“He’s retired, but before they did away with passing the peerage law, family members usually took the seats vacated by their predecessor. Kept it all in the family. My family has been part of the House of Lords for generations. My brother is serving now.”
“Oh, God. Your dad’s titled?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. Lord Henry McAllister Graham.”
“Will me being there…considering I’m wanted by the CIA be a problem?”
“My brother and his family are in London right now and both my sisters are visiting relatives in Paris. No one knows you’re here, Anna. They won’t know. My family is private, and we don’t give up information easily.”
“Stiff upper lip?”
He chuckled. “Nice try. That means to buck up and weather a situation.”
“Am I underdressed?”
“No, you’re fine. We do dress for dinner, though.”
“Dress for dinner.”
He reached over and patted her hand.
“You are a wealth of surprises, Dodger.”
“They’ll love you. Just be yourself.”
Once they got to the end of the mile-long drive, Anna exhaled hard. The house was beautiful, a crescent moon of brick and stone with a crushed stone courtyard. He parked, and before they could even get to the door, it was opened by a man in livery.
“You have a butler,” she murmured.
He chuckled, the jerk.
“Good to see you, sir. Welcome home. And, miss, may I take your…luggage?” He eyed her shopping bags and the bag she brought with her from Prague.
“The bloody airlines lost her luggage,” Dodger said smoothly.
“Thank you…um…”
“Smythe, miss. Welcome to Graham Hall.”
She stepped inside and felt like she was in Downton Abbey. The house was sumptuous and beautifully decorated. There were sweeping staircases and ceilings gilded in gold. Smythe led them toward the center of the house, and only her strict training stopped her from gawking. Her character would have seen this type of opulence often and would have become immune to it.
“Sir?” the butler said discreetly.
“My room, Smythe.”
“Very good, sir.”
The room they brought her to was decorated in masculine maroon and navy blue tones. Smythe set the bags on the bed and retreated toward the double doors.
“His Lordship and Lady are out riding. They will be back in time for dinner, which is sharply at six.” He closed the doors quietly.
Anna flopped onto the bed and laughed softly. “Geez, Dodger.” Then she sobered. “So where are we going to start? Mouse won’t be here until tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry. I know a bloke.”
14
2-Stroke and the rest of the team, still in their gear from the night before, sat around the conference table. Harry Grant had just left. His only explanation was that the intel was from one of his trusted assets. But in the aftermath, Harry’s agents had tracked the man down. They found him dead. He’d been tortured, and Harry chalked it up to just bad luck.
Fast Lane sat and listened, his temple sporting the white bandage Pitbull had administered in Saint’s absence. 2-Stroke looked over at his brother, who was stoically sitting there. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve never seen so many goatfucks on one mission. Are you sure you can trust Grant?” Striker asked.
“He’s a station chief,” Chry said. “We have no evidence or suspicion that he’s involved in treason or colluding with Darko. He’s got an exemplary record.”
“Okay, so it’s just bad luck they found his asset and knew we were hitting Darko’s warehouses to capture the bastard?”
“It’s possible,” Chry said.
“If you hadn’t shown up, they would have taken Fast Lane,” he said, looking at Chry, then switching his focus to Fast Lane. “Do you think you’re targeted?” Striker asked.
“I can’t be sure,” Fast Lane said. “They may have finished me off if it wasn’t for Chry. I was lucky she was there.”
She nodded at him with a smile. “The brass is discussing the situation. They aren’t blaming us. They’re blaming the CIA for the bad intel, or in this case, bad luck.” She shrugged. “I know this has been challenging, but we can only go on what we know. As far as I can tell, Harry seems genuine, but he is a CIA operative and a good one.”
2-Stroke had been wrestling with what he thought he saw all night. Now in the bright light of day, he wasn’t completely sure he had seen their former liaison. “I think Kelly was there,” 2-Stroke said, and several people, including Chry, looked at him. “She was in the passenger seat of the van.”
“Are you sure?”
He sighed. “No. It was dark and raining, and the window was streaked with moisture, but it sure