Page 19

D espite being in the most famous museum in the world, surrounded by priceless works of art, Braxton only saw Quinn. Her sweep of bright red hair immediately caught his attention and relief hit him as he and Ryland made their way closer to the trio of Quinn, Harper and Cross. Both women looked fine.

“Keep your cool,” Brax murmured, but Ryland growled in answer. Not exactly a good sign.

Once they’d reached them, Brax noticed Cross held onto Harper’s wrist, keeping her next to him.

“Let her go,” Ryland snapped. He shoved Zaitsev toward Cross and the man stumbled.

The moment Cross released Harper, she flew forward and Ryland caught her in his arms. Brax could feel the tension flowing off his friend as he quickly checked his wife over. Then Ryland’s wrath spiked to incinerating levels.

“You’re lucky to still be breathing, you piece of shit,” Ryland snarled, voice low and deadly.

Clearly, the man had made a wise decision when choosing a very public location to do the trade because Brax had a good feeling Rip would’ve torn Cross into pieces.

But Cross merely smirked, completely unaffected. “What a nice reunion. Father and son…” He turned his attention to Brax and Quinn, “Ex-husband and ex-wife.”

Shit. How much does the bastard know? Brax wondered, his focus shifting to Quinn. She gave the slightest shake of her head, and he knew her well enough to understand her message: Cross didn’t know they were working together. He hoped she was right.

“Emphasis on ‘ex’,” Quinn murmured and crossed her arms.

“A shame when a couple can’t make it work, but it happens.” Cross shrugged a shoulder.

“Yeah, you’d know all about it, huh?” Ryland poked.

Cross angled a look toward his son, his blue eyes narrowing. “Being married to a thief did tend to cause a certain amount of strain. Is your sister still carrying on your mother’s legacy?”

His dry tone grated on Braxton, and he bristled as Ryland took a step closer, his hand fisting. “Don’t you dare say a damn thing about Addie. At least she isn’t a killer.”

“Like us?” Cross asked innocently.

Ryland spun, gripping Brax’s shoulder. “I need to get the fuck outta here before I kill him with my bare hands.”

“Go. I’ll meet you outside.” Brax nudged Ryland away, and he headed out, Harper safely tucked under his arm.

“Well, as entertaining as this has been, we have things to do.” Cross turned his full attention to Braxton. “I suggest you and your team disband, Pharaoh. Go into hiding. Get on with your miserable lives. As you well know, The Agency no longer needs your services. And if you continue to cause problems, I will make sure every single significant other belonging to your teammates is hunted down. Trust me when I say Aubrey, River, Mia, Harper and that traitor Lucas will disappear without a trace.”

Brax’s stomach curled with nausea because he knew Cross wouldn’t hesitate to do it.

“And if you ever decide to find someone new…” His gaze slid over to Quinn…almost as if he knew about them. “I’ll kill her, too.”

Icy fingers of dread skated down Brax’s spine. There’s no way Cross could know they were together. Fucking impossible. But his gut clenched and soured with a terrifying premonition. An image of Quinn, her throat cut as she fell, reaching for him, her green eyes wide with shock, filled his head.

Pressing his lips together, withholding his scathing comment, his eyes clashed with Cross’ before the man walked away with Zaitsev, the chemist who knew the deadly Novichok recipe, and Quinn, the love of his life.

◆◆◆

Once they were back outside of the museum, an SUV with tinted windows immediately rolled up and Quinn got inside with Cross and the Russian chemist. She searched the courtyard and surrounding area for Brax’s team, but didn’t see anyone. But she knew, without a doubt, they were cleverly concealed and watching closely as she left.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Home,” Cross responded, and Quinn frowned, not understanding what he meant.

No one said a word for the rest of the trip. Quinn watched as they left the city behind and drove into the French countryside. It was beautiful, but she was too uneasy to enjoy the view. Without her pistol, she felt on edge.

They pulled into a long driveway almost thirty minutes later. She paid close attention to her surroundings as they drove forward, past what looked like a small cemetery and then stopped in front of an enormous manor house. The behemoth stone structure looked straight out of the fifteenth century and was surrounded by several smaller outbuildings. The moss-covered rooftops and chipped, white shutters gave it an old world, rustic vibe. Woods surrounded the estate and it felt like she’d traveled back in time.

“Nice place,” she murmured.

“It’s quiet, and a perfect place to hide from the rest of the world,” Cross said. “Even though it’s old, I’ve installed a state-of-the-art lab for you, Dr. Zaitsev.”

“Thank you,” the scientist murmured, and Quinn wanted to punch him. The man seemingly felt no guilt over all the deadly Novichok he created. But she vowed he’d get his comeuppance, just like Cross and the rest of his minions would.

The idea that she’d almost fallen into his seductive offer made her sick to her stomach. She had no interest in wielding an obscene amount of power over others and joining The Agency. When he’d approached her and offered her an insane amount of money to eliminate Ex Nihilo, she’d accepted. Well, the Cardinal had accepted. But she was done killing people for money. After helping Brax destroy The Agency, she was done with that life. It was time for the Cardinal to retire and for Quinn Graves to start living again.

And, more than anything, she wanted a life with Braxton. If he’ll have me , she thought.

The SUV came to a stop and Quinn climbed out, taking it all in. The estate was arranged around the courtyard, and the main building was composed of three levels made of various shades of limestone. It had a flat tile roof, octagonal chimneys and several turrets.

Cross led them through the large front door and into an imposing entry hall. They walked down a long hallway and stepped into a cozy-looking library with exposed beams above, several couches, floor to ceiling bookshelves and, most impressive of all, an etched monumental fireplace where flames crackled. She briefly studied the butterfly carved into the stone before turning her attention to the man sitting in a chair by the window.

Quinn instantly recognized Dr. Malcolm Grendel. Brax and the others had told her all about the skeletal psycho and his penchant for torture. Suffice it to say, no one had anything nice to say about the man, especially Saint, who’d been forced to endure, as he put it, “quality time with Skeletor and his torture devices.”

Grendel shifted piercing, light brown eyes her way and Quinn did her best not to shudder. “Ah, the Cardinal finally joins us.”

The other person in the room stood in front of the fire and Quinn looked over but couldn’t determine much about the individual who kept their face averted from her curious gaze. She—or he—wore a loosely-fitted, robe-like garment and headscarf. It reminded her of the clothing worn by certain cultures in the Middle East.

“Let’s get started,” Cross said, sitting down on the sofa. “The party is tomorrow and we have one chance to pull this off. To finally see justice served.”

Party? Justice? With a frown, Quinn walked over and sat in an ornate chair. The mysterious fire-gazer also joined them, lowering down beside Cross, and Quinn immediately noticed the person’s face was completely covered by a black veil. Although it was sheer enough to breathe through, the person’s features were completely hidden.

Whoever it was possessed a smaller stature than Cross and Grendel and also seemed to move with a certain grace seen more often in women than in men. Quinn’s gaze dropped, trying to see his or her hands, but they were hidden in long, flowing sleeves.

“Stop staring,” a female voice rasped from beneath the veil.

Cross tensed and pierced Quinn with a daggered look. “Don’t look at her,” he hissed. “Or I will strangle you with my bare hands.”

The tension in the room skyrocketed.

Quinn cleared her throat. “Sorry, I was just waiting for an introduction.”

“None is coming,” Cross stated coldly, “so let’s get back to the party plans.”

What in the hell is going on? Quinn wondered. She felt like she just stepped into an episode of The Addams Family . With a nod, she crossed her legs and did her best to look at ease. But she’d never been more uncomfortable in her entire life.

◆◆◆

Braxton paced back and forth, waiting for Quinn to make contact. The team was hunkered down in a Parisian safehouse courtesy of Dash Slater. Outside the window, the Eiffel Tower once again began its twinkling light show where it sparkled for five minutes at the beginning of each hour. This was the third time the thousands of white lights danced, and Brax gritted his teeth.

It had been over three hours since they’d parted ways at the Louvre. Why the fuck hadn’t Quinn called yet?

“You’re going to wear a hole in the rug if you don’t stop pacing,” Inda said, swinging her nunchucks.

Brax abruptly halted and shoved a hand through his hair. “She should’ve made contact by now.”

“Give her time,” Zane said. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“She might be in trouble.”

“Nothing we can do until we have her location,” Saint stated.

“And when we do,” Ryland added, “let’s go blow some shit up.”

Harper had been glued to his side since they left the museum and was now curled up beneath his arm on the couch.

“She’ll call,” Inda said confidently. “Give her time to gather intel.”

“I know. I just—” His phone rang and he grabbed it off the table. “Quinn?”

“Brax, I don’t have much time, so listen closely.” The urgency in her voice had him clutching his phone hard. “I’m at Cross’ manor house in the country. Grendel is here, too, along with some creepy woman in a veil, all covered up. They’re planning a dinner party tomorrow night, inviting all of their enemies, and they plan to release the Novichok. Zaitsev is down in some hidden lab working on it right now.”

Brax quickly absorbed everything she said. “Text me your location. We’ll figure out a way to stop him. Cross still has no idea you’re with us?”

“No, he has no clue. Don’t worry about me. I’m safe.”

Although her words should’ve made him feel better, they didn’t. He wouldn’t feel completely at ease until Quinn was back in his arms again.

“Can you get us a guest list?” Brax asked.

“Yeah, I’ll track it down. I have to go.”

“Be careful, Q.” Fuck, he wanted to reach through the phone and touch her, make sure she was okay.

“You, too, Graves.”

She hung up and he let out a frustrated sound. His team was watching, so he did what he always did—became the stoic, unflappable leader they all expected and depended on.

But, for the first time, his feelings refused to be ignored. They were far too strong, and worry for Quinn made him edgy and out of sorts.

Keep your head straight , he admonished himself. This wasn’t the time to fall apart.

This was it, the final key moments in the battle against The Agency. Now it was do or die.

Brax couldn’t predict what exactly would happen, but he knew one thing for sure—he would go down fighting to save the woman he loved.

Because, yeah, he still loved Quinn. Always fucking had. She was his other half. And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.