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“Let’s see how it goes, then I’ll let you know.”
She slumped against the sofa.
“Isn’t there anything you could be doing?”
Kima’s eyes met mine. “No one is doing anything. Poseidon is always off with Oleander, and I’m the only other person here from the Maltese task force.”
I didn’t ask where Fucile and Sognatrice were. They both worked for AISE—Italy’s intelligence agency—and like Oleander, Hornet, and Verity, they were on loan to the coalition on an as-needed basis.
“What do you mean when you say Poseidon is always off with Oleander?”
“I heard they bought a house together.”
“We’ll talk later, Kima.” I stormed out the door, not because I was angry about O moving in with Poseidon, but because I was beginning to feel like an old man who was left out of the loop with everything.
I was thirty-three fucking years old. Twenty years Z’s junior and four years younger than Rile. Was this how they felt?
By the time I stalked into the command center, I had no doubt Nemesis would regret asking me to come here.
“What is this about?” I barked at her without bothering to say hello.
Her eyes widened but only momentarily. “Come with me,” she said, picking up several files and storming past me and into the library. When I followed, she slammed the door behind me. “Typhon?—”
I held up my hand. “I apologize.”
Her mouth gaped. “What did you say?”
“My foul mood has little to do with you.”
She folded her arms and smirked. “Little as opposed to nothing?”
“How old are you?” I’d probably read it in a brief somewhere, but I didn’t bother retaining shit like that.
“Thirty-one.”
“When I took over the unit, I was sure my days of playing nursemaid to MI6 agents were over. My team was supposed to be different.”
She motioned to a chair, and we both sat. “Can you imagine how I feel? I have bloody task force commanders who behave like teenagers half the time.”
I smiled. “We’re not so different.”
She leaned back in her chair. “I’ve never thought we were.”
“I did,” I muttered.
“Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear.” She sat up straight and opened one of the files she’d brought in with her, then set it aside. I watched as she opened three more and did the same thing with them.
“How do you ever find anything?” I asked.
She leveled the worst glare I’d seen from her yet at me. “Don’t you start,” she seethed.
I held up both hands in surrender. “Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll be over here, taking a nap.” I clasped my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. Seconds later, one of her files hit me in the chest, and I laughed.
“You got me. Now, tell me why I’m here.”
“I want to talk to you about the Sicilians and the Calabrians.”
I groaned. “What about them?”