Page 2 of Lethal Salvation

His jaw ticked and she found it fascinating to watch him squirm and try and decide if she had what it took. She had and she did, and she absolutely would take this man down if he crossed her.

“Get out of here, Duchess, and let’s see how long you last on your own.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. After all, you were the one who taught me that in MI6, we’re all on our own in the end.”

Turning on her heel, she walked out of the room, down the stairs, and out the back door of 85 Albert Embankment. Crossing the road, she walked along the bank of the River Thames, noting the people strolling along with little awareness of how lucky they were to be free. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, and she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She hadn’t realised how stifling it had been working for MI6 and how badly she’d needed to walk away until she’d done it.

It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision but that was her. She made choices in the moment, and they’d not let her down so far. Duchess trusted her gut above all else and it had been telling her for months that something was wrong, and now she knew it was this.

Looking over her shoulder, she spotted a guy in a grey jacket as one of the younger, newer recruits. Duchess knew Frank would have someone following her, checking on her and reporting back about what she was doing, and she didn’t care. If she wanted to lose this person, they’d believe she was a wraith with how well she could smoke them.

Slipping into a café, she ordered a large latte with vanilla syrup and two slices of tiffin. The sweet treat was her weakness and something she only indulged in on rare occasions, but today she felt like celebrating. Today was a win before she got to the job of planning what the hell she’d do with her life next. Luckily, her savings would get her through at least a year, but she didn’t want that time without a focus; she needed to keep busy. She’d start with a plan to help get her friend Hadi and his family out of Afghanistan.

Generous, kind Hadi and his sweet wife, who’d welcomed her into their home, knowing the risks they were taking by working for the British Army as interpreters and still doing it. Fury prickled her skin as she paid for the coffee and sweets and left. They’d been thrown away like left over takeout and she hated it. The walk to her apartment was short as she slipped through side streets and nipped between traffic until she was in a quieter part of Vauxhall. Her apartment was small, barely big enough to swing a cat, not that she was there very often. Stopping at the door, she turned and clocked her new shadow and gave him a wave, watching as he went slack-jawed and cursed before spinning on his heel and walking away. He wouldn’t go far, she knew. He’d radio in and then swap out with another person to tail her.

It didn’t matter, she was in for the night now. She had work to do and favours to call in from one very particular person.

* * *

The buzz of the needle on her skin settled her in a way nothing else could. The slight tingle of pain, the smell of the ink, and the low music the artist was playing were all just background as Duchess let the stress and strain of the last few weeks leave her body.

Hadi and his family were safe and that was all that she cared about. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift over the possibilities for her future. She could go and see her mother in Italy for a few weeks or travel to all the places she kept promising herself she’d go back to as a tourist, and not as an undercover MI6 operative.

Venice, the Philippines, Republic of Congo were such beautiful sites. Some were mired in war you could see, some in a war that nobody realised was happening, buried beneath the veneer of tourism and smiles.

Her body sensed him before her mind, everything tensing as the tattoo artist lifted his needle from her skin. Duchess flattened her hand to the side of her leg to the knife she had hidden beneath the folds of the long, flowy summer dress.

He was to her left, an energy around him that she knew so well because it flowed through her own veins. Spy or something else she couldn’t quite tell but he was dangerous, so much so that her gut was screaming.

Poised and ready to strike, she sat up abruptly, her movements fluid and fast, the knife biting into the soft skin of his throat before she registered who it was. Their eyes locked, her jaw hardening before she grinned. “You’re slipping, Jack.”

Jack Granger, the man, the myth, the legend. He’d been her contact when she’d worked abroad. His unit was the one who’d taught her these moves, made sure she was safe and could defend herself properly. He and his men had made her more than the SIS ever could.

He smiled and she wondered how it could be possible that this man did nothing for her in a sexual way. He was drop dead, panty-melting hot, women literally fell at his feet and yet he and she had never had that between them. He was like a brother to her, or a cousin at the least.

“It’s good to see you, Duchess.”

Cocking her head, she regarded him thoughtfully. “I have to say I wasn’t expecting a visit so soon.”

Jack pulled the chair the tattoo artist had been using closer and sat, his hands clasped loose between his thighs, before turning to the man who was watching them, the tattoo gun in his hand and a bored look on his face.

“Can you give us a few minutes in private, Jerry?”

Her smile and request were met with a wink. Jerry was covered head to toe in ink and looked like he ate small children for breakfast and yet he was the most devoted family man she knew of.

“Sure, Duchess, but don’t go messing up my studio.”

“We won’t, I promise. This is a friend.”

Jerry eyed Jack and shook his head. “You lot are weird.”

She wondered if he saw the irony in his words as he left, closing the door behind him and leaving them in peace.

Her focus found Jack again and she quirked a brow. “Well?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?”