The Lord and the Spy

by Slade, Heather

  “What about Abkhazia and South Ossetia? Maybe they’re hankering to be taken more seriously.”

  Wren smiled.

  “You don’t agree. What is it, five UN Security Council Members recognize them as sovereign nations, and one is Russia?”

  “I’m smiling because of your earlier modesty. You’re so much better than you know.”

  “I’m already prepared to lie at your feet and answer your every whim. You hardly need to flatter.”

  She rolled her eyes, and then in a blink of the same, she was back in work mode.

  “China doesn’t need a damn thing from Russia, nor does India.”

  “’Tis the other way around. At least when it comes to China.”

  “Russia needs the trilateral alliance to be more two-sided.” Wren’s eyes were hooded, and her expression grew dark.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “The reason the emergency NGA meeting was called was due to a recent negotiation between Russia and Turkey that took place in Moscow.”

  “I haven’t heard a word about it.”

  “No one has.”

  “You have.”

  “Turkey is acquiring Russia’s air defense system.”

  “And we have a winner, ladies and gentlemen.”

  Wren pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. Seconds later, I heard the front door open. I nodded when Z walked into the room where we were having breakfast.

  “Would you like to join us, Pops?”

  “She calls me Z,” he snarled before his face broke into a proud smile that made me like the man a whole lot more. “You rang?” he said, walking over to Wren and leaning down to kiss her forehead.

  “I need to get a message to Vera. Urgently.”

  Z nodded, pulled another phone out of the inside of his jacket, and handed it to her.

  “Partiya Karkeren Kurdistan,” she said followed by a pause. “Mormeht Savat.” There was another pause. “Yes, I’m certain.” She handed the phone back to Z.

  “Certain?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  In the last twenty-four hours, I’d seen a myriad of emotions play out on Wren’s face. This was new. Her steely, focused expression was as unnerving as the train of thought I hadn’t been able to follow.

  “What does the PKK have to do with Turkey acquiring Russia’s air defense system?” I asked.

  “It was a warning shot.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Few can,” murmured Z.

  “Acquiring Russia’s S-400 gives Turkey the ability to combat the PKK in a way they haven’t had since the terrorist organization’s founding in the mid-seventies. Savat is responsible for their ‘special forces.’”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not.”

  Z left, and Wren was quiet for the rest of the morning. Any attempt I made to coax her out of it was met with a sad smile that told me she wasn’t ready.

  “Let’s take a walk around the grounds,” I said when I reached the point where I felt powerless yet still compelled to do something.

  “I’d rather not.”

  “You’ve spent the last three hours staring outside.”

  “Wilder, it’s…”

  I walked over and put my hands on her shoulders. “Tell me, Wren.”

  She shook her head, but I refused to relent. “Tell me,” I repeated.

  She shoved my hands away. “Do you not understand that I issued a death warrant this morning?”

  “You said you were certain.”

  “I was. I am. It doesn’t change the cold, hard truth that a man will die today and I’m the one who called it in.”

  “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “Never.”

  I heard the front door open and, this time, anticipated Z’s arrival.

  “Mormeht Savat was killed in a counter-terror operation carried out in northern Iraq by Turkish forces.”

  Wren nodded and turned her back on both her father and me. “Any other casualties?” she asked.

  “None, but I’ll remind you, Savat and the PKK are responsible for the deaths of some twelve-hundred security personnel and civilians.”

  “Plus one,” she murmured.

  When Z left, I walked over and put my hands on Wren’s shoulders. This time when she tried to shrug them off, I held tighter.

  “Come with me.” I took her hand and led her out of the room we’d spent far too much of the day in.

  She didn’t say a word as I led her upstairs and into the bedroom that had become ours.

  I grasped the bottom of her jumper. “Arms up,” I said, pulling it over her head. Once out of its confines, Wren dropped her hands to her sides.

  Next I unfastened her trousers and pulled them over her bottom and down her legs along with her panties. I told her to step out, and she did.

  Finally, I unfastened her bra, tossed it to the side, and led her over to the bed. I hated her resigned complacency, but that was why we were here. I had to break through the wall she’d erected since she made her call.

  I brushed her hair away from her eyes, put my hands on either side of her face, and kissed her. As though the kiss had been a wrecking ball shattering her thin facade, Wren came alive in my arms. When she kissed me back, it was frenzied. She tugged at my clothes, making a sound that was a cross between a whine and a mewl.

  “Slow down, sweetheart,” I said, pulling my shirt over my head. Before I’d tossed it away, her hands were on my belt. I grabbed her wrists.

  “Get on the bed,” I demanded.

  She let her hands go limp and padded over.

  I was as naked as she was when I took her ankles and spread her legs.

  She reached for me, but I took both of her hands and held them in one of mine. “My way, Wren.”

  I released her wrists, and she rested her hands near her sides.

  She wanted it fast and hard, but I was going to give her the opposite. Starting on the soft skin inside her knee, I licked my way up her body and back down. Her back arched, and she writhed against me, but she didn’t lift her arms. The only time she spoke was when she uttered the faintest “please.”

  “Put your arms around my neck,” I said, resting my body on hers. “Wrap your legs around me.” When she did, I slowly entered her wetness.

  The orgasm I coaxed from her was long, slow, and deep. I waited until I felt her coming down from it before I let myself go.

  Only then did Wren cry. I held her as sobs racked her body, scattering soft kisses on her forehead, cheeks, and eyelids.

  When she finally stopped, she slept in my arms.

  The question I’d asked earlier looped in my head along with her response.

  Who took care of you then?

  I did.

  Not anymore.

  20

  Wren

  It was mostly dark when I opened my eyes, but I knew it was morning. I eased out from under Wilder’s protective hold and walked over to the window. Clouds shrouded most of the sun’s light, but it still managed to cast a pinkish-orange glow on the grounds of the estate.

  Yesterday, I’d refused Wilder’s attempts to get me to tour the grounds. Today, I was anxious to.

  My reaction once I’d made the call was part of a pattern I’d learned not to bother railing against. The only difference this time was that I didn’t work my way through it alone. The tears would’ve come on their own, but not as quickly as Wilder had coaxed them out of me.

  I looked over at his sleeping form. Soon we’d get the all-clear, and I’d be able to return to the States while Wilder went back to SIS and his new job with MI6. It was unlikely I’d be able to invent an excuse to come to England in the near future and, even then, a reason for us to work together.

  When I saw Z walking across the yard toward the main house, adrenaline pulsed through my veins. Something must be seriously wrong for him to be coming to the house now. Had I sensed it? Is that why I’d inexplicably woken and walked over to the win
dow?

  I quickly put on my clothes, grabbed my boots, and closed the door behind me. I crept downstairs where I met my father, standing just inside the front door.

  “What’s happened?”

  “There’s been an escalation. The PKK has claimed responsibility for an attack on the US Embassy and Consulates in Ankara.”

  “Casualties?”

  “Six dead, another thirty-five injured.”

  “There was no retaliation against Turkish forces.”

  Z shook his head.

  “You need to make arrangements for me to leave, Z. Now.”

  When he didn’t argue or even question my request, I knew that was why he’d come to the house in the first place.

  Without a backwards glance, I followed him out of Wilder’s uncle’s house and to the vehicle waiting to transport me to the plane that would carry me back to the United States.

  21

  Wilder

  I let the drapery fall, walked over, and put on my trousers. There was no point in rushing after Wren. By the time I got downstairs, she and Z would be gone, along with several other MI5 agents. I wondered how many would be left behind under the auspice of keeping me safe.

  I’d wait another fifteen minutes and then be on my own way. My first stop would be at SIS headquarters. After that, I didn’t know where I’d go.

  Part II

  22

  Wren

  I’d forgotten how much I hated Texas in August when the average temperature hovered just above one hundred. I took off my hat and wiped the sweat from my brow with my shirtsleeve.

  “Take a break,” my brother shouted when I walked over to the truck to get some water.

  I waved and nodded, but he rode up next to me anyway.

  “Head back to the house.”

  “I’m fine, Quint.”

  “We’re done for the day.”

  I pulled out my phone and checked the time. It wasn’t even three o’clock. I took another long drink of water and walked back over to my horse. From where I stood, I could see the ranch house in the distance and the cloud of dust that swirled around the truck barreling up the gravel road that led to it.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Somebody to see you.”

  I shielded my eyes from the sun and looked up at him. “Who?”

  “She said her name was Darrow Whittaker and that she’s a friend of yours from England.”

  The glare I shot him was pointless. Yeah, I was pissed he hadn’t told me, but there was no way in hell Darrow would be driving onto our property if she wasn’t being escorted by someone employed by the US government.

  While I anticipated this day would come, Darrow wasn’t the Whittaker I’d expected to show up unannounced.

  “What’s she want?” I said out loud without meaning to.

  “What do friends usually want?”

  My brother rode off in one direction while I turned my horse toward the trail that would lead me to where Wilder’s sister waited.

  As I got closer, I saw my father get out of the truck, walk around, and open the passenger door. By the time he came back around with Darrow, I was only a few feet from them.

  “Z,” I said, riding up and dismounting. “This is a surprise. Darrow, how are you?”

  “Better now,” she answered, running over to me. When I dropped Booker’s reins, Z grabbed them.

  “I’ll take care of him,” he said, walking away with my horse while Darrow and I embraced.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I saw the lines of hurt on my friend’s face, but I couldn’t do anything about that. Darrow had no more business showing up here than Z had bringing her.

  “Axel and I broke up,” she blurted. “That isn’t the only reason I’m here, though.”

  “Come with me.” I motioned for Darrow to follow me over to the porch.

  “Should I get my bags?”

  “Bags?” I immediately regretted the way it sounded. “We’ll let Z get them,” I added.

  “I knew this was a bad idea,” she mumbled.

  “Whose idea was it?”

  “Mine.”

  “How long are you visiting?” My voice sounded like my mother’s when an unexpected guest arrived. Funny I’d remember something like that.

  “You hate that I’m here.”

  I put my arm through Darrow’s and patted her hand in the same way she’d done to me in England, only I was the one being comforted then. “I love that you’re here. It’s just a surprise.”

  Darrow fanned herself after we both sat down. “It’s really hot here.”

  I laughed. “Understatement. Did you bring anything cooler you can change into?”

  “Um…”

  I laughed again. “It’s okay. You can borrow some of my things.”

  “Thank you,” Darrow murmured.

  Did I dare ask? I closed my eyes and rested my head against the back of the rocking chair. “What happened between you and Axel?”

  Darrow shrugged. “When…all that…happened after Matthew died, we went away, as I’m sure you know.”

  Actually, I didn’t. I had no idea what had happened to anyone in Wilder’s family, other than that they were safe, because I wouldn’t allow anyone to tell me. My former assistant had been threatened within an inch of her life not to talk about the Whittakers, and until today, I hadn’t heard a peep about them.

  “Go on,” I urged, wondering if I knew what I was getting myself into by encouraging her.

  “Spending that much time together…we’re really quite different.”

  “Sometimes that can be a good thing.”

  “Maybe for you—” Darrow stopped herself. “I mean, no. We weren’t compatible.” She shook her head. “Enough about that. It’s really beautiful here.”

  As much as I’d been thinking about how I hated the heat of Texas a few minutes ago, I was thankful I’d been able to find sanctuary here after I left England. If there was any one person I could count on not to feel sorry for me or say a single word about Wilder Whittaker, it was my brother, Quint. Not that the name would’ve meant anything to him.

  “I had a hard time picturing Z here, but he seems right at home.”

  I saw him come out of the barn with one of the Paints. He threw his leg over and went out in search of the crew. “You’re aware he’s my father?”

  “Yes,” Darrow answered. “He also told me that your real name is Kennedy Alexander, but that everyone has always called you Wren.”

  “I supposed he had no choice but to tell you the truth.”

  “Are you angry with him?”

  “No,” I answered, watching Z ride up to where Quint was working.

  “I had to agree not to tell anyone as a condition of him bringing me here.”

  I shrugged. Did it really matter? It was inevitable that my Finley Harlow cover would soon be blown, if it wasn’t already.

  “Wren? About Sutton—”

  “It isn’t a topic open for discussion, now or ever,” I snapped. “I’m sorry,” I immediately added. “There are just…certain things.”

  “I understand. Stiff upper lip and all that.”

  I laughed out loud. “I really am glad you’re here.”

  “It’s a bloody good thing you are, or I’d be in quite a fix.”

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  “Because I don’t have any intention of ever going back to England.”

  By the time we finished dinner, Darrow appeared dead on her feet. After all, it was two in the morning in England. I showed her to the room in the wing where I’d asked Quint to put the bags, and then came back to the main part of the house, ready to get some answers. Neither my brother nor my father was anywhere to be found.

  I went out to the porch where Darrow and I sat earlier, leaned back in the rocking chair, and closed my eyes. It was cooler now but no less humid.

  I hadn’t realized until tonight how much Darrow looked like her brother—particularly her eye
s, but her smile too. It didn’t make me miss him more or the hurt inside me to worsen; that wouldn’t have been possible. The only thing it did was make my longing more pronounced.

  The porch boards creaked, but I didn’t bother opening my eyes. “You are in so much trouble,” I said to my father when I felt him sit down next to me.

  “I couldn’t say no.”

  “Why not? Did the Queen herself ask you to deliver Darrow to the colonies?”

  “The woman was very convincing.”

  “Evidently, given you also took it upon yourself to tell her that you’re my father, among other things you had no business divulging.”

  “It’s been seven months.”

  I opened my eyes and looked over at him. “What do you mean?”

  “The PKK has been all but annihilated, and the US government has threatened United Russia with sanctions that would cripple their economy if they didn’t fall in line.”

  I got up to go into the house, but before I could open the door, Z grabbed my wrist. “Wren, it’s time to let go.”

  “Of?”

  “Whatever is stopping you from contacting Wilder.”

  “That is none of your business.” I wrenched my arm away and went inside. On my way past the kitchen, I grabbed a rocks glass and a bottle of my favorite bourbon.

  Instead of getting in bed when I knew I’d never sleep, I went back outside, this time on the private patio off my bedroom.

  Seven months. Sometimes it felt more like seven days and others seven years, since I left the life I never dreamed I’d quit.

  * * *

  “Kennedy, this is a surprise,” the woman most knew as Vera said when I stalked past her assistant and straight into the office.

  “I’m resigning,” I blurted.

  “Take a seat.”

  “I have nothing more to say.”

  “Take a seat anyway,” Amelia Watkins said without looking away from her computer screen.

  I waited several minutes, tempted every few seconds to get up, walk out, and clean out my office, but I didn’t. I owed Amelia more, but would concede at least that much.