It couldn’t have been further from the truth. Isabella was loyal to her government and her cause to the very end, planting the bomb in Angela’s boat before attending the meeting in one last heroic act before her life ended too soon.
Maggie acted like she thought Isabella was the one behind the murders when she first turned up at the cemetery, needing to fool Angela into thinking they weren’t onto her. Isabella had slipped the detonator to Maggie while Angela revealed her motives, allowing Maggie to end things with the press of a button.
It was a small consolation, but at least Isabella had completed her mission before she died, even if she didn’t get to see it herself.
“I’ll let her people know how key she was to the success of the mission,” said Bishop after she outlined the details. “You did good, Maggie. You both did.”
“Thanks,” she said, not quite able to celebrate.
“Take a few days before reporting back. You deserve it.”
They said their goodbyes, and Maggie hung up.
She padded over to Leon on bare feet. “Mission accomplished,” she said.
Leon pulled her close and leaned his chin on her shoulder, her rear rubbing against his groin. “Part of me doesn’t want to go home.”
Maggie tilted her head back and ran her hands over Leon’s strong arms which clung around her waist. Neither of them said anything about their relapse. They didn’t have to. It hung over them like a little dark cloud amid the sunshine. Their time together couldn’t last forever.
The weekend in Venice didn’t change their complicated relationship. At the end of the day, they were still agents, each more than aware of the instability and erratic nature of their lives.
It was a pipedream to think their lives would ever slow down enough—become stable enough—for them to be together. It was a dream, but it was one they didn’t have to wake up from just yet.
“We don’t have to go home,” Maggie said, turning to face him. “Not for a few days, at least.”
A smile tugged at Leon’s lips. “I can get onboard with that.”
He leaned down and kissed her, and Maggie lost herself in his embrace. The future wasn’t certain, but she focused on the present. On the man she loved, and the beautiful city surrounding them.
Reality could wait.
For now, they were simply two lovers in one of the most romantic getaways in the world, and Maggie intended to make the most of it.
Chapter 17
Eight weeks later…
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 through 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 five 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, despite 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 little 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 vis
ited 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 panic 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.
Want to find out what happens next? Find out in THE WITNESS, coming soon!
Vendetta Page 10
