Page 33 of The Gentleman

Her reflection offered no intel—just the cold gaze of someone trained to survive, now running out of exits.

She’d ignored the heat whenever they spoke, telling herself that men like Leonid Bychkov were walking complications she couldn’t afford. That the way she anticipated his calls was merely efficient preparation.

Turns out she was a master at self-deception. The tightness in her chest when he stood close, the way her skin hummed with awareness? Nothing professional about it. And definitely impossible to ignore.

Not anymore. Not here, in his private space, where no files or protocols stood between them.

She patted her face dry, ran damp fingers through tangled hair, and winced as they caught in a stubborn knot. Swearing under her breath, she gave up and pulled out the burner Brock had given her.

She typed in Gage’s number.

It’s me. Any news on Eldridge?

Three dots pulsed as Gage typed.

Working on it. She’s like a shark in bloody water. The whole department’s in lockdown. I’ve been snooping through her personal details. Lots of money hitting her bank account and going straight back out again. Flights to Geneva. Arken institute. Mean anything to you?

She racked her brains but came up empty.

No.

I’ll keep digging and email you what I have so far. Where are you?

She eyed the marble countertop and backlit mirrors. No need to fuel the cold war between Leo and her brother.

Somewhere safe.

Another message appeared almost instantly.

With the Viking? Because if he gets you arrested, I know people who know how to make bodies disappear. Very reasonable rates.

Despite everything, a smile tugged at her lips.

No one’s disappearing anyone.

But someone might want to disappear YOU.

A link appeared in the message box from Gage.

She tapped it.

Her stomach plummeted. Her own face glared from the screen—jaw rigid, eyes cold. They’d chosen the perfect shot to make her look dangerous.

Her gut twisted.

This was surgical. They weren’t just hunting her—they were framing a villain the public could believe in.

“MANHUNT FOR ARMED AND DANGEROUS MI6 OFFICER.” The article read like a death sentence. Espionage, betrayal, instability. A complete fiction—but just plausible enough to stick.

Shit.

Her phone pinged again. Gage.

They’re out for you.

Yes.

Fuckers have no idea who they are messing with.

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