Page 51 of Truth or Lie

“By screaming obscenities at him?” I asked. “If I’d known that would work, I could have done it a year ago.”

“Did he specify the reason for the meeting?” Kam said.

“No, although it’s a fair guess it has to do with the attack,” Beckett replied. “I don’t get the impression that the major powers have been taking the BLF seriously until now.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose.” I tapped a finger against my chin, already plotting ways to maximize the potential benefits of this unexpected good news. “What’s Nikolayev’s take on this?”

“It’s a foot in the door,” Beckett said. “Kostya always plays his cards close to his chest until he sees how the other parties are approaching the situation. But the goal remains the same as it has been—drive a wedge between the UFNA and Enoch Sloane; get actual legislation on the table in the UFNA legislature, as well as in Western Europe.”

“Right.” As Beckett had said, in many ways the attack yesterday had changed nothing. But in others, it might have changed everything if Fairbanks now saw the BLF as an existential threat to be dealt with. “Count me in—as if there were any question. When do I need to be ready to leave?”

Kam frowned. “You mean, when doweneed to be ready to leave.”

“Oh,hell, no,” I said. “Kam—they let you out of the hospital because they’re packed to the gills with casualties, and you’re a second-class citizen who isn’t on the verge of death. But you were treated for nerve agent exposure less than twenty-four hours ago, and you’re not setting foot out of this hotel room until you havefully recovered.”

He drew breath to argue.

I cut him off. “Also, I intend to use you like a cheap whore when it comes to playing the sympathy card with Fairbanks. ‘Oh, Prime Minister—I’m sure you remember Kameron Patel’s speech—he was speaking right before the attack. Yes, he’s still recovering... it was terrible! We were sure that we’d lost him,’ and so on.”

“Damn, I love it when you’re a manipulative bitch, Leo,” Flynn said. “I amsohard right now.”

“Too much information, Flynn,” Beckett offered. “You’re right, though. It could be a useful angle.”

“We’re going with you, of course,” Alex said. “As security.”

“If I’m stuck playing invalid, I want Flynn here with me,” Kam said firmly. “I’ll need security, too, after all.”

I met his gaze and raised an approving eyebrow.Nowwho was being manipulative?

“Good idea,” I agreed, knowing that the pair needed some time alone. Maybe then, Flynn could reassure himself that Kam really didn’t blame him for not running into the gas cloud after him.

This was confirmed when Flynn’s brow furrowed in a worried frown. “You sure you want me and not one of the others?”

“If I wanted one of the others, I wouldn’t have asked for you,” Kam said, with some asperity. “Look at it this way—I know you’re still feeling guilty, which means I can make you wait on me hand and foot and you won’t complain about it.”

Flynn’s face cleared. “Oh. Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

“If that’s settled,” I said dryly, “then it looks like I’ve got a few hours to get some food, get my head on straight, and plaster on enough concealer to make it less obvious that I slept in a plastic hospital chair last night.”

Beckett nodded. “We’ll be back at six p.m. sharp with a car. Remember to place your room service order through the concierge. He’s been thoroughly vetted.”

With that, he left. Beckett had been taking every precaution with our security after the drink-spiking incident in Belarus. Our track record with staying one step ahead of the BLF was less than stellar at this point, but I still trusted whatever plans Beckett had personally overseen. We’d had a handful of meals here since arriving in Luxembourg City three days ago, and we hadn’t been drugged or poisoned so far.

At this point, that counted as a win in my book.

“Who’s hungry?” I asked, girding myself to tackle a private meeting with the man I’d publicly upbraided at full-scale ‘shrieking harpy’ volume only yesterday.

* * *

Nikolayev was waitingfor me in the back seat of one of the two cars that arrived to pick us up. His expression was a cool mask, giving nothing away. His charcoal suit was impeccable, and his Mephistophelean salt-and-pepper beard had been trimmed to razor-sharp lines.

He looked every inch the terrifying Committee kingpin I’d once believed him to be, and very little like the doting alpha sire who’d bounced a tiny girl-pup in his arms at two in the morning to soothe her colic.

Meanwhile, I probably still looked like an overstressed fugitive omega who’d spent part of the previous day believing one of my soulmates to be dead, followed by a restless night in an overcrowded hospital room wondering if my life’s work had just circled the toilet drain and disappeared into the sewer line of history.

But I’d also had a revelation. It had hit me in the middle of my shower, where most of the best ideas come from. I considered telling Nikolayev and decided against it. If I whipped this one out later, I wanted it to pack the greatest possible punch. Conversely, if I was one hundred and eighty degrees off base, it would be better if I was the only one who looked like an idiot, rather than both of us.

We arrived at the prime minister’s hotel at six thirty-five. The security checks involved in getting to him were as thorough and involved as one might expect. The five of us were escorted into a small conference room with guards stationed both inside and outside the door. I was confident that the space had been thoroughly checked for bugs as well as any potential threats—including, no doubt, anything hidden in the ventilation ducts.

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