The Witness
Maggie Black Case Files #2
Jack McSporran
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 1
London, Great Britain
20 September
* * *
Maggie Black leapt from the edge of the rooftop and flew through the air.
Below, boats passed through the canal, carting tourists around the crowded city as they snapped pictures with excited fingers.
A shooting pain travelled from her feet and up through her tired legs as she landed hard on top of the next building, muscles twitching and aching in complaint. Maggie grit her teeth and continued her chase. The killer couldn’t get away.
Quickening her pace, Maggie jumped across the gap. But instead of reaching the next rooftop, the buildings faded into shadows and she found herself plunged into the ice-cold water of the lagoon. Rope bound her to a wooden post in the darkness. The tide was rising, inching closer and closer to her face, ready to devour her.
And Leon.
“I love you, Maggie.”
From the murky, bone-chilling water, to the hot jets of a double shower, Maggie leaned into Leon as he kissed her neck, the rush of almost dying setting fire to the passion that had simmered between them since the mission began.
Steam rose around them and washed away the image, reforming in the bed where they spent hours beneath the sheets, lost in complete ecstasy with a need that couldn’t be sedated.
Faces flashed in Maggie’s mind. Two dead crime bosses. One with a bullet hole in his throat, the other stabbed in the back. A dead undercover agent, shot point blank after being discovered. A British drug dealer. And Angela Rossi, the woman behind it all.
The roar of an engine filled her ears. Wind whipped across Maggie’s hair.
“Closer,” she urged Leon, holding a detonator in her hand.
The speedboat rushed through the lagoon, the waves causing the boat to bob up and down as they crashed through the water, leaving a track of white foam behind them.
Maggie pressed the button on the device, and the boat they were chasing—Angela’s boat—exploded.
A blast of heat rushed over her face, and Maggie sat up in her bed.
She blinked and looked around her bedroom back in London. The sun crawled over the walls, and she turned to her bedside table to see that it was just after six in the morning.
A wave of nausea coursed through her from the boat chase, making her head spin.
No, not the boat chase. That was two months ago now.
The nausea was something else.
Getting up, Maggie stumbled to the bathroom, disorientated from her dream, and dropped to her knees by the toilet. Her body convulsed, and she retched, reaching the bowl just in time. Maggie stayed there for some time, arms hugging the bowl as her stomach emptied itself for the third morning in a row.
Sweat beaded her forehead and she fell back to rest against the corner of the bathtub, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She closed her eyes until her head stopped spinning, letting the feeling pass before she tried to get up.
On her feet again, Maggie leaned over the sink and ran the cold water. She splashed it over her face and neck, avoiding the mirror. Her blond hair hung in a curtain over her face, tousled from another restless night of troubled dreams.
Maggie dabbed her face dry with a towel and flushed the toilet, plopping down on the closed lid. Her eyes drifted over to the plastic bag sitting by her toiletries. She’d purchased the item a few days ago, but hadn’t quite mustered the courage to use it yet.
A tremor shook her hands, and Maggie tucked them into her folded arms. She wouldn’t show fear. Not even to herself. Still, she worried at her lip as she debated her next move.
Eight weeks had passed since her mission in Venice. It felt longer than that in some ways, yet in others it seemed like only yesterday.
With their mission accomplished, she and Leon spent the rest of the week in the sinking city like a pair of newlyweds, barely taking the time to come up for air as they made the most of their temporary reprieve from life as secret agents.
Maggie’s heart panged at the thought of him. Of his infectious smile and comforting presence. The way he looked at her with his dark, honest eyes. Of his touch and the way he’d found all the places that made her moan.
She gave herself a shake.
Leon was away on a new assignment now, off to some undisclosed location doing something classified for the good of Queen and country.
Maggie had just gotten back from a quick job in Dublin herself, taking out an IRA radical before he left Ireland to meet up with a militia group in the Middle East. The job went smoothly, even with the queasiness that had followed her around like a stalker on the prowl, ready and waiting for her every morning without fail.
She stole another glance at the bag, a pit of dread forming in her stomach. Maggie sighed and reached for the bag, pulling out the box within, and reading the instructions on the back. It was a straightforward process.
Maggie opened the box and looked inside, her fingers trembling. She closed the box.
It could wait another day.
Another day of wondering, of biting her fingernails and thinking about nothing else. Another day of not knowing.
Before she could change her mind, Maggie took out the contents and tossed the box in the bin under the sink. For a little stick made mostly from plastic, it was terrifying. The weight of what it might reveal turned her already queasy stomach.
Taking the cap off the top, Maggie proceeded with the unglamorous process required to learn the answer to the question she couldn’t even vocalize.
She had visited her best friend, Ashton, the day before, yet couldn’t bring herself to admit her suspicions. Saying the words out loud would make it real.
Replacing the cap when she finished, Maggie placed the test down by the sink and waited.
And waited.
Her palms grew clammy.
She hadn’t paid much attention to the lull in her usual cycle, putting it down to the stresses of the job. Her body never ran in a normal monthly routine anyway, not even back when she was a teenager.
In the months before Venice, Maggie had neglected her prescribed little white pill. Her social life was non-existent thanks to her work. Hopping from one place to the next without a word to anyone didn’t exactly do wonders for a girl’s love life. Not that she’d had any recent interest in one.
At least, not until she saw Leon again.
Maggie got up and paced around on bare feet, walking into her bedroom and checking the time.
Three minutes felt like three hours.
A buzzing vibrated by her bed and she almost reached for the gun she kept under her pillow, every inch of her tense and on edge.
She sighed, and placed a hand on her chest as she collected her phone, heart drumming with anticipation and dread.
“Bishop.” Her boss was the only one who’d call that early.
“Morning, Maggie. I hope I haven’t woke you.”
Maggie ran a hand through her hair. “No, I was up.” She glanced over her shoulder to the bathroom. “What’s going on?”
Bishop sipped on something at his end, a morning cup of tea no doubt. “We have a situation. I need you to come in as soon as possible.”
A jolt of pani
c coursed through her. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is it Leon?”
“What?” Bishop asked, surprise in his voice. “No, no, he’s fine. I need you on a new assignment. I’ll tell you more when you get here.”
Maggie’s shoulders dropped, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to calm herself down. “Okay, give me an hour.”
“See you then.” Bishop hung up without waiting for a goodbye.
The room grew silent again, and Maggie noted the time.
The three minutes were up.
She returned to the bathroom on hesitant feet and readied herself for the result. Maggie peered down at the little plastic stick. Two blue lines stared up at her.
She was pregnant.
Chapter 2
Maggie reached the Unit headquarters in a blur, too lost in her troubled thoughts to take notice of how she got there.
Swiping her security pass at the doors of the five-story office building, masking as a stationery supplier named Inked International, she carried on past the foyer in a daze, not saying hello to anyone, and travelled up the elevators to her boss’s office.
Like always, Brice Bishop waited for her in the hallway when the doors pinged opened.
“Maggie,” he said, placing a paternal hand on her back and leading her into his office. “Thank you for coming in.”
“No problem.” Maggie kept her leather jacket on, unable to scare away the chill that enveloped her. It was cold outside, and any residual heat from the two weeks of sunshine they called Summer had up and left weeks ago.
Bishop held up a teapot adorned with the British flag on the sides, steam escaping from the spout. “Tea?”
“Yes, please,” said Maggie, taking a seat at the conference table.
Bishop had chosen a navy suit for the day, the tailoring impeccable on his frame. For a man in his late fifties, he was in great shape, still making sure to stay fit having left the field as an agent years ago to sit behind a desk and lead the Unit. Even his chestnut hair was kept army regulation short from his days in the military.
Fixing her tea just the way she liked, milk and no sugar, Bishop sat across from her and slid the mug over the table.
Maggie cupped the mug and let the heat seep into her hands.
“Is everything all right?” asked Bishop, his own mug hovering by his lips as he took her in, a little crease forming above his brow.
“Just tired, that’s all,” she lied, fixing her face into a smile. She should have known Bishop would spot something was wrong; he knew her too well by now. Their eleven years working together, four spent training Maggie and seven with her as an official agent, cemented an intimate knowledge of each other’s emotions, their little ticks and tells easily identified. She focused and hid her racing mind behind a cool façade.
Bishop studied her for a moment with his piercing brown eyes before getting back to business. “You can get some sleep on the plane.”
“Where am I going?” asked Maggie.
“New York City.”
It had been a while since Maggie spent time in the United States. When it came to covert intelligence work, the American’s were at the top of their game, having no need to ask for help from their British allies unless the situation impacted both nations.
Maggie sipped her tea, a nice English breakfast blend that made her stomach rumble for something nice to go with it. She placed her hand over her belly and fought the swell of emotion that grew inside her.
Recovering quick to avoid further suspicion from Bishop, Maggie gave herself an internal shake. “What’s the situation?” she asked.
Bishop gave a little laugh, though Maggie didn’t miss the thinning of his lips.
“I’m not quite sure, actually.”
Maggie frowned. “What?”
“It’s all very hush, hush.” Bishop shrugged and laced his fingers together. “The Director left orders for me to send you across the pond where you’ll be briefed.”
For a moment, Maggie just sat in confusion. She couldn’t recall another time where Bishop wasn’t briefed on an assignment. He oversaw the running of the Unit, and the agents within it, which meant he knew about all the missions the intelligence agency were allocated from Director General Helmsley and other higher ups. Given the strict and covert nature of the Unit, sometimes agents weren’t cleared to discuss their jobs with their colleagues. Being that they didn’t technically exist, everything was on a need-to-know basis to avoid any leaks from spilling out into the public domain. Bishop was the only one who knew about everything going on. At least, he was supposed to.
Maggie sat up in her chair, tea abandoned now. “Why haven’t you been briefed?”
“It’s above my pay grade, it seems.”
Part of her rigorous training in the early days involved lessons on reading people, a vital part to succeeding out in the field and in ensuring you came back alive. But Maggie didn’t need a degree in behavioral psychology to see how much Bishop bristled at not being deemed to have high enough clearance to be privy to the job at hand.
“What do you know?” she asked. Bishop should have been told something, at least. If only to know who best to send on what seemed to be a highly-classified mission.
Bishop leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Only that it concerns a key witness to something important, and that the mission is of the highest priority. Apparently, our national security is at a major risk and the Director wants my best agent on it as soon as possible.”
Even after all the years she’d worked under him, Bishop’s praise in choosing her for the job still invoked a sense of pride in Maggie. She’d worked hard during her time as an agent, never turning down an assignment or giving up and coming home when things got rough.
But could she accept the mission now?
Any job, especially something as important as the one presented to her, required immense focus. A dedicated drive that didn’t allow for any distractions, anything that could get you or others hurt or killed. Sure, there were curveballs and interruptions from time to time. Having to work with Leon in Venice complicated things, their rocky relationship and undeniable draw to each other an extra hurdle to overcome.
That was nothing compared to what Maggie was faced with now.
If she refused to go, she would need a good reason for doing so. Maggie may be a good liar, but Bishop had already noticed something was up, and he wouldn’t simply accept whatever story she could come up with. Especially given that she’d never refused a job before. They had butted heads a few times on how best to approach a mission, but even in those times Maggie found a way to make things work by using her own initiative to get the end result they both wanted.
Turning down the job meant telling Bishop she was pregnant.
She wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t ready for any of it.
Maggie wasn’t a doctor, but she was certain she was in shock. Having a child was never part of her plan, never something she allowed herself to think about for too long.
Given the nature of her job, not to mention the numerous dangers that came with it, meant a normal life wasn’t an option for her. It was major reason why things never worked between her and Leon, their lack of stability and never-ending trips around the world didn’t allow for anything even remotely close to a normal life.
Neither of them could guarantee they would make it home safe.
Agents died, a lot.
It was part of the job, a risk each member of the Unit was more than aware of and had to accept in order to do what they did. It was a sacrifice they chose, a willing toll to pay for the greater good, doing what others could not to keep the people of Britain safe.
Adding a baby to the mix just wouldn’t work.
Maggie couldn’t be a mother, preparing packed lunches and doing the school run. Attending sports days and parent-teacher nights. Plenty of women were more than able to successfully sustain a thriving career while still being a good parent, but Maggie wasn’t attending board meetings
and looking over spreadsheets. Wet work was a bloody business, and didn’t tend to allow you to be home in time to put your kids to bed and read them a bedtime story.
Perhaps one day, if she graduated to a desk job like Bishop had, she could consider starting a family. Even then it was touch and go. Bishop’s daughters barely spoke to him now, a result of the messy divorce he and his ex-wife June dragged them through. Agents were married to the job.
Maggie refrained from tapping the table, gripping her mug as she ran over her options.
If she told Bishop now, she would have to tell Leon as soon as she could. As the father, he deserved to know before her boss. Before anyone.
With Leon out on assignment, she couldn’t reach him until he returned. Not without telling Bishop why she needed to break protocol and reach out to him while he was on a job. If she couldn’t tell Leon first, then she wouldn’t tell anyone.
Her mind brushed against another option. Would she tell Leon at all?
If she wasn’t planning on keeping the baby, would Leon even need to know?
Maggie shoved that thought back as quick as it arrived.
It was too much. Too soon.
She didn’t know what she was going to do about it. About anything.
Taking a prolonged drink of her tea, she made the decision. All of it could wait until she came back. She’d deal with it when she returned. Besides, whatever was going on with the mission was clearly a matter of urgency. If her skillset was needed, then she would give all the help she could, just as she had always done.
“When do I leave?” she asked Bishop.
“A car is waiting outside to take you to the airport.”
Maggie pushed her chair back and got up. “I’ll need to stop at my apartment for a few things first.”
“Already taken care of,” said Bishop with an apologetic smile. “Someone will be waiting at the airport with your things.”
The Witness Page 1
