Page 6

A few hours later, back in the rental, Leo scrolled through the file on his encrypted phone. Light rain pattered against the windshield, blurring the streetlights into golden smears.

This was where Kat’s brother lived.

The house was an unassuming red brick two-up, two-down terraced home wedged between identical facades on a quiet Hampstead side street. Nothing about the modest exterior suggested anything remarkable about its occupant.

Kat’s brother, however, was anything but unremarkable.

Zak had delivered Gage Landon’s file within an hour. Leo swiped through the document, his jaw muscle bunching.

After serving in the Royal Marines, where he’d excelled in reconnaissance and intelligence gathering, Landon had been recruited for a classified government cybersecurity program.

His exceptional talent for systems infiltration had made him valuable to British intelligence, but his refusal to follow protocols had led to his dismissal under circumstances heavily redacted, even in the classified files that Zak had obtained.

Leo blew out a breath. Kat had never mentioned a brother. Although hell, why would she? He could understand why an MI6 operative might be discreet with her history. Especially one like her brother who clearly didn’t follow rules.

Ousted from the military, Landon had leveraged his training and technical skills to become a freelance information specialist.

Leo drew a hand over his mouth. Freelance information specialist, my ass.

High-end thief was more like it.

The file detailed Landon’s suspected involvement in data extraction operations against three major financial institutions and at least one embassy.

Each case had been investigated, but charges never filed.

Landon was either exceptionally good at what he did, or the institutions he’d intervened in were run by morons.

Leo slipped his phone into his jacket pocket before climbing out of the car. The late afternoon air was fresh after the rain as he gave the street a last sweep. No surveillance vehicles, no tell-tale reflections of binocular lenses from darkened windows.

MI6 was slipping, or Gage Landon had dropped off the radar by choice.

He crossed the road, boots silent. The brass knocker was cold against his knuckles as he rapped on the weathered door.

Light shifted on the other side of the peephole. Leo adjusted his stance, relaxed but ready, weight balanced on the balls of his feet.

The door opened a crack, security chain taut, then fully when recognition didn’t trigger immediate closure.

Gage Landon filled the doorway, his broad frame blocking the warm light from inside.

He shared his sister’s striking green eyes, but the resemblance ended there.

Kat’s held warmth behind professional reserve.

Gage’s were harder—assessing, calculating.

His athletic build suggested he’d stayed combat-ready. Leo had expected nothing less.

The faint scent of bacon drifted from inside. Leo’s gut cramped with hunger. He hadn’t eaten since he landed in England.

Landon’s gaze flicked over Leo, up and down, measuring. His mouth settled into a hard line. He leaned against the doorframe, arms folding. “You lost?”

Leo didn’t blink. “I’m looking for Kat.”

A flicker of something crossed Landon’s eyes—gone in an instant. “Wrong house.”

The door started to close.

Leo shot a hand out, palm flat against the wood. Just enough pressure to stop it. Not overtly threatening. “She sent me a message. She’s in trouble.”

Landon tensed. His right hand drifted—subtle, but Leo clocked it. A weapon, no doubt.

“I said—wrong house.” Landon’s accent carried the crispness of an expensive British education, but underneath lurked something less refined.

“I came a long fucking way.” Leo made his voice flat, edged with steel. “Don’t make this harder.”

Landon’s expression didn’t shift as he gave a humorless chuckle. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Leonid Bychkov. Guardsmen Security. I’m here to help Kat.”

The brother’s eyebrows knit together. Another abrupt laugh. “Bychkov?” He moved to shut the door, more forcefully this time.

Fuck it.

Leo wedged his foot in the gap. “I don’t have time for this.” His voice dropped. “She called me because she trusts me. Now let me in, or I let myself in. Your choice.”

Landon’s face hardened. “Wrong move.”

Landon struck first—a tight hook to Leo’s solar plexus. Leo twisted, absorbing it on his ribs.

His response was instant. Leo drove forward, shoulder-first, blasting the door wide as Landon backpedaled. They crashed into the narrow hallway, the front door slamming shut behind them.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Leo growled, blocking a second strike with his forearm. The impact stung.

“Feeling’s not mutual.” Landon grinned. He feinted left, then snapped a knee toward Leo’s thigh.

Leo deflected the blow, his patience evaporating. What the fuck? I’m here to help.

He lunged forward, breaking inside Landon’s guard, slamming him against the wall. His forearm pressed hard against the other man’s throat, pinning him in place.

A framed photograph crashed to the floor, glass shattering across the hardwood.

“She reached out to me,” Leo hissed, their faces inches apart.

Landon drove his forehead forward—hard.

Leo staggered, the world graying. The copper tang of blood snapped his focus back.

Fuck. Son of a bitch was good.

“Last chance.” Leo wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand. “I’m here to protect your sister, not fight you.”

“Go to hell,” Landon snarled, and hammered a series of blows into Leo’s side.

Leo reeled, pain spearing his ribcage, fighting to stay upright as Landon drove him back. His calf clipped a low table, throwing off his balance. A lamp crashed to the floor, its ceramic base exploding.

Landon came in again, but Leo caught his wrist mid-strike. He pivoted, using the momentum to spin Landon into a submission hold—except Landon twisted free, faster than expected.

What the ? —

Leo barely had time to reset before Landon lunged. They collided, grappling for control.

The rug skidded under their weight. Leo crashed against a bookcase, pain flaring down his arm in electric bursts.

This —he blocked another rib shot— is getting ridiculous.

He rammed a fist into Landon’s gut.

The other man folded. Leo seized the opening, twisting behind him and locking in a chokehold.

Landon bucked, clawing at Leo’s forearm, nails digging deep as he fought to break free.

“What the hell are you two doing?”

The voice cut through the struggle, followed by the unmistakable click of a pistol’s safety disengaging.

Leo looked up.

There she was—at the end of the hall, SIG in hand, eyes blazing.

And she was pissed.