Page 62 of Undercover Shadow
Vanguard positioned himself nearby—close enough to intervene, but far enough to maintain pretense—while I shook each of their hands.
The plan was working—until I saw someone that stunned me speechless. Across the Great Hall, talking with two men in formal wear, stood Mr. MacLeod, the estate manager from Dunravin. What was he doing here?
“Ms. Moore?” Dalgleish’s voice summoned. “Are you quite all right?”
I forced a pleasant expression. “Forgive me. I thought I saw someone I knew, but I was mistaken.”
But when MacLeod’s gaze swept the room and landed on me, the flicker of recognition in his eyes confirmed it.
No amount of makeup, fancy hairstyles, or elegant gowns could hide my real identity. He knew exactly who I was, and I’d just blown my cover.
14
TAG
After Nightingale left, everything felt wrong, though I couldn’t say why.
I called Typhon within minutes of the vehicle disappearing down the drive. “The Viper assignment. I want details.”
“MacTaggert.” His tone gave nothing away. “She’s handling op specifics on this one.”
“Since when does she handle routine reconnaissance personally?”
“Given what happened in London, extra precautions seemed warranted,” he responded.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’m authorized to give.” There was something he wasn’t saying. I was certain of it. Was it an apology? A warning? “Trust that Nightingale’s safety is the priority.”
“If her safety was the priority, she’d be here. Not running thermal reconnaissance with Vanguard under mysterious circumstances that no one will properly explain.”
“Tag—” He paused as if he wasn’t sure what to say next. “If anything develops, you’ll be informed immediately.”
The careful phrasing set alarms off in my head. “If anything develops.” Not “when they report in.”
My next call was to Viper, but her assistant claimed she was in a classified briefing. For two hours. Then another meeting. Then unavailable.
While Douglasand I spent the rest of the afternoon documenting what we’d found in the tunnels—critical intelligence requiring immediate analysis that should have consumed my attention—I was distracted, checking my mobile every few minutes.
Thus far, I hadn’t received a message from Nightingale. That wasn’t unusual when operatives were in the field. Silence was standard when working reconnaissance. But everything felt different this time. Heavy. Like the pressure drop before a storm.
“Sir?” Douglas’s voice jarred me from my reverie. “The measurements for the eastern passage?”
I forced my attention back to our work, tracing the route we’d marked earlier. “Approximately forty meters from the junction to the first branch point. Stone construction consistent with eighteenth-century work.”
Douglas glanced up at me, frowning. “Everything all right, sir?”
“Fine.” The word came out sharper than intended.
His expression said he didn’t believe me, but he had the good sense not to press.
I checked my mobile again ten minutes later, then thirty, muttering under my breath each time there were no alerts. Not that I cared about anyone other than Nightingale.
She was with Vanguard—I told myself. Following up on thermal signatures in the Highlands, checking potential estate connections. She said they’d be gone two days, possibly three. It was routine intelligence gathering that shouldn’t require constant contact. So why did her absence feel like a wound?
Douglas gathered his notes, sensing I was done being useful. “I’ll compile these for your review, sir.”
After I thanked him, he closed the door behind him, leaving me surrounded by the evidence of a conspiracy that threatened national security, and all I could think about was the way Nightingale had looked at me before she left—as though she was saying goodbye.
