Page 108 of What Remains

“My theory was right.”

I smile. “And what was that theory?”

“The footage was authentic, but the timeline was moved up. Must be to bait us to London.” She lifts one shoulder. “And the digital signature’s a match to whoever created the AI video of Nash’s wife being taken. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help me figure out who’s behind this, but they have talent, that’s for sure.” A frown comes and goes fast. “As for the MI6 thing”—she lifts her chin in the direction of her laptop, and that reminds me, I need to get her new stickers—“I already created a back door into MI6 a year ago, and they haven’t found it yet.”

“Of course you did.” She’ll never stop impressing me.

“So, with your help, we can find what we’re looking for in the mission files relatively fast.” She lets go of me, and I pull out a chair for her at a four-person table, then drag a seat around so I can share her screen.

This is probably too close, because her shoulder brushes mine. I catch the clean, familiar edge of her perfume, and I should move away, but I can’t bring myself to. She also seems perfectly content to be this close to me, so . . .

She slips into work mode, humming under her breath—probably to fill in the quiet because she’s used to music blasting in her ears whenever she does her thing. Her long fingers fly as she walks us through that open door at MI6.

A few minutes later, she pauses the screen and stops her soft, sensual humming that was getting under my skin in a way that probably shouldn’t have.

“Here are the files from the 2011 ops, but real names aren’t listed, just codes.”

“Like double oh seven or something?” I’m only half kidding.

She chuckles. “Something like that.”

“But you can still figure out their identities, right?”

“Puh-leaseeee. That’s the easy part.” She side-eyes me.

Her lips are too close, glossy and parted. Bubble gum today? Candy cane? Which one? I desperately want to find out for myself.

I drag my eyes back to the screen. Head lifted, I pull myself together before something inside me snaps and we kiss here under the glow of classified files.

She follows my lead, turning back to the digital battlefield while I lose ground in the human one.

“Got it.” She leans closer to me. “No match. Not for Molly or Zoey.”

“Can you text me the list? I’ll forward it to Carter. He can run it past Zoey. See if anything rings a bell. Old grudges or ghosts.”

“Dead people who aren’t actually dead,” she tacks on, reminding me of another case she worked last year where we assisted Delta Shield Security.

“Let’s hope not,” I say under my breath.

“I’ll take that coffee now, though. I burned through all my caffeine pulling up that intel.”

I huff a laugh. “You barely broke a sweat. You’re just a coffee addict.”

“No lies detected.” She turns fully toward me.

Before I do something stupid, I stand and head into the back area, ducking behind the counter to fire up the espresso machine, deciding on cappuccinos instead. My phone buzzes before the grinder even spins.

Gwen’s fast.

I forward the list to Carter and add a note.

No sign of Molly in the 2011 files. Or Zoey. But I’m sending you the list of British operators who were there. Maybe Zoey will recognize a name.

Carter: Yeah, Zoey said she wasn’t there, and she didn’t think Molly was, either. But I’ll have her look at the list and see if anyone is familiar.

Carter: I’m heading to Wyatt’s room. Found him searching for Gwen on my way up to my room. I covered for you. Told him she’s helping us.

I resist sending him an eye roll emoji.