Page 14 of Code Name: Reaper (K19 Allied Intelligence Team Two #5)

REAPER

I stood when I saw Amaryllis, Wren, and Nemesis emerge from the library. Charity’s complexion had gone ashen, and her shoulders were rigid with tension. Dark circles ringed her eyes like bruises, and she gripped the doorframe to keep from swaying.

Nemesis scanned the command center. “Has Irish left already?”

“About an hour ago,” Hornet confirmed. “Apparently, he had a flight to catch to the States.”

“We’ll engage with him tomorrow, then,” she decided.

I moved closer to Amaryllis, positioning myself within arm’s reach. Her reaction time was slower than usual, as if her brain was struggling to process information.

“We should call it a day. Regroup in the morning.”

Wren looked between us. “Nem already ordered it, plus Wilder’s arriving soon with our daughter.” She grinned. “He’s started calling her ‘Katatoria.’”

Amaryllis appeared confused.

“Katherine Victoria,” Wren explained. “Named for both our mothers. You’ll understand better once you meet my husband.”

I guided Amaryllis toward the front door with a light touch on her elbow. She didn’t resist or snap at me, or worse, tell me to keep my hands to myself. Most likely, exhaustion had drained the fight out of her like it had me.

The SUV’s engine hummed as we pulled away from the estate, the headlights cutting through the gathering dusk. Amaryllis leaned against the passenger window, clutching her laptop bag against her chest like armor.

“You’re running on caffeine and stubbornness.” I turned onto the gravel driveway of a stone structure that looked like it belonged on a postcard. “Once we’re inside, I’ll make us something to eat.”

She looked over at me like she heard me but didn’t say a word. Which, from her, was scary.

The cottage sat nestled between ancient oak trees, and its honey-colored perimeter walls were covered with ivy that rustled in the evening breeze. Blackjack had chosen well—the place felt secure but welcoming, isolated enough for privacy yet close enough to the main estate for backup if needed.

The front door opened into a living area with exposed wooden beams, a stone fireplace, and furniture that invited relaxation. The kitchen occupied one corner, separated by a breakfast bar, while three doors flanked a short hallway.

To my surprise, Amaryllis didn’t argue about my preparing a meal. She followed me inside, her gaze automatically cataloging exits and defensive positions with the ingrained habits of someone trained for survival.

“Have a seat.” I pointed to the dining table near the kitchen.

Amaryllis sank into one of the wooden chairs and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I should review the DoD material again. There might be connections I missed.”

I opened the refrigerator, grateful to find Blackjack had had it stocked with eggs, cheese, fresh bread, and vegetables like the previous safe house. “What you should do is give your brain a break.”

She was quiet for so long I thought she might have dozed off sitting up. When I glanced over, she was staring out the window at the darkening countryside, her reflection ghostlike in the glass.

“You need to take care of yourself, Charity. You’re not on the run anymore. Use the downtime for a hard reset. When’s the last time you did?”

“Not since Mercury disappeared,” she began, seemingly not noticing I’d used her given name. “Everything else started feeling selfish. Sleep, food, comfort—they seemed like luxuries I hadn’t earned while she was...”

She didn’t finish. I’d seen agents consume themselves with guilt before, watched good people destroy their health pursuing cases that had become personal. The difference was most of them were chasing strangers. Amaryllis was hunting for the closest thing to family she had left.

I cracked eggs into a bowl. “Mercury would kick your ass for neglecting yourself. She trained you better than this.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. “She used to keep protein bars in her desk drawer and made me eat them when I’d get too focused on a case to remember to eat. She said a sharp mind required proper fuel.”

“Smart woman.”

I whisked the eggs with more force than necessary, channeling my frustration into the task.

Watching Amaryllis slowly destroy herself in pursuit of answers made my chest tight—feelings I shouldn’t be having over a woman who, if she had any energy left at all, would be fighting me tooth and nail about everything, including how hard I was being on the eggs.

The kitchen was well-equipped despite its compact size.

I found a decent pan, heated oil, and added the vegetables I’d diced while she watched.

The simple domesticity of cooking while she observed felt strangely right.

No arguments about methodology or approaches.

No verbal sparring over who was in charge.

We were two worn-down people sharing a living space.

I poured the egg mixture into the pan. “How was working with Wren today?”

“We learned a lot. Crazy how someone like her and Nemesis can get people to talk who wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

I wanted to know what they found out, but neither of us had enough energy for a heavy conversation.

She nodded slowly, weariness making her movements deliberate. “Each time I find something new about her, it hurts. I’m still not over the fact that I never even knew her name.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

The anguish in her voice made me consider turning the heat off under the eggs, take her in my arms, and ease her pain.

I wanted to tell her names were labels, that actions and care mattered more than official identities.

But I could see how deep this betrayal went for her, how it undermined everything she’d believed about the most important relationship in her life.

I slid the omelet onto a plate and set it in front of her, along with the bread I’d sliced.

“It’s like the photo, ya know? The one of her and Jekyll in high school.

I mean, what the fuck?” She picked up the fork and took a bite, lost in thought.

“They looked happy. Young. Like they were normal teenagers instead of future intelligence operatives with false identities and classified agendas.” She paused and took a second bite.

“It makes me wonder what they experienced together. What connected them before they ever entered this world?”

I made my own plate and sat across from her, noting how color started returning to her cheeks as she ate. “Could be a coincidence. Intelligence work attracts certain personality types. Maybe they were drawn to the same things from an early age.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do.” She took another forkful, larger this time. “Two people from the same high school both end up on deep cover missions, investigating the same corruption network? That’s not mere coincidence.”

I shrugged. “Maybe not.”

I watched her eat with more attention than the simple act warranted, relief flooding through me as she finished most of what I’d prepared. While the food seemed to revive her, weariness still clung to her.

“Secrets and lies. That’s what our world operates on.

No one tells the fucking truth; information is passed in dark alleys, and then when it’s shared, no one can know who told them.

” She rested her chin on her hand. “I don’t know who to trust anymore.

” The admission came out raw and honest. “Mercury was my mentor for years, and I know nothing about her. Aldrich founded an organization to fight corruption, but she’s collaborating with the people she’s supposed to be fighting.

Who else isn’t who they say they are? Or worse, who I think they are. ”

For the second time, I wanted to pull her into my arms and find the words to tell her that, if no one else, she could trust me. Instead, I feared it was me she was referring to.

“You act on your instincts. They’ve kept you alive this long.”

“Maybe they have, or maybe it’s been dumb luck. My instincts told me I could trust ‘Dr. Henning.’”

“They also told you Prism was dirty prior to having any proof. You’ve been right about the big things.”

She looked up at me then, and I saw the moment her walls came down a fraction.

“Whatever it is, say it,” I practically begged.

She studied me for a long moment, and when I decided she wasn’t going to tell me, she uttered two simple words—“Your source.”

That told me all I needed to know. As I suspected, it was me she was afraid she couldn’t trust, even with the leaps of faith she’d already made.

My immediate decision went against everything I’d learned in the course of my career. “Killian Curran,” I said. “Code name, Dagger. That’s my source.”

Her eyes widened, not at the name but at my willingness to share it. In our world, assets were sacred. You protected them with your life, even from the people closest to you. The fact that I was giving her a name meant I trusted her with more than intel—I trusted her with my integrity.

“He’s not affiliated with the coalition, but his sister, Verity, is,” I continued. “She was on the Swiss task force.” I leaned forward, holding her gaze. “You don’t need me to explain why I didn’t share his identity right away, but I’m going to anyway.”

“You really don’t?—”

“I do.” The words came out rougher than I’d intended. “Dagger is a Unit 23 operative I met through Typhon. What I’m about to tell you, even Nemesis doesn’t know. No one from the coalition does—not Delfino, not Hornet, not anyone.”

She went very still. The fact that I was sharing intel that sensitive meant I was putting her above organizational security. It was a line I’d never crossed with anyone.

“Please don’t feel as though you have to do this,” she practically pleaded.

“But I do,” I repeated. “What no one knows is that Dagger is currently undercover within Minerva Protocol. His cover identity is Tanner Fellowes.”

The weight of what I’d told her settled between us.

Dagger wasn’t merely a source—he was an asset embedded in an organization whose founder we were investigating.

If his cover was blown, he could be in grave danger.

Less than five hours after he’d read me in on his assignment, I was putting his life in her hands.

“He’s been feeding me intelligence about their internal structure, their decision-making processes, their paranoia about potential security breaches.” I leaned forward, holding her gaze. “He’s walking a tightrope every day. If his cover gets blown, if the wrong person finds out…”

“He’s dead.”

“Exactly.” I pushed my own plate aside when the food became less important than making her understand.

“I’m telling you this because I want you to know that whatever other lies get uncovered, whatever other people turn out to be playing multiple sides, you can trust me with your life just like I’m trusting you with his. ”

“Why?”

Multiple answers surfaced in my mind—most of which I couldn’t tell her because I wasn’t ready to acknowledge them myself.

“Because you’re the only person I’ve met who fights for people the way I do. Because your instincts are sound, even when you don’t trust them. Because we saved each other’s lives in Berlin and that has to count for something.”

She studied me for a long moment, her green-blue eyes searching my face for deception or hidden agendas. “What does Dagger know about Mercury’s current situation?”

“Nothing that he’s said. And if he did know anything, he would’ve.”

“Which means Prism doesn’t have her.”

“Almost certainly not. If she did, the paranoia wouldn’t make sense.” I stood and began clearing the dishes, needing movement.

Amaryllis stood too, took her laptop from its case, then returned to the table. “We should review what we have. Cross-reference Dagger’s intelligence with what Nemesis shared today, see if we can build a clearer picture.”

I wanted to point out that she could barely stay awake, but I recognized the determined set of her jaw. The need to do work, to feel like she was making progress, outweighed her body’s demands for rest.

“Let’s sit in the living room.”

I was stunned again when she got up from the table, settled on the sofa, set her laptop on the coffee table, and opened it.

“I’m sure Nemesis will brief everyone more in depth tomorrow about what we discovered today, but the most significant thing is that Prism was undercover at the academy before Mercury was.

They were investigating something called Operation Avalon. ”

I shifted closer, reading through the report she’d pulled up on her screen. There was something familiar about it, but like hers, my brain was too tired to process it. When we reached the end, I rested against the cushion. “So the investigation was terminated when she left the academy?”

“Weird, right?” She rubbed her temples. “There’s a web here. Like trying to see a constellation through cloud cover. The stars are there, but not enough of them are visible yet.”

“If you’re okay with it, I’ll contact Dagger to see what he knows about Avalon.”

After she said she was, I sent a quick text, then watched as she fought to keep her eyes open, forcing herself to focus on the words on the screen that I was sure were starting to blur together. She rested against the cushion, and when, seconds later, I heard her soft snore, I shifted to study her.

In the soft lamplight, she looked younger, more vulnerable. The fierce agent who’d fought her way out of Berlin, who’d gone toe-to-toe with me over every decision, was a woman who’d been carrying too much weight for too long.

As much as I didn’t want to wake her, if she slept on this sofa, she’d have a helluva sore neck tomorrow.

I slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her, lifting her with more care than I’d used handling live explosives.

Her head fell against my shoulder as I carried her down the hall to the first bedroom I came to.

I settled her on top of the mattress, covered her with a blanket, then stood there, watching her sleep.

I knew I should leave. Go to the other room, get some sleep myself, pretend holding her hadn’t felt so right that it scared the shit out of me.

Instead, I memorized details like the way her hair fell across the pillow in dark waves.

The gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

How her hand curled near her face as if she was holding onto precious cargo in her dreams.

I turned to go, when I heard her say my name— Kingston .

I went still, barely breathing. Was she dreaming again? I waited to see if she’d say anything else, then watched as she shifted on the bed. “Don’t leave me,” she said in a voice thick with sleep. “Stay.”

I stood there in the darkness, hands clenched at my sides, torn between walking out of the room and staying where I was, knowing that whichever decision I made would be the wrong one.