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A fter her quick call with Brax, Quinn ate the light dinner sent up to the spacious guestroom Cross had assigned to her. Just like the rest of the house, it had a historical feel but was well-kept despite most likely being hundreds of years old. The room was a little drafty, which was to be expected, so she found herself curled up in a large chair in front of the fireplace.

She knew she wasn’t a prisoner there, but strangely, she was starting to feel like one.

Questions filled her head about the upcoming party. Once it was dark, she planned to go exploring and get her hands on that guest list. In the meantime, she thought back over the meeting with Cross, Grendel and the mysterious, shrouded woman. At least, she thought it was a woman.

And then there were three.

It was interesting to her how The Agency had turned on its own, time and time again. Except for these three. What was the tie that had kept them together? Or, maybe it was still just a matter of time before Cross tried to take them both out, too. The man certainly didn’t have much loyalty. Not even to his own son. Yet he seemed strangely protective over the shrouded woman.

Quinn’s identity was no longer a secret and she wondered exactly how much Cross knew. He’d admitted knowing she used to be married to Brax, but he had no idea they’d rekindled their love affair.

Or, did he?

Her skin crawled. Something about Nathan “Cross” Mills struck her as more than merely dangerous. Earlier, he’d come across as more spiteful than power hungry when he’d mentioned justice. It felt like she was missing a part of the puzzle. A very personal part.

Quinn bided her time until the large Grandfather clock in the hall outside her room struck midnight. Then she quietly walked over to the door, pulled it open and stepped into the hallway. On quiet feet, she moved through the dark manor in search of Cross’ office. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to stumble onto Zaitsev’s lab, too.

The bright light of the moon filtered in through the large windows, guiding her as she moved down the wide staircase. She didn’t dare use the flashlight on her phone. Earlier when she’d walked the corridors and been in the library, she’d searched for cameras and didn’t see any, so she wasn’t nervous about getting caught on a security cam.

The manor house was ridiculously big and she found herself tiptoeing along seemingly endless corridors with more rooms than she had time to explore. After twenty minutes of peeking through various doorways, she stumbled on an office with a large, ornate desk made of dark wood. The faint smell of cigar smoke clung to the air and a cart with crystal glasses and a brandy decanter sat against the wall. It was definitely a man’s domain.

Moving into the room on silent feet, she circled the desk. There was no laptop, so she started checking drawers. She shuffled through a pile of papers in the middle drawer and pulled out a list of ten names, not recognizing any of them.

Quinn snapped a quick photo of the list then tucked it back inside the drawer. That seemed a little too easy , she thought, making her way back into the hallway. Maybe she was just overthinking things. She had a tendency to do that. But her instincts had never let her down before. Pausing, she tilted her head, listening as the big house settled, deciding where to go next.

The slightest wisp of sound caught her attention and she immediately stepped back into the office, pulling the door nearly closed. Looking through the narrow crack, she waited and, a moment later, the mysterious woman from earlier strode by, her long black garments flowing behind her. Caught in a shaft of moonlight, she looked like some kind of eerie wraith and Quinn suppressed a shiver.

Who was she? And why was she covered from head to toe?

Curiosity propelled Quinn forward and she followed the woman at a distance. After several turns, the Lady in Black disappeared in a room. Ducking through an opposite doorway across the hall, Quinn waited patiently. After five minutes or so, the Lady in Black swept out and went back the way she’d come.

Pushing the door open, Quinn crept over and stepped into a bedroom. Everything looked normal except a side table with several flickering candles. Moving closer, she saw a framed photo of a little boy and girl with dark hair, their arms wrapped around each other, and smiling at the camera. A few flowers tied with a ribbon lay in front of the picture, along with a very sharp-looking knife.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Quinn pulled her phone out and snapped a couple of quick pictures. After sending them to Brax, she snuck back up to her room, took a quick shower and crawled into bed. Her thoughts whirled as she kept picturing what she found downstairs and what it all meant. And who the hell was the shrouded woman in black?

◆◆◆

Early the next morning, Braxton and his team started their day on a conference call with River, Lucas and the others back in San Francisco. The dinner party was taking place that evening and they still didn’t have half the answers they needed.

He’d shared the images Quinn had sent of the supposed guest list and picture of the kids. As Zane, River and Lucas launched searches on their laptops, everyone began speculating. Ryland was on the other side of the room, talking on the phone with his sister. Brax didn’t know a lot about Addison Mills other than she was four years older than her brother and a world-class thief who claimed to be an antiquities expert.

Inda’s dark head was bent over the photo of the kids. Zane had printed the image out for everyone and she couldn’t stop studying it.

“What’re you thinking, Bruja?” Brax asked.

“The flowers and candles make me think it’s some kind of altar—she set it up as though in memory of the children.” Her caramel eyes squinted. “And did you notice how similar they look? Like they’re—”

Her voice trailed off and Gray completed her sentence.

“Twins,” he stated ominously.

They’d only run across one set of twins in their dealings with The Agency—the deadly duo of Camille and Julien Mercier. And they’d been eliminated, thanks to Gray and a tank full of acid.

“Maybe it’s their mother?” River suggested through the speaker. “After my experience with Camille, only a mother would mourn that bitch.”

“Maybe,” Inda murmured thoughtfully. “Makes sense.”

She didn’t sound completely convinced, and while that bothered her, something else bothered Brax—the planned Novichok attack on the party guests.

“Bruja, when you and Lucas saw Selma die after being exposed to Novichok, you said it was fast and brutal, right?”

“It was awful. She had convulsions and couldn’t breathe.”

“She died in under two and a half minutes,” Lucas stated.

“Same with Petrov and everyone in his compound,” Saint added darkly. “When I released the Novichok through the ducts, we had to move fast to get out of there.”

“Why?” Inda asked, tilting her head. “What’re you thinking, Pharaoh?”

“Well, the whole point of using Novichok is to make someone’s death appear natural. It attacks the nervous system making it appear as though the victim merely had a heart attack and wasn’t murdered.”

“Exactly,” Zane said. “Unless Cross wants to make a statement or some kind of spectacle, why bother going to all this trouble to create it? Just shoot these assholes.”

Inda perked up. “Lucas, do you remember when Cross asked Zaitsev about his delivery method?”

“Yeah, he asked if he’d made a liquid, an aerosol…”

“Or a powder,” she finished, popping up off the couch. “What if we’re thinking too big? The smallest amount is lethal and untraceable.”

“She’s right,” River said. “For all we know, Cross could simply be planning to spray some of that shit on the doorknob or dust it on their utensils.”

“In trace amounts, it takes longer to work,” Zane said thoughtfully. “Back in 2018, there was an incident involving a former Russian double agent. He and his daughter collapsed at a shopping center and Novichok was later found on the doorknob of his home. They managed to survive, so finding the right amount and form of delivery is key to its success.”

“And that’s why Cross has been having Zaitsev test it,” Brax said, voice thoughtful.

“So he’s probably planning to use the chemical weapon, but on a smaller scale,” Saint concluded. “That means we need to have gas masks and wear gloves when we’re there.”

“Saint and Demon, organize PPE for everyone in small backpacks,” Brax said. “Banshee, River and Lucas, keep digging and see what you can find on that picture. Also, make sure to check if Cross has any connections to France, specifically that manor house.”

Ryland walked over, Harper beside him. “Cross might’ve been hiding out there after faking his own death. Addie just reminded me how he’d mentioned enjoying his time over here between ops.”

“How’s your sister handling your dad’s resurrection?” Saint asked.

“Addie can handle anything,” Ryland informed them. “She’s pretty damn fierce.”

“I’d love to meet her one day,” Harper said, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“One day,” Ryland murmured. “What do you need me to do, Pharaoh?”

“Prepare yourself,” Brax stated, “because tonight we’re going to do whatever it takes to stop your father.”

“I know and, trust me, I’m ready.”

Brax gave the other man a nod, glad to hear it. Because the last thing he needed was any conflict of interest. Across from him, Saint looked thoughtful, probably because Mia had been through a similar experience recently where she’d had to choose sides—Saint or her father. In her case, not everything was as it seemed, and Chadwick Carlisle was now one less enemy Ex Nihilo had to deal with, thanks to an avalanche.

No matter what other intel surfaced in the next few hours, one thing remained the same. Brax and his team had a job to do. They were going to infiltrate Cross’ manor house and eliminate the last Agency members still standing in a final confrontation.

He didn’t need any last minute surprises, but a little voice in his head told him to be prepared for anything. And that damn voice was always right.