Page 26 of Code Name: Reaper
“If there’s nothing else, let’s get to work. Ares and I are available to float between teams as needed.”
As the briefing broke up, I remained, watching Amaryllis collect her materials.
Without so much as a glance at me, she walked out of the room with Wren, their heads bent in discussion. She’d forgotten all about me—the guy who’d saved her life. I watched the door long after they’d disappeared, hating how worried I was about her emotional state and what she might find when she located Mercury.
Finally, I rolled my shoulders and looked around the empty space. I needed to get the hell out of here. I stalked out of the entryway I’d walked through less than an hour ago, not knowing where I was going, only that I couldn’t remain where Amaryllis was behind a door I wasn’t welcome to enter. Both literally and metaphorically.
The grounds of the estate stretched for acres in every direction, and I followed the main path toward the stables, breathing in the crisp English air that usually helped clear my mind.
The familiar surroundings should have centered me. I’d spent weeks here over the past year and knew every trail and building on the property. This was as close to home as I had in the intelligence world.
Moments from the past few days replayed with every step I took. The tunnel kiss, Amaryllis’ flushed face on the plane, the way she’d trusted me enough to share intelligence about Prism. Behind every thought was the growing certainty that whatever was building between us was going to end badly for both of us.
“Brooding again?”
Blackjack’s tone came from behind me. I didn’t turn around, didn’t want to see whatever look he was wearing. Probably that knowing smirk he got when he thought he’d figured out something I hadn’t.
“Not now, Bishop.”
“When, then?” He fell into step beside me, matching my pace. “You’re wound tighter than a Swiss watch, my brother.”
I shot him a look that reiterated that now wasn’t the time for him to give me any shit about anything.
“I’m here to offer some brotherly advice.”
I stopped walking and turned to face him. “Advice?” I snapped at him. “First, you wanna tell me what the fuck you were thinking when you rented that cottage?”
“I was thinking my brother is losing his goddamn mind over a woman and needs to do something about it.”
“I’m not?—”
“You are.” He held up a hand to forestall my denial. “You chased her across half of Europe for days, broke every rule in the book getting her out of Berlin, and you’ve been coiled like a fucking jack-in-the-box since you walked into the command center.”
“She’s a colleague?—”
Blackjack’s laugh was sharp. “Right. And I’m the damn pope.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is you two need to either fuck or fight. All this pussyfooting around is getting you nowhere.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m serious.”
When I started walking again, he did too.
“The bullshit arguments and the sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife are keeping you from doing your job—do something about it.”
My eyes flared. “You’re questioning my work ethic?”
“You know better than that.”
When we reached the stable complex, we leaned against the split-rail fence and watched the horses graze in the pasture. The Andalusians were beautiful animals—intelligent, powerful, and bred for endurance and loyalty. I wanted to smack myself when my first thought was how much Amaryllis would appreciate them.
“Even if anything you said was true, which it’s not, she’s made it clear she’s not interested in anything personal,” I argued.
“Has she? Or is she scared shitless of getting attached to someone who might disappear on her like everyone else in her life?”
