Page 13 of A Touch of Treachery (Section 47 #3)

My father shrugged. “I completed my review of the Section station in Vienna last week. I thought it was high time to return to D.C., especially given all the problems here over the last few months.”

As the head of the board of directors, my father was always moving from one Section station to another, like a shark gobbling up all the missions and problems in his wake, large and small, important and trivial.

Basically, the General was a CEO, only he dealt in secrets, lies, and super-spies instead of cars, computers, and assembly-line workers.

I might be his son, but as a Section cleaner, I rarely saw my father, since I too was always traveling from one mission and one part of the world to another. At least before I had settled in D.C. But that arrangement had suited me just fine, especially after the Blacksea mission.

Even though Graham and several other agents had been killed, the General hadn’t sent anyone after Adrian Anatoly, the terrorist responsible for planting the bombs on the beach and ambushing the Section support staff in Australia.

My father had claimed someone would kill Anatoly sooner or later and that going after the terrorist wasn’t a good use of my time and skills.

Despite our issues over the years, his lack of support had stunned me. Eventually, my shock had turned to anger, and I’d decided to go after Anatoly myself, which had eventually led me to Charlotte.

But right now, my anger was tempered by wariness. The General never did anything without a reason, which made me even more curious about what he was doing here. What person or mission had caught his attention at the D.C. station?

My father reached into the open cardboard box and pulled out a silver picture frame, which he positioned on the corner of the desk so that it was facing toward him.

In the photo, my mother, Iylena, relaxed on a beach towel.

A floppy hat covered most of her strawberry-blond hair and protected her pale, freckled skin from the sun, but her hazel eyes sparkled with warmth and merriment as she grinned at the camera.

My father was American, but Iylena had been born in Australia, and I had spent a lot of time there during my childhood, hence my accent.

My mother had suffered from a rare type of blood cancer that only struck paramortals, and later this year would mark the fifteenth anniversary of her death.

I’d always been close to my mother, and seeing her smiling face made the sharp ache of her loss hit me all over again.

My father trailed his fingers down the glass as if he was caressing Iylena’s face. Despite his faults, he had truly loved my mother, who had been a kind, gentle, wonderful woman. Our mutual respect for her was just about the only thing the two of us had in common these days.

“Iylena would have loved seeing you establishing yourself here in the D.C. station,” the General said in a low, gruff voice. “She was always so proud of you, Desmond.”

I swallowed the knot of emotion in my throat. “Yes, she was.”

My father caressed her photo a moment longer, then hit a red button on the desktop. A familiar buzz rang out, indicating that he had soundproofed the office.

The General lifted his gaze to mine. The warmth drained out of his eyes like water leaking through a sieve, and he squared his shoulders, as if bracing for the unpleasant but familiar task of dealing with me, his disappointing son.

“I suppose you want to talk about the analyst. Plead your case for how Ms. Locke should be allowed to continue working on the Hyde mission.”

His cold, flat tone punched the softness out of me, and I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders right back at him. “I don’t have to plead anything. Charlotte is the best analyst here, in all of Section, actually, and she knows more about Henrika than anyone else. Sidelining her is a mistake.”

My father arched an eyebrow. “So you said in the debriefing, but I remain unconvinced.” He gestured over at a pile of cardboard boxes stacked on the couch. “I’ve reviewed Ms. Locke’s work regarding Henrika. Her information-gathering skills and analytical deductions are average at best.”

I scoffed. “That’s bullshit, and we both know it. Besides, Charlotte was the one who figured out that Trevor Donnelly and Miriam Lancaster were moles.”

The General’s eyes narrowed. “My question is why didn’t you figure it out? You and Trevor were friends. You went on dozens of missions together, and yet you never noticed that Trevor wasn’t as committed to Section as he pretended to be.”

Anger surged through me, and my jaw clenched so hard I thought I might crack a tooth. My father had been here all of an hour, and he was already pointing out my many flaws. But the thing that annoyed me the most was that in this case he was right .

Trevor Donnelly had been one of my closest friends, and he, Graham, and I had jokingly referred to ourselves as the Three Musketeers.

I’d had no idea Trevor was involved with Miriam Lancaster, one of the charmers he was supervising, much less that they had both been feeding information to Henrika Hyde.

Not only had Trevor betrayed Section 47, but he’d also betrayed me . Trevor had leaked information to Adrian Anatoly that had resulted in Graham’s death, along with those of the other agents assigned to the doomed Blacksea mission.

I was the only one who had survived, and when I’d come to Washington, D.C.

, to track down the mole, Trevor had doubled down on his treachery.

First, he’d sent several cleaners to kill Charlotte, who was getting closer to the truth than she’d realized.

Then Trevor had sent more cleaners to try to kill us both with a car bomb.

And perhaps worst of all, after Charlotte had outed him as a mole, Trevor had admitted how jealous he was of me.

How he hated the fact that I was a Legacy and he wasn’t, and how my father had handed everything to me on a silver platter.

That was the first time I’d seen Trevor’s true colors, and the knowledge had stunned, saddened, and angered me.

The two of us had fought in the level-three bullpen, and I’d killed Trevor by using my galvanism to stop his heart.

Sometimes I thought all I did was go around killing my friends.

“Well?” the General demanded. “Why didn’t you discover the truth about Trevor yourself? Instead of being so blind to his actions? I taught you better than that, Desmond. I taught you to keep everyone close, friends and enemies alike, because—”

“Because you never know when one might turn into the other,” I muttered, finishing his saying, which I’d heard more than once, along with similar pearls of pernicious wisdom.

The General had taught me a lot of things, most of which involved manipulating, hurting, and killing other people, whether it was emotionally, mentally, or physically.

He’d been giving me a master class in deceit, treachery, and power mongering my entire life.

I didn’t know whether to be grateful or hate him for it.

The General’s lessons had saved me more than once, but they had also deeply scarred my soul, something I hadn’t even realized until I’d met Charlotte.

“Trevor’s dead, so he doesn’t matter anymore,” I lied, trying to ignore the anger and hurt pounding through my chest. “We were talking about Charlotte and her skills. In addition to ferreting out the moles, she also figured out that Henrika would attack the Christmas Eve party at Tannenbaum Castle to try to steal the Nutcracker Ruby. No other Section analyst made that connection—just Charlotte.”

My father arched his eyebrow again. “Listen to you sing her praises. I would almost think you genuinely admire her analytical skills.”

“But?” I challenged.

“But you’re sleeping with her.” A disgusted note crept into his voice.

Of course my father would boil it down to that.

What I felt for Charlotte went far beyond the physical, but I wasn’t about to confess my feelings.

He would just use my emotions against me, the way I’d seen him do to countless agents.

The General never met a heartstring he wouldn’t tug, twist, or tear to get what he wanted.

I forced myself to give a nonchalant shrug. “So what if I am? Fraternizing isn’t against Section rules. Besides, it’s not like I meet a lot of people in our line of work. Just criminals, terrorists, and assassins.”

“Yes, but you should know better than to get involved with a bloody Locke .” My father snarled the name like it was a vile curse.

“All that family has ever done is cause problems. That’s their true legacy at Section 47.

Out of all the women in this building, you just had to get involved with her .

Sometimes I think you do these things to deliberately annoy me, Desmond. ”

“You’ve never cared who I’m involved with as long as I got the job done on whatever mission you assigned—and I always get the job done,” I growled.

To my surprise, the General tipped his head, acknowledging my point. “You do have the second-highest kill rate in Section history.”

A subtle barb. To my father, second-highest was the equivalent of saying not-the-best .

“Yes, well, we both know who has the highest kill rate in Section history: Jack Locke.”

The General flinched at the cleaner’s name, and petty satisfaction sparked in my chest at annoying him for a change.

“Exactly how much of your dislike of Charlotte has to do with her father?” I asked. “Because I remember exactly how much you despised Jack Locke.”

Growing up, I’d overheard dozens of heated phone calls between the General and the Section cleaner, and my father had constantly complained to my mother and his friends about the other man.

I’d never been able to figure out exactly why the General disliked Jack Locke so much, other than the fact that Locke was one of the few people brave—or foolish—enough to stand up to him.

Then again, for General Jethro Percy, that was reason enough.

If you weren’t an ally, then you were an enemy, and he would neutralize you—one way or another.

Anger flared in my father’s eyes, and his pale blue aura prickled with the hot emotion.

“Jack Locke was an arrogant fool. He didn’t understand how the spy world works, how Section 47 truly works.

” He waved his hand in a short, dismissive motion.

“Jack Locke was always more concerned with upholding his precious ideals than anything else.”

“Funny how people with no ideals, rules, or limits see those things as failings in others,” I drawled again.

My father sighed and looked upward, as if asking some higher power for the strength and patience to deal with me. More petty satisfaction sparked in my chest. I took great pride in exasperating him as much as he exasperated me. It was the only battle I could ever win between us.

The General dropped his gaze back down to me, and his aura cooled and congealed into an icy ring around his heart that only my mother had ever been able to breach. “Do us both a favor, Desmond, and don’t try my patience any more than you already have. And stay away from Charlotte Locke.”

“Or what?” I asked, hearing the underlying threat loud and clear.

“Or I’ll fire her, and the only thing she’ll be analyzing is the menu at that low-rent diner where she moonlights.”

Dread flooded my veins like an ocean of ice. The General never made idle threats. Charlotte loved being an analyst, but my father would take that away from her in a second if he thought it would further his own agenda.

My hands clenched into fists. “You are impossible .”

“And you are as impertinent, reckless, and emotional as ever,” my father snapped right back. “You might not realize it, but I’m doing this for your own good, Desmond. Go say your goodbyes to Charlotte tonight at that seedy diner, if you must.”

“But?” I challenged.

“But from this moment forward, you are not to share any information regarding Henrika Hyde with Charlotte Locke. Not the smallest scrap of intel, not the faintest whispered rumor, not the most tenuous lead. I will not let another Locke screw up my mission. The stakes are too high.”

My father shrugged. “But if you choose to defy me, as you so often do, then I’ll make sure Ms. Locke pays the price for your actions. Are we clear?”

It took me a moment to unlock my jaw. “Crystal.”

The General clearly heard the anger and disgust in my voice, but he waved his hand again, brushing aside my feelings and opinions the way he always did. “Dismissed. Get back to work. I want an update on where Henrika might be hiding by the end of the day.”

“Yes, sir.” I raised my hand and snapped off a mock salute.

My father frowned, but I spun away, yanked the door open, and stormed out of his office.