Spirit (Blackwood Security, #10.5) - Elise Noble

CHAPTER 1

IT WAS ALMOST time. The countdown had begun. Only half an hour to go until my most dreaded meeting of the year, and considering I was an assassin-slash-special-ops-bitch and most of my other meetings involved planning death, destruction, or some sort of near-impossible rescue, that was a big statement to make.

“Hurry up, hurry up, we haven’t got all day,” my assistant said. Yesterday, Bradley’s hair had been turquoise, but today it was pink. By Christmas Day, it would be either red or green, possibly with white tips, and he’d be wearing a sweater to match. He had a whole collection of cheesy knitwear, enough for a different outfit every day in December. “There’s mulled wine, mince pies, and Christmas cookies in the anteroom.”

“Tell me you didn’t start making the mulled wine yesterday.”

Last year, he’d been so eager to get everyone into the festive spirit that he’d set everything up the day before, only to get distracted by something shiny and leave the wine heating for so long that all the alcohol burned off. And boy did we need the alcohol.

“Mrs. Fairfax just finished making it.” Thank goodness. Mrs. Fairfax was my housekeeper and an absolute gem in the kitchen. “I did the cookies.”

I didn’t actually like mulled wine, but I’d drink a whole gallon if it made this meeting go any faster. Was ten a.m. too early for gin? Probably.

“Cheer up, bitch,” Dan said. My oldest girlfriend looked entirely too chipper at that time in the morning. “It can’t be any worse than last year.”

Last year, Bradley’s Christmas mission had involved us abseiling down Riverley Hall, my home, to cover the outside with thousands and thousands of stars. The only saving grace was that someone had popped out a baby in the middle of it, and he forgot all about the snow spray he’d wanted on the windows.

“Wanna bet? You said that the year after he recreated the North Pole out of polystyrene, and what happened?”

Dan grimaced, remembering. “The von Trapps.”

The Sound of Music was Bradley’s favourite Christmas movie, even though it didn’t actually have Christmas in it. His homage had included music, folk-dancing lessons, a fake mountain range, Wiener schnitzel, knödel, fondue, raclette, and schnapps. A whole month of it. I ate so much Sachertorte my jeans no longer did up, and if I ever heard those bloody songs again… My favourite Christmas movie was Die Hard, and only when I threatened to go full Hans Gruber on the speakers had Bradley finally turned the volume down.

“The von Trapps. Exactly.”

“The singing lessons were kind of fun.”

Sure, if you could sing. Which I couldn’t. “That’s a matter of opinion. And what about the costumes?”

“Okay, you got me there.”

We stared at each other for a moment, and then we both burst into laughter.

“The lederhosen,” Dan choked out.

Nobody was going to wear them sober, obviously, but once our friend and colleague Nick had drunk the best part of a bottle of kirsch… Those photos would haunt his nightmares forever.

My husband strode in our direction, his face impassive as always. He flashed a smile and kept walking. Towards the front door.

“Wait.” I grabbed his hand. “Where are you going?”

“Emergency call at the Catalan Tower.”

Our company, Blackwood Security, held the monitoring contract for the whole building downtown and had done ever since it opened. The tenants were mainly accountants, lawyers, and investment companies. Not the kind of people who caused trouble at nine thirty in the morning.

“What kind of emergency?”

“Not sure. That’s why we’re heading over there to check.”

I pulled up Blackwood’s monitoring app on my phone. Sure enough, a category-one alert had been flagged in the system. Unusual, but not unheard of. What was strange was the fact that it had been assigned to my husband, Nate, and Nick—all company directors and definitely not the first point of call for a fairly routine response. The other coincidence? They were all due to attend Bradley’s Christmas planning meeting in twenty-five minutes’ time.

“So, if I called Matt in the control room, he’d tell me this alert came in through totally normal channels and he assigned it to you and your fellow musketeers?”

And definitely not via Nate, who’d designed the alert system, tinkering in the back end.

“Uh…”

Busted. I pointed back the way he’d come.

“Get your arse in there. If I have to sit through this shitshow, so do you.”

Share the pain, that was my motto.

Black turned around, his expression a cross between storm clouds and resignation, and slunk towards the biggest meeting room.

“Don’t forget to take

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