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“Phone.” Brock held out his hand.

Leo reached inside his jacket and handed Brock his cell.

“Um. I don’t have mine,” Kat said when he turned to her.

He gave an approving nod, then placed Leo’s in the microwave.

“Tea?” Brock filled an electric kettle from the tap.

Leo shifted from foot to foot. “We don’t have time for?—”

Brock rubbed his hands together. “Always time for tea when you’re planning an operation.” His unruly eyebrows dented together. “Besides, I’m not sure I want to be involved in whatever shambles you’ve dragged to my doorstep.” He eyed Kat with undisguised suspicion. “MI6, aren’t you?”

“Yes—”

“You were on the news.” Brock gave a low whistle. “Mind you, can’t trust the fucking BBC these days.”

Brock switched on the kettle, a relic from the 1960s, and its worn metal hissed to life.

“And why exactly should I help an MI6 agent who’s gone rogue or been burned?” His voice carried the bite of someone who’d long stopped trusting institutions.

Leo smiled. “Because of Peru.”

Brock frowned. His hand rose to his collarbone, tracing a jagged scar that peeked out from beneath his T-shirt. “Bloody hell, Bychkov. You swore you’d never bring that up.”

Peru? Another piece of Leo’s hidden past she knew nothing about. Just how many secrets did this man keep locked away?

Leo shot Kat a reassuring look. “Desperate times.”

“Not seen you since that business in Copenhagen.” Brock reached for three mismatched mugs, setting them down with a deliberate thud. “Must be serious if you’re dragging yourself to my humble abode.”

Leo folded his arms. “It is.”

Brock plucked tea bags from a chipped commemorative Royal Wedding tin. “That thing in Hellisheidi, with the neuro-engineer and those microchips—proper clusterfuck, by all accounts.” The kettle clicked off and steam rose in a thin column. “That was your outfit?”

Hellisheidi. The mission that had likely set this whole nightmare in motion. She took a slow breath. If she hadn’t provided Leo’s team with intelligence, would she be at her desk right now instead of here with royal figurines watching her every move?

Leo gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

Brock flashed a grin in reply. “Nice work.”

He handed Kat a mug sporting a faded Union Jack. “Take a pew, love. Any friend of the Russian’s worth at least one cuppa before judgment.”

Friend.The casual label stirred something uncomfortable in her chest.

She cupped the mug, grateful for something to do with her hands.

Brock dunked his tea bag forcefully as he joined them in the dining room. “So, what’s the damage?”

Kat glanced at Leo. His nod was almost imperceptible.

She chose her words carefully. “What you’re seeing on the news isn’t the full story. Someone planted classified documents in my house—documents I’ve never seen before.”

“Classic frame job,” Brock muttered.

“The Hellisheidi incident,” Kat continued, “I was the one who provided the intelligence on Korolov that scuppered his plan to acquire and sell the Raptor data.”

“Ah.” Brock dumped sugar into his tea. Kat counted six heaping teaspoons and tried not to widen her eyes.