Page 103 of The Gentleman

A woman sat in a wheelchair. Sunken cheeks. No restraints. No guards.

Eldridge.

44

Kat stumbledto a halt in the doorway with her Glock raised, cold blooming in her chest.

Victoria Eldridge was almost unrecognizable in a wheelchair, propped against white pillows, an IV-line snaking from her bandaged hand to a slow-dripping bag. A gray blanket covered her legs, matching the waxy pallor of her skin. One side of her head was shaved clean, revealing an angry scar that curved from temple to ear like a question mark carved in flesh.

Kat swept behind the door, Leo covering her. Antiseptic bit the air.

“Eldridge.” Her throat constricted around the name.

“Landon.” Eldridge’s voice carried across the sterile space. “You can lower your weapon.” Her head tilted to one side. “I’m not armed.”

Kat’s earpiece buzzed.

Griff’s voice, tight and breathless. “Leo, we’re taking heavy fire at the tower base. Eli’s working on the primary array but—” The transmission cut to white noise.

A tannoy blared above her head.“Twenty-three minutes to live broadcast.”

Leo’s exhale was sharp, almost a hiss as he stormed across to a bank of computers that covered one side of the room. He shouldered his weapon, shot Eldridge a glance. “How do we shut it down?”

If they didn’t, the broadcast would slip under every firewall, every sensor net. Nightshade would rewrite the illusion of free will, weaponized on a global scale.

Eldridge’s eyes skittered over him but settled on Kat. “You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever worked with. I wondered if you’d track me down.” Her shoulders lifted in a fractional shrug. “You stopped London, I’ll give you that. But El Nido? You’re too late. The tower goes live in—what, just over twenty minutes?”

Arrogant to the last.“You need to kill it.” Kat moved forward, gun still raised.

Eldridge shook her head, the motion careful. “It’s not that simple. It’s not black and white like you think.”

Another burst of static. “…under fire from three positions. Need immediate—” Fox’s voice dissolved into gunshots and shouting.

Kat paced closer. Bruises marbled the crook of Eldridge’s arm. “Victoria.” First names wouldn’t make a difference. But hell, it was worth a try. “You don’t need to do this?—”

“Don’t I? Let me paint you a picture, Agent Landon.” Eldridge’s voice thinned. “Glioblastoma. Grade four. Inoperable.”

Kat’s palm was sticky against the Glock.It’s sweat, not fear.The next-gen iteration of Raptor—no implants. Just mind-fucking on a global scale.

“Six months, maybe eight.” Eldridge’s voice went brittle. “MI6 doesn’t like agents who are sick. You know what happens? We disappear. Passed over. Tossed aside while the machine grinds on.” She shifted against her pillows, wincing as the movement pulled at her IV.

The monitor behind her chirped once and a line on the screen fluttered like a dying breath.

Eldridge inhaled slowly. Her eyes locked on Kat’s. “I wasn’t ready to be erased.”

“Neither was Jane, but you erased her anyway.”

Eldridge pressed her lips together into a dark line. “That was…regrettable.”

Kat’s jaw clenched so hard it sent pain jolting up her temple.

Jane’s name used to mean endless pink post-its, bad coffee, and inside jokes from stakeouts that ran too long. Now it was collateral.

“Fuck, Victoria,” Kat gritted out. “You had herkilled.”

Eldridge’s gaze didn’t waver. “She was loyal—to the wrong side.”

“Jane figured it out, didn’t she? Your medical connection to the project.”

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