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Kat studied the grain of the kitchen table for a moment before looking up with clear determination. “Then let’s move. Brock first, then we develop our counteroffensive.”

The tightness in Leo’s chest as she looked at him was a warning. This was already more than professional courtesy.

This is dangerous.

There were lines he couldn’t cross, boundaries that kept them both safe. He would help her because she needed him, because Korolov and Raptor needed to be stopped. But that was all it could be. The warmth in her eyes when she said his name, the way his pulse escalated when he got too close—these were distractions he couldn’t afford.

Not if he wanted to keep her alive.

“We should go.” Leo said. “They’re going to come back here. Not immediately, but soon. Might even have eyes on the house already. You’re a sitting duck here.” He turned to her brother. “No offense.”

Gage cricked his neck. “None taken. Leave through the back garden. Over the fence,” Gage motioned. “It will take you to the next street. It’s an old woman who lives in there. She watches TV twenty-four seven. She won’t see you.”

Leo checked his watch. “We need to move. Our window’s closing.”

Kat drew a breath and squared her shoulders, the fatigue burning off her features like mist. “Let’s go see what Brock knows.”

They turned toward the back door—just as a siren wound up in the distance.

Gage caught Leo by the arm, fingers digging through fabric to muscle. The grip stopped Leo mid-stride—firm and deliberate, just shy of a challenge.

Leo looked down at the hand, then up into Gage’s face.

“Watch her back,” Gage said, low. “Every second. Every angle.”

Leo gave a single nod. “I will.”

Gage didn’t let go. His voice dropped even lower. “If anything happens to her—if she doesn’t come back to me whole—I’ll put you in the ground myself.”

Leo held his stare. This wasn’t drama. It was the promise men made when they had nothing left but family—and everything riding on it. He shook off the grip. Not fast, not slow. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

9

“What did Gage say to you?”Kat circled the sleek Jaguar, running her fingers along the midnight-blue paint. Leo had called it a rental, but this was another world from the boxy tin-cans MI6 issued.

“Nothing important.” His expression was unreadable as he held the door open, but she caught the slight tension at the corners of his mouth. Her brother had undoubtedly delivered some variation of the ‘hurt her and I’ll kill you’ speech. The thought brought a complicated mix of irritation and warmth—Gage’s overprotectiveness was infuriating, yet after a day of betrayals, knowing he had her back wasn’t unwelcome.

Leo closed the door on her as she settled on the cream upholstery. The front dash looked like a NASA space station and the car smelled of expensive leather.

He swung into the driver’s seat.

“This is a rental?” She clipped her seatbelt.

Leo pressed the button, and the engine woke with a throaty growl. “Yup.”

“Where do you get rentals like this?”

He glanced in her direction. “You need to know where to shop.”

He pulled away and navigated the Jaguar through narrow London streets. Summer rain pattered against the windshield, the wipers keeping a steady rhythm.

She ran her fingers over the butter-soft leather. “This car probably costs more than my yearly salary.”

“It’s just transportation.” Leo’s hand settled on her knee—casual, claiming.

Kat’s breath caught. Heat radiated through the fabric, his palm solid and real. Fine scars crisscrossed his knuckles. Her skin prickled beneath his touch, jolting awareness up her thigh to her core.

“Sorry.” He snatched his hand back.