Page 92 of Risky Match
“You bugged my room? How could you invade my privacy that way? So you really are a spy?” I ask.
She doesn’t deny it. Instead, her lips press together, and she looks at Harrington. That’s all the answer I need.
I grimace. Everything with her has been a lie. Sheisa fucking spy. Did she watch—and hear—me moan her name in the shower? Did she sleep with me as part of her job? Of course she did. I was falling for her, but none of it was real. She used me.
“Please, both of you,” Harrington says. “Let me explain. We wanted to keep you two safe and needed you to behave normally. Blake, your room had to be bugged so we could watch if anyone tampered with your equipment or tried to hide something. And Bri, we didn’t want to risk you and Blake appearing to be working together or sneaking around for private conversations. Blake needed to react the way he normally would. He couldn’t want to play doubles, and he couldn’t be having suspicious conversations with you. It would have raised too many questions from Noah.”
“So, instead, you lied to both of us,” I say.
“No. I omitted information.”
“You lied,” Bri snaps. “You told me that Blake was a suspect.”
“That wasn’t an outright lie. We didn’tbelievehe was a suspect, but there was a small chance that he showed up with the coin to misdirect us. We had to be certain.”
“That’s fucked up. Someone poisoned me. Do you know who that was?”
“It was Marcos. He wanted a bigger cut of the profits and thought with you out of the way, it would be better for him. He didn’t know that you weren’t receiving a share. Fortunately, we received intel that your life was in danger that day and were able to redirect events.”
“What do you mean? I ended up in hospital. I could have died.”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
“You weren’t actually poisoned. Oliver, the representative for the sports drink, works for us. He switched out the poisoned drink for one that merely made you sick. That way, we protected you without exposing the mission.”
What the bloody hell!
Theyletme think I nearly died? There’s absolutely no one I can trust—British Intelligence, my therapist, and Noah all betrayed me. The hardest part is that even Bri lied to me.
Bri’s brows furrow. “But Dr. Shepard said Blake was poisoned with oleander leaves. How do you explain that?” Bri protests.
Harrington calmly explains, “Dr. Shepard works for us. Marcos put oleander leaves in the drink that Blake was supposed to consume. Blake had to believe he was lucky to survive because he wouldn’t have survived the original drink.”
Bri is livid, her index finger jabbing toward Harrington. “I can’t believe you let me think that Blake might die when you knew he would be perfectly fine. I worried needlessly and was made to look like a fool.”
Apparently, Bri wasn’t in that part of the plan. But that doesn’t excuse the rest of her actions. However, I’ll deal with Harrington first.
“I’m the one who should be furious. You destroyed my Wimbledon singles hopes. You made me ill. And you let me believe that I’d been poisoned and almost died. You did all those horrible things to me when I’m the one who clued you in on Noah’s crimes and agreed to help you catch him. How can you possibly justify your actions?” My voice is almost shaking with fury as I glower at the intelligence officer and await whatever excuse he plans to offer.
Harrington’s voice doesn’t waver. “Again, it was critical to the mission that both of you reacted as if Marcos had been successful at poisoning Blake.”
“You said it was Marcos who set out to poison me. Was he working with Natalie today to kill me?”
“No. That was Noah. He had figured out that Bri was working with the authorities. They overheard an earlier conversation and became suspicious. Natalie planted software on Bri’s phone that intercepted Bri’s more recent texts. That’s how they arranged to capture her today. They couldn’t risk Brianna making contact with us. And as for you, they planned to leave a suicide note blaming you for the smuggling. They hoped they would be long gone before anyone asked more questions.”
“You mean you didn’t get my text last night?” Bri grimaces.
“No, we didn’t,” Harrington says.
“Then how did you know to show up today?”
“You made the signal with your racquets at the beginning of your match today. We knew something was wrong when we sent someone to meet you. You were already gone. We would have been there sooner, but that caused a delay in tracking you.”
“I see,” she says.
Harrington follows up. “That raises another question. Why did you send the signal with the racquets if you thought we’d received your texts?”
