Page 47 of Braxton

Harper had been glued to his side since they left the museum and was now curled up beneath his arm on the couch.

“She’ll call,” Inda said confidently. “Give her time to gather intel.”

“I know. I just—” His phone rang and he grabbed it off the table. “Quinn?”

“Brax, I don’t have much time, so listen closely.” The urgency in her voice had him clutching his phone hard. “I’m at Cross’ manor house in the country. Grendel is here, too, along with some creepy woman in a veil, all covered up. They’re planning a dinner party tomorrow night, inviting all of their enemies, and they plan to release the Novichok. Zaitsev is down in some hidden lab working on it right now.”

Brax quickly absorbed everything she said. “Text me your location. We’ll figure out a way to stop him. Cross still has no idea you’re with us?”

“No, he has no clue. Don’t worry about me. I’m safe.”

Although her words should’ve made him feel better, they didn’t. He wouldn’t feel completely at ease until Quinn was back in his arms again.

“Can you get us a guest list?” Brax asked.

“Yeah, I’ll track it down. I have to go.”

“Be careful, Q.” Fuck, he wanted to reach through the phone and touch her, make sure she was okay.

“You, too, Graves.”

She hung up and he let out a frustrated sound. His team was watching, so he did what he always did—became the stoic, unflappable leader they all expected and depended on.

But, for the first time, his feelings refused to be ignored. They were far too strong, and worry for Quinn made him edgy and out of sorts.

Keep your head straight, he admonished himself. This wasn’t the time to fall apart.

This was it, the final key moments in the battle against The Agency. Now it was do or die.

Brax couldn’t predict what exactly would happen, but he knew one thing for sure—he would go down fighting to save the woman he loved.

Because, yeah, he still loved Quinn. Always fucking had. She was his other half. And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.

Chapter Nineteen

After her quick call with Brax, Quinn ate the light dinner sent up to the spacious guestroom Cross had assigned to her. Just like the rest of the house, it had a historical feel but was well-kept despite most likely being hundreds of years old. The room was a little drafty, which was to be expected, so she found herself curled up in a large chair in front of the fireplace.

She knew she wasn’t a prisoner there, but strangely, she was starting to feel like one.

Questions filled her head about the upcoming party. Once it was dark, she planned to go exploring and get her hands on that guest list. In the meantime, she thought back over the meeting with Cross, Grendel and the mysterious, shrouded woman. At least, she thought it was a woman.

And then there were three.

It was interesting to her how The Agency had turned on its own, time and time again. Except for these three. What was the tie that had kept them together? Or, maybe it was still just a matter of time before Cross tried to take them both out, too. The man certainly didn’t have much loyalty. Not even to his own son. Yet he seemed strangely protective over the shrouded woman.

Quinn’s identity was no longer a secret and she wondered exactly how much Cross knew. He’d admitted knowing she usedto be married to Brax, but he had no idea they’d rekindled their love affair.

Or, did he?

Her skin crawled. Something about Nathan “Cross” Mills struck her as more than merely dangerous. Earlier, he’d come across as more spiteful than power hungry when he’d mentioned justice. It felt like she was missing a part of the puzzle. A very personal part.

Quinn bided her time until the large Grandfather clock in the hall outside her room struck midnight. Then she quietly walked over to the door, pulled it open and stepped into the hallway. On quiet feet, she moved through the dark manor in search of Cross’ office. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to stumble onto Zaitsev’s lab, too.

The bright light of the moon filtered in through the large windows, guiding her as she moved down the wide staircase. She didn’t dare use the flashlight on her phone. Earlier when she’d walked the corridors and been in the library, she’d searched for cameras and didn’t see any, so she wasn’t nervous about getting caught on a security cam.

The manor house was ridiculously big and she found herself tiptoeing along seemingly endless corridors with more rooms than she had time to explore. After twenty minutes of peeking through various doorways, she stumbled on an office with a large, ornate desk made of dark wood. The faint smell of cigar smoke clung to the air and a cart with crystal glasses and a brandy decanter sat against the wall. It was definitely a man’s domain.

Moving into the room on silent feet, she circled the desk. There was no laptop, so she started checking drawers. She shuffled through a pile of papers in the middle drawer and pulled out a list of ten names, not recognizing any of them.

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