Explain how she'd tried to send one of their cryptic texts — give her sister a hint of what was happening — but the damn message hadn't gone through. And by the time she'd finally gotten a signal, she'd been jetting her way to Tortola.

Just more regrets to add to her ever-increasing list. The one that had leaving Walker scribbled over and over a few hundred times.

The plane shuddered to a halt and that Leland bloke immediately sprang to his feet. He had his briefcase in his hand and was at her side before she'd even unclipped her seatbelt.

Definitely not just an MI5 agent. Blair would stake her life on it.

He nodded, barely giving her enough space to stand without knocking into him. "Are you sure you're up for this, Agent Hughes? Because the moment we step off this plane, you're Faye Carrington. Any kind of slip up?—"

"I'm dead. I know the score. This isn't my first undercover assignment, as I'm certain you're aware. Just be sure you've got my back without outing me."

"Ma'am."

Blair studied the guy, but he simply stood there, calmly assessing her. And she got the distinct notion he wasn't impressed. Probably thought she wasn't fit to get the job done.

That little voice inside her head whispered its agreement. That after months away from active duty, she'd lost that razor's edge she'd always taken into a mission. The steel determination to prove she was worthy.

Another by-product of her time with Walker. He made her feel worthy simply by breathing. No silent judgment or odd looks. Just a smile and a nod as if he already knew she measured up.

Blair shook away the thoughts. Fit or not, she'd muster the strength to push through one last time. Especially with Gretta's reputation on the line. Hell, her life, because Montgomery hadn't been exaggerating when he'd claimed the blacklist was really an assassination lineup. More than one sullied agent in that file had gone missing, and Blair wasn't about to let Gretta's name get added to the ranks.

Which meant taking a deep breath, gathering her belongings, then holding her head high. Seamlessly slipping into her role of Faye Carrington as she exited the aircraft and made her way down the metal stairs, across the tarmac, and into the airport. She donned the wide brimmed hat Montgomery had included, aware it did more than just shade her face. That there were lights on half the brim that pixelated her features — made it nearly impossible to be identified by standard facial recognition software. Not that anyone should be looking for her. This mission was need-to-know only, and as far she was aware, no one other than Montgomery and Leland apparently needed to know. But Montgomery wasn't one to leave anything to chance.

Several minutes of maneuvering through customs and immigration — her fake passport barely drawing a glance — and they were heading for the exit.

Blair stopped outside the innermost washroom doors, nodding toward them before walking inside. Not that Leland would appreciate the unscheduled stop, especially when they were over an hour late after a delay trying to refuel in Florida, but she needed one more minute to get everything in her head straight. Get Walker out of it.

Leland muttered something about woman and how they were always going to the washroom — that he'd be waiting outside the terminal — as she rounded the corner and made a beeline for the sink. A splash of cold water eased some of the tension in her shoulders. Not completely, but there was always some inherent anxiety at the beginning of an op. Once they'd reached Faye Carrington's remote villa on the north side of Tortola, Blair would be one hundred percent engaged.

She stayed for a few more minutes, running over the details of her backstory one last time, then she shoved everything else down and made her way to the exit. Having to practically dive out of the way of a rambunctious family pulling a few carts toward the doors had her shaking her head — adjusting the cap when it nearly flew off her head. She took a deep breath, searching for Leland through the glass walls, only to spy him off to her right.

Was he talking to someone?

Blair shifted a bit, but the guy was clearly alone. No cell in his hand, just him staring straight ahead, his lips occasionally moving.

More burning between her shoulder blades, and she took a moment to discretely scan the airport — look for anything else out of place. There, over by the check-in counters. A man dressed in combat trousers and a navy tee — tattoos inked down both arms. Baseball cap tipped low, shading part of his face. But she'd caught him watching her. Not overtly, but even now, as she casually gazed out the windows, she saw him continually glancing her way in the reflection on the glass. His eyes just visible beneath the brim.

Did he have an earpiece — headphones maybe — because he was definitely talking to someone without holding a phone. Again, not overtly, but every several moments his lips moved just a bit— just like Leland's. As if agreeing with whatever had been said or noting her location. Maybe that he still had her in sight.

Blair focused back on Leland, matching his lip movement with the sod behind her, and damn if they didn't line up. Leland would nod, then say something, followed a second later by the other man.

There was always a chance they weren't talking about her, but she doubted it. Not when the mission had a strict radio silence order, other than the scheduled check-ins with Montgomery. None of which were supposed to happen until they reached the villa.

There was definitely something off. She just wasn't sure if it involved the entire op or if the men merely had a gig on the side — maybe running some of their own weapons. The one scenario that might not have her in the crosshairs as long as their two agendas didn't clash.

She considered heading back into the washroom, then seeing if she could shimmy out the window. Maybe walk out behind another woman. All she needed to do was find a landline she could borrow and call Walker. Regardless of how she'd left, she knew he'd have a solution. Hell, the guy would abscond with a plane and fly to the islands, himself, if needed.

Because Walker Pierce was one of the good guys.

Shit, she should have chanced waking him up. Even knowing she might not have had the nerve to leave, she could have trusted him to have her back. Maybe shadow her, just in case. And he would have done it. No questions. No doubts.

Or course, if this was the kind of setup her inner voice was warning her about, there was a good chance they would have killed Walker on sight. Leland knew what Walker looked like, and she had no doubts the man would have gone on the offensive if he'd caught so much of a glimpse of a threat.

Having Leland walk through the automatic doors and motion her out a second later, spoiled any plans she had of disappearing. Wiped them off the board. Because she'd never lose him, now.

Blair nodded, stepping to one side when a couple walked past — using the distraction to quickly spin her hat. Put all the lights at the back instead of masking her face. Not that anyone would know to look for her in Lettsome, but on the off-chance Walker or Gretta figured it out, she wanted to make it clear when she'd landed and who she was traveling with.

A nod at Leland, and she was moving in beside him. A smile and a glance over her shoulder — one long, direct gaze into the camera she knew was hidden in the upper corner of the far walls — and she'd done all she could.

Leland placed his hand on the small of her back, almost as if he knew she'd considered bailing on him, as he led her across the walkway and over to the parking lot. A white Suzuki chirped when he unlocked it several feet back, tossing her bag into the boot as he motioned to the passenger side.

Blair climbed in, angling the vanity mirror so it looked as if she was checking her face, all the while watching that arsehole in the cap trailing behind them. He climbed into an idling Kia, the windows too dark to see who was driving. But the fact it stayed beside the curb until Leland drove past was all the proof Blair needed that she'd been right.

The minutes ticked by as Leland made his way along the island, following a winding narrow road up the side of a steep hill. What passed as a mountain, here. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the first few raindrops splattering against the windshield.

Leland muttered something about the storm slowing them down before suddenly spinning the steering wheel — nearly sending the vehicle over the edge and down the steep drop-off. Blair grabbed onto the overhead bar, gripping until her knuckles blanched white as she stared at the non-existent shoulder, nothing but a few inches of gravel separating their tires from the edge.

"Bloody hell. The locals, here, are mental, always passing on blind corners." Leland gave her a small smile. "You good, ma'am?"

She nodded, afraid she might shriek if she tried to speak. That between the thunder and the rain, and the gravel ledge looking as if it was collapsing under the weight of the four by four, she'd be lucky to make it to the villa alive, let alone survive the next couple weeks.

Leland shook his head, still mumbling under his breath, as he waited for an opening in the traffic before pulling onto the road, some of that edge sloughing off down the side as they drove away. Blair stared out the window, fixated on the sheer drop-off, when the Kia appeared in front, idling at the curb. The guy with the cap hanging out the window as if he'd been checking for them.

His eyes widened as they drew close, and he slipped inside the car, closing the window, but not before Leland had passed them, giving Blair a clear view of the interior of the Kia — the face of the driver as he turned to shout at the other man.

Ice cold. That's what she was. Like her life had been before she'd found Walker — gotten a glimpse of happiness. But sitting there, looking into the driver's eyes — recognition slithering down Blair's skin — brought that desolate feeling back. The bastard had colored his hair, donned some geeky glasses and had a week's worth of growth covering his jaw, but it wasn't enough to fool her. Chadwick McClaren — the man Gretta had been accused of getting killed last year when she'd witnessed the sod taking a bribe from a member of that terrorist cell and had intervened contrary to her orders. The catalyst to everything that had happened, since.

The beginning of the end, and not just of Gretta's career.

Blair shifted in her seat, trying to put the pieces together, when Leland's phone vibrated. Not enough it made any sound, just a subtle buzz through her seat. What she might have attributed to the bumpy road or lingering thunder. Maybe the slap of the wipers as the rain kicked up, falling in a steady sheet.

She didn't react, using the reflections in the windows to follow Leland's movements — read the backwards looking text as it illuminated his screen once he'd angled his cell out of his pocket just enough to expose the face.

Hughes knows. Section 7 upon arrival…

God, she hated being right.

Not that knowing the mission was a setup answered all her questions. In fact, it raised more. Was Faye Carrington really dead? Were they setting Blair up to take the fall for some grand agenda? Make her look like a double agent, too? Because it made sense, assuming McClaren had been working with Carrington from the start. And that it was Oliver Poppy who'd falsified the records regarding McClaren's death.

Of course, uncovering the director's role had given McClaren everything he'd needed to slip into that position — start running the ring, himself. Except where Blair and Gretta were still alive — possibly the only two people who would recognize the bastard — altered appearance or not. That both of them could spot the guy like freaking Waldo in a warehouse full of other blokes. And if he'd had access to Blair's record, he knew she'd never let anything slide. That, once she'd returned to MI6, she would have started combing through those outlying records — gone hunting for any agents who'd been on the take but hadn't gotten caught when she'd cleaned house five months ago.

That it was only a matter of time before she discovered he was alive and came looking for him.

Which meant, she was a loose end he couldn't afford to leave alive.

The only wildcard was whether Montgomery was part of it. If he'd been dirty, all along and they'd missed it. Believed the lies he'd spun. All that "help" he'd given them. Or if the bastard was another pawn, like her. That maybe McClaren was setting up Montgomery to take a hit, too. Eliminate anyone who had even a chance of outing the ring.

It also meant Gretta was on their hit list. What might take out Corbin and Walker if they happened to be in the way. Exactly what Blair had been trying to avoid. Why she'd agreed to the insane mission to begin with.

McClaren's ultimate payback.

Having the Suzuki nearly tip when Leland hit a number of large potholes, a spray of mud and dirt coating the windows as he fought to regain control, brought everything into sharp focus. Either she found a way to escape before they reached the villa, or she was dead the moment they arrived.