Page 18 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

‘You mentioned you’d heard of Merlin’s Eye before,’ she said.

Jack nodded, jaw tightening. She was already pulling away, retreating behind her professional mask. ‘Right. I was delivering a file to Lockwood at the War Rooms weeks ago, and I overheard two senior officers talking. One of them mentioned it. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.’

‘Did you hear anything else?’

‘Only that it was being moved. Whatever it is, it’s important enough to rattle men with clearance far above mine.’

She glanced at her hands as silence settled again and Jack could practically see her mind working, cataloguing secrets and connections. She frowned, then knocked back the rest of her whisky in a single gulp.

Jack reached for the bottle and topped up his glass. ‘Those acronyms you mentioned. TRE stands for the Telecommunications Research Establishment. Radar development.’

‘And Pye?’

‘A civilian firm, technically, but crucial. They’re working for the war now, manufacturing radio and radar components.’

Ellie nodded slowly.

He studied her face, weighing how much to reveal. ‘Echo 7 came up once. It’s a codename for Bawdsey. Your father’s been involved in certain projects for some time.’

He watched the realisation dawn on her face – MI5 had been watching her father, her suspicions had been right all along. Then, when she swallowed hard, he knew she understood.

‘I need to go.’

Jack frowned. ‘I’ll take you home.’

She shook her head. ‘No. I’ll be fine.’

‘I’m not asking.’ He’d seen a beam almost crush her; he wasn’t about to let her wander through London’s streets alone. ‘You’re hurt and it’s not safe. I’m driving you home.’ He watched her hesitate, saw the moment she gave in.

‘Fine. But no lectures.’

***

Outside, the city pressed close, bomb-scarred, secret-laced.

Acrid smoke from burning timbers hung in the air, catching in her throat.

She slid into the passenger seat of his Rover and Jack closed the door.

As he drove across the city, he had to divert more than once to avoid blazing buildings and streets writhing with fire hoses.

Ellie sat stiffly, adrenaline still coursing through her veins, her mind racing faster than the wheels beneath her.

Somewhere out there, a traitor was watching.

And she was going to find him, no matter what the cost might be.

***

When she finally arrived home, Lizzie was the first to spot her.

‘Bloody hell, what happened to you, love?’

Ellie stood in the hallway, clothes still streaked with soot, a cut at her temple dark with dried blood. She hadn’t even realised she was still holding Jack’s handkerchief.

‘There was a bombing,’ she said quietly. ‘St James’s area, near the Green Man.’

Catherine appeared in the doorway, face pale. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No, aside from some bruises.’ She tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

Lizzie took one look at her and turned towards the kitchen. ‘Sit. I’ll make tea. Or something stronger.’

‘Honestly,’ Ellie said, brushing past them as she headed towards her room. ‘I was lucky. Some weren’t.’

Catherine caught her hand gently. ‘You should let a doctor look at that.’

‘Someone already did,’ she murmured, and immediately wished she hadn’t said it.

Lizzie tilted her head. ‘Someone?’

Ellie didn’t meet her gaze. ‘Please don’t fuss. I need to get cleaned up.’

Lizzie hesitated, then followed. ‘Go on. I’ll run you a bath.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice catching a little.

Lizzie darted into the bathroom and the sound of running water soon drifted out.

Catherine darted to the kitchen. ‘I’ll make tea. Or would you rather a whisky?’

‘Tea’s fine.’ Ellie managed a real smile then, even if only for a second.

Minutes later, a cup of warm tea in hand, Ellie stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

She set the cup down on the side table. Steam curled against the mirror and the scent of lavender soap lingered in the air.

She eased herself into the water with a quiet hiss, her bruises protesting at the heat.

Her ribs ached and there was a nasty graze on her right thigh she hadn’t even noticed until now.

Grime clung to her skin and blackened the crescents of her nails.

You’d think I’d been dug out of the ground.

The water lapped gently against porcelain, the warmth slowly unknotting the muscles in her shoulders. She let her head rest against the rim of the tub and stared at the cracked ceiling.

She hadn’t told them everything. Couldn’t. Not about Jack. Not about what he’d said. Not about her father’s notes, or the cipher or the cryptic telephone caller.

Catherine’s voice drifted through the door. ‘I’ve put a hot water bottle in your bed. It’s chilly tonight.’

Ellie smiled faintly. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t take too long,’ she added. ‘You need rest.’

‘I know.’ She stifled a yawn. If only she was tucked up in bed now; though she doubted she would sleep well, not after the night she’d had.

Silence returned. The water stilled. She glanced at the edge of the sink, where Jack’s bloodied handkerchief lay next to the soap.

Reaching carefully from the bath, she lifted it, noting the fine cotton, the elegant script of his monogrammed initials.

Even stained with her blood and streaked with soot, it carried the faint scent of his cologne, sweet and distinctly masculine, that sent her pulse racing with memories of being pressed against his chest.

Without thinking, she brought it to her face, breathing in the aroma that had surrounded her when he’d held her close. The memory sent heat spiralling through her, dangerous, sweet and utterly inappropriate, given the circumstances.

She should wash it, return it to him tomorrow with a polite thank you. That would be the proper thing to do. The kind of thing a well brought-up young woman would do.

Instead, she found herself smoothing the fabric carefully, folding it along the original creases.

Maybe she’d keep it a little longer, until she could make sense of this strange, fierce thing growing between them, the way her heart had raced when he’d whispered her name in the dark, the vulnerability in his voice when he’d admitted she was the only person he trusted.

In the morning, she told herself, she’d think clearly about her father’s secrets and the danger closing in around them. But tonight, she’d let herself remember the way Jack had looked at her in the lamplight, as if she was precious as crystal.

Tonight, she’d let herself hope that when this was all over, there might be room for more than secrets and lies between them. Outside, a siren began to wail. Low, distant and climbing. Ellie froze and held the handkerchief a little tighter.