Page 122 of The Spy
"I know. And if you feel like you need to tell her, I get it. But she's not cleared to know, and neither are you. You were only brought in because you've seen him."
"I know. Forget about it. She said herself to trust you."
He stopped walking. "Bloody hell, Tabatha."
"I called her after Drake left."
His brooding cold mask slipped into place. "Jesus fucking Christ. You told her?"
Oh ye of little faith. "No. Don't be ridiculous. I would never." I knew Drake and his identity were classified. I understood that much.
"That is dangerous information to possess."
"I'm not an idiot. I know how urgent it is. I understand he has a cover to protect. I get it. You don't have to worry about me."
"Shit. Sorry.” He hung his head. “I know this is hard."
"Actually, I feel better talking to Saff. She gave me some perspective. And it's something I needed."
"Well, I'm glad she was there for you."
"Let's go talk to this wanker, Jennings."
I expected a moldy, wet, water-boarding, highly illegal type of place, which was why I was slightly terrified as we walked in the door. I was shocked after walking inside. The cells had white patterned walls, clean sinks and toilets, and they had so many books on shelves it was almost a library.
"Are you sure this is a detention facility?"
"Yes, more or less. People are kept here until we know what to do with them on a more permanent basis."
"This place is nicer than some people's flats I have seen."
He frowned. "We need to get you some new friends."
"You lot are my only friends."
He shrugged. "Let me guess, was it Rook? He seems the kind who would have a shit flat."
I rolled my eyes. "No, there's no way. Nissa likes the finer things."
"So does Rook now that he's got full access to his trust fund again. Did you see the new ride he got? A bloody Bugatti."
I rolled my eyes. "The way you men salivate over that car is shocking, honestly."
"What? I'm just saying it's a very nice car."
"Uh-huh. Besides, don't you think the kid deserves to have something to play with?"
He shrugged. "He's had a rough go. Fair enough."
“So how do you want to play Tate?”
“You have the relationship with him. Let’s use that. You’ll rattle him more.”
My stomach twisted slightly. I couldn’t shake the memory of him trying to hold me down in the back of his limo.
When we reached Tate's cell, he was laying on his back, book on his chest, staring up at the ceiling. When we paused, he glanced over then quickly rolled to his feet. "What the fuck?"
"Hello, Jennings," I said in a low tone.
