Page 90 of Risky Match
And just like that, my cover’s blown. Damn. There won’t be any chance for us even if we survive this mess.
“Spy? She’s not a spy. She’s a princess.”
“Don’t play dumb with me. You had to know about her. Otherwise, you never would have agreed to play doubles.”
“I’m playing because Noah said the sponsor made me. It’s also Bri’s dream.”
“That’s why she’s sending encrypted messages to British Intelligence? I don’t think so.”
How the hell does she know that?
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“Quit delaying. Now pick. You’re dying one way or the other.”
No, he’s not! I’m not losing him that way.
Holding up three fingers, I signal Erin.
She nods, and we ready our knives.
Blake says, “Fine, Natalie. Get that knife away from me, and I’ll swallow the drink.”
Ignoring the countdown, we burst through the door. I slap the drink out of Blake’s hand just as he’s throwing it at Natalie’s face.
Erin rushes to grab Natalie’s arm and slices it. Natalie screams as the knife clatters to the floor, harmlessly.
I’m relieved when the footfalls of a fast-approaching mob turn out to be Stephen, Adrian, Deputy Harrington, and a slew of others.
Finally. Where have they been? Didn’t they get my text last night?
Before I can ask, Blake pulls me in for a hug, asking, “What are you doing here? And why did Natalie say you’re a spy?”
Instead of answering, I turn to Deputy Harrington. “Don’t arrest Blake. He didn’t know.”
A look of horror and confusion crosses Blake’s face. “Arrest me? Why would they do that? I’m one of the good guys. Bri, what’s going on? Who are you anyway?”
Everything I’d feared is happening. Blake is going to hate me. I need him to let me explain. Even then, he may never speak to me again. At that thought, tears well in my eyes. But I can’t let them fall. Not in front of my team. This is not the place.
Holding onto the last thread of my self-control, I manage to say, “We need to talk.”
31
BLAKE
Two hours later, I still don’t have answers. Bri and I were whisked away in Range Rovers. The blacked-out windows hid us from outsiders, but we couldn’t see out either. With all the twists and turns the driver took, I have no idea where we are. All I know is that I’ve been in this room with a silent guard for a long time. They even took my mobile phone, so I’m left with my own thoughts.
I start to worry another panic attack will hit, but at this point, I’m not even sure what the trigger would be. I’ve lost Wimbledon, and at least two members of my team turned out to be criminals. What’s a guy to do when he can’t trust his sports psychologist? And now, the woman I’ve been falling for may be a spy? I’m too confused to know what to be stressed about at this point.
I ask the guy standing in the corner, “Am I free to leave?”
He replies, “It wouldn’t be safe.”
“That wasn’t my question?”
“That’s all I can say.”
“Can you tell me what time it is?”
