Page 42 of Undercover Shadow
Typhon appeared with Viper, followed by the newcomers.
Vanguard came in first. The man had sandy-brown hair and the build of someone who spent more time in gyms than cockpits. How old had Typhon said he was? Twenty-eight? Fuck. He was young, uncomplicated, everything I wasn’t.
“Now that we’re all here,” Typhon said, “I’ll let Vanguard and Prima introduce themselves properly before we continue.”
Morse stepped forward with an easy confidence. “Oliver Morse. Most people call me Ollie.” His eyes swept the room, cataloging and assessing.
When his gaze landed on Nightingale, his expression transformed.
“Leila!” The warmth in his voice made my jaw clench. “I didn’t realize you’d be here. This is brilliant.”
She stood, professional but not cold. Not the ice she’d given me outside. “Vanguard. Good to see you.”
Code name rather than first, like he’d used with her. Did that mean she was establishing a professional distance or trying to hide a more personal relationship between them?
He crossed to her without hesitation, and they embraced. Nothing inappropriate—just the ease of two people who’d worked together before.
“What’s it been, three months since we were last together?”
“More like six,” she said, smiling.
“Three days would’ve been too long,” he said, winking.
The whiskey in my stomach turned to acid.
“Nightingale’s one of the best I’ve worked with,” Morse said to the room, though his attention stayed on her. “Brilliant under fire. Keeps her head when everyone else is losing theirs.”
Con cleared his throat, and I realized my hand had tightened into a fist.
Okonkwo introduced herself but otherwise kept it brief, then stepped back, clearly content to observe.
But Morse stayed near Nightingale.
My Nightingale.
Except she wasn’t mine. Not anymore. I’d made sure of that.
“Right then,” I said, my voice sharper than intended. “Shall we get to work?”
“I was about to suggest that I brief Vanguard and Prima on current intelligence,” Nightingale said.
“Go ahead,” Typhon responded.
She moved to stand beside the tactical display, and naturally—of course—Vanguard followed, positioning himself close enough that their shoulders nearly touched as she pulled up files.
“I’ll give you the short version,” she began. “Project Labyrinth is a weapons network trafficking AIWS. Selective EMP technology with neural interface capabilities. The system can disable all electronics in a region while protecting specific signatures.”
Vanguard leaned in to study the display, his hand bracing on the table, mere inches from hers. “Christ. That’s worse than what we encountered in the Baltic.”
“Significantly worse.” She pulled up schematics. “The woman who ran Tower-Meridian—Fallon Wallace—was killed in December, but the network continues. We believe Evelyn McLaren survived the explosion at Orlov’s facility and is still active, working for someone with the code name Janus.”
“Any idea who that is?” Prima asked.
Nightingale’s jaw tightened. “Not yet.”
Her hand gestured at the maps of Scotland as she walked them through the tunnel networks. Vanguard’s attention never left her face, making the anger inside me build.
“Amazing work,” he said when she finished. “Same Leila I remember—ten steps ahead of everyone else.”
