Page 75 of Blind Trust
Was he asking a question? Or asking for confirmation that he’d heard Lyla correctly? Something told Nic the name wasn’t unfamiliar to Walsh, and a quick glance at Lyla said she was waiting for him to have her back. “Sir, an Irishman named Eamon Flannery, a member of the Real IRA, began working as an informant for MI5, providing information about the weapons and cash being smuggled in and out of Ireland. There was a shoot-out in London that he claims killed two members of the Real IRA.”
“And he’s saying one of them is CIA?”
Nic slid a look at Lyla and exhaled. “No, R.D. Leto’s article claims that.”
Walsh’s hardened gaze turned slowly to Lyla, and Nic instantly grew uncomfortable. “There’s no longer reason for you or anyone else”—his eyes flickered to Nic and then back to Lyla—“in this agency to continue moving forward on this matter. This journalist has found someone else to feed her conspiracies to, and it’s time we move on to other assignments that need our attention. Let the police do their job, Lyla.”
“And what if I decide to keep following the leads?” Lyla folded her arms, chin up. “I’m not willing to so easily dismiss Genevieve’s death or the threat against my life just because the source of our information doesn’t suit you.”
Walsh didn’t back down from Lyla’s threat. “You’ll find yourself behind a desk and your security clearances revoked. There are rules and procedures in place for the protection of the agency, the team, and our clients. If you have difficulty controlling your impulsivity, there will be no leniency.”
The tension was crackling in the air around them. Nic knew he needed to get Lyla out of there before she said something she would regret.
“Thank you for your time, sir.” Nic stood, and he was glad when Lyla did too. Maybe she was going to accept the directive—but she didn’t move when he started for the door. “Lyla—”
“If this had been Jack or Kekoa or Nicolás, would you be pulling them from the assignment?”
Walsh rubbed his forehead. “What?”
“I’m not a child, Tom. I’ve been doing this job for nearly as long as Jack, and I’m standing here with information to support the theory that Jerry’s death is related to a larger plot involving the United States, yet suddenly it’s not enough. Or maybe it’s me? Maybe I’m not good enough to be trusted.”
“That’s enough.”
Nic had never heard Walsh raise his voice like that. Especially not to Lyla. There was concern in the severity coloring Walsh’s eyes, but it was the shadow of fear lingering beneath it that had Nic concerned there was something more. Something Lyla was missing because of her own defiance, even though he noticed her rigid posture had softened, her arms dropping to her sides.
“You believe you’re treated differently from the rest of the team, and that’s true,” Walsh said. “I’ve given you more chances than I would any of them when it comes to the way you do your job. Your instincts are good, Lyla, but there’s no denying the risk you take when you disobey instructions.”
Nic swallowed. A strange desire to step in and protect Lyla, defend her, came over him, but he didn’t know why. Walsh wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t true or that she didn’t need to hear, but he wanted to shield her from the painful truth for some reason.
Walsh’s gaze suddenly looked tired. He inhaled slowly and released the breath. “There comes a time when the Lord directs us to stand still and trust even when our instincts—even when the crisis—lures us to act.” He looked at Lyla. “I’m asking you notto become impatient. And don’t let fear trick you into retreating. Stand firm.” His gaze landed on Nic. “Don’t presume that being still means nothing is happening. God didn’t call his people to step into the Red Sea until it was parted.”
A second or two passed before Lyla swiveled on her heel, barely meeting Nic’s eyes before marching out. Nic gave Walsh a quick nod before he followed after her. He caught Kekoa peeking up from his desk, a look of worry passing between him and Lyla as he watched her leaving the fulcrum.
Nic jogged to catch up. “Lyla, are you okay?”
“He used God, Nicolás.” She stormed out of the office and jammed her finger on the elevator button. “How am I supposed to argue against God?”
“You don’t.” The doors opened and Lyla stepped in, with him following behind her. “You wouldn’t win anyways.”
Lyla let out a soft huff of a laugh before leaning back against the elevator as it took them to the garage. She looked up, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
Without thinking, Nic brushed his thumb against the curve of her face, and she turned into his touch, pressing into his palm. Beneath long lashes, the emotion of what had taken place turned her eyes greener and appealed to his senses to bring back the light missing in them.
“Chocolate.”
Lyla blinked, straightening. “What?”
“You need chocolate. Yes?”
She half smiled and sniffled, wiping beneath her eyes. “Does anyone say no to chocolate?”
Nic started to open his mouth, but Lyla put a finger to his lips.
“Nope.” The elevator door opened. “You don’t get to be a health freak tonight, Nicolás. Tonight you’re going to tap into your inner teenager and consume copious amounts of chocolate with me.”
Nic smiled against her finger, and Lyla arched a brow. “My inner teenager didn’t eat chocolate.”
“Copious. Amounts.” Lyla exited the elevator and called back over her shoulder, “I will not wallow in my defeat all by myself tonight.”
