Chasing the White Lion James Hannibal (essential reading TXT) 📖

had gone on the excursion. So, Finn had been serious about volunteering to look out for her. Weird. He’d never shown that much care for her before.

Tyler set the book on a cherrywood lamp table. “And now you’ve hunted me down to tell me off. Go ahead. Get it over with.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

The window behind the library’s reading desk looked out over the Potomac. Tyler walked over, admiring the water, or perhaps scanning the shore for threats. “You can’t go home, Talia. You know that, right?”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve seen two attempts on your life in under a week. You’re not safe out there.”

Talia’s apartment was one of her few refuges in an otherwise volatile life. She wouldn’t let Tyler wrench it away so easily. “Mac and Finn caught the assassin watching the Agency, not my place. Ergo, whoever is behind this doesn’t know my name or where I live. They only know my face and that I’m CIA. My apartment’s clear.”

He seemed to consider the argument, then rejected it outright. “Archangel is smart. She leaked enough intel to get you killed but not to point us to her position at the CIA. Plausible deniability.” Tyler looked past her to the library’s entryway. “Finn!”

“Yeah, boss?” The answering call came from the great room, followed by hurried footsteps.

“How do you feel about burglarizing Talia’s place?”

“Brilliant.” The Aussie appeared in the doorframe with a bandage on his arm—white gauze, no Snoopy. He spoke directly to Tyler, as if Talia weren’t there. “Smash and grab or ghost work?”

“Ghost. Leave no trace. Get her some clothes. And what else, Talia? Hair dryer? Curling iron?”

She caved, turning to Finn. “Fine. You both win. Get me some jeans. Grab the red sweater and the three suits at the end of the closet.” She hesitated, shot a glance at Tyler, and flattened her voice. “And my hair dryer, like he said. It’s with the makeup bag under the bathroom counter. While you’re at it, grab the makeup bag too.”

Finn folded his arms and raised his eyebrows.

“Please.”

Some of the hostility faded. “And . . .”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, your highness.” He ducked into the hall. An instant later, he leaned his head back into view. “Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

Talia winced. Why hadn’t she thought of the rest? Worse, why had he thought of it first? “Top drawer of the dresser. Just close your eyes and dump the whole thing into a duffel bag.”

“Right. Eyes closed.” The hardness had vanished. He was trying not to grin.

“Promise me, Finn.”

“Cross my heart.” He set off down the hallway.

“Don’t you need my key?”

Finn didn’t answer.

Talia turned to Tyler. “He doesn’t need a key.”

“No, he doesn’t need a key.”

“This is totally unnecessary. You know that, right?”

Tyler guided her into the room and sat her in the chair beside his book. She noticed the title on the cover—The Bishop of Myra. He pulled a stool over from the bookshelves. “When are you going to face facts? Someone is trying to kill you.”

“I am facing it. I will face it. Let me report this to the Agency. Jordan will bring in the FBI. We’ll hunt this guy down and find out who hired him.”

“Out of the question.”

“Because Jordan is Archangel.”

He nodded.

Talia wasn’t ready to buy his theory. “If Jordan is Archangel, why did she let me take you along on the Ivanov job? The mission brief mentioned Lukon’s involvement. And you’re Lukon. Wouldn’t Archangel know that?”

“Negative. You’re forgetting the whole purpose of code names. I was the Agency’s asset, not Archangel’s. She was just the spy who requisitioned the . . . ,” he stumbled over his next words, “. . . the job. She never knew my real identity.”

The job in question had been the assassination of Talia’s father, another CIA spy, falsely accused of being a threat to the US by Archangel. Talia had forgiven Tyler, but the cold she felt in her core now at the mention of the murder was the whole reason she hadn’t wanted to get involved in the hunt for Archangel in the first place.

“Jordan might suspect I’m Lukon,” Tyler said. “Especially now, for the same reasons I suspect she’s Archangel. But she can’t be sure.”

“So in your mind, you and Jordan are playing this cat-and-mouse game and I’m caught in the middle. But you’re wrong. Yes, Jordan is wary of you. She’s suspicious of your vigilante activities and my involvement with them, but she’s not Archangel.”

“Then why”—Tyler checked his watch—“after you’ve been away from work less than an hour, is she calling?” He drew a phone from his pocket, an exact match to Talia’s Agency device, which Finn had thrown under a speeding truck. “Eddie cloned a new one for you, sans the pesky CIA tracking chip.” He held it out to show her.

The screen was active with an incoming call, ID masked, a sure sign the Agency was on the other end.

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

WOLF MANOR

WOLF TRAP, VIRGINIA

“ANSWER.” Tyler sat back against the reading desk. “But be cautious. Don’t tell her anything about the attack.”

Talia accepted the call and put it on speaker. “Inger.”

“Are you all right?” Jordan’s voice carried all the concern and fluster of a worried parent.

Tyler gave Talia an I told you so shrug.

She turned away from him. “Um . . . Sure. I’m fine. Why?”

“Why? The attack on Route 123. A witness saw a man we now know to be a Russian mobster shoot up a Civic. Your Civic.”

“My Civic?” Talia cringed at her own reply. Repeating a question was the most obvious form of avoidance. Jordan would see right through it. She followed up by trying to redirect the focus away from her car. “Like I said, I’m fine—out here on the vacation you ordered.”

Tyler touched her shoulder and waved a sticky note.

SHE’LLASKLOCATION. SAYCOFFEESHOP.

Talia muted the phone. “She won’t ask where I am. It’s against protocol.” When she unmuted it again, she took it off speaker.

“Talia, I’m worried about you. Tell me where you are.”

Tyler jiggled the note. He