Nigel grinned. “I haven’t spoken to the baron. I’ve only spoken with my father. Oh, yes, he sends his very best. He said the family misses you and wonders when you might be home for a visit.”
Horne, Nigel’s father, was the Drummond family’s butler at their home in Farrow-on-Grey, and had been a part of Nicholas’s entire life just as Nigel had. A wave of homesickness hit him, or maybe it was the Talisker. He realized he missed the weekly breakfasts with his family. He missed the lime trees bordering the long drive, and the labyrinth gardens. He even missed Cook Crumbe’s awful porridge.
Nigel said as he came back from the kitchen, “I’m very sorry about the tragedy tonight. But now it’s time for you to get some sleep, Nicholas. Even for you, it’s occasionally necessary. Good night,” and Nicholas heard Nigel humming as he walked away.
Was Nigel right? Was he giddy? No, not that word, it was more that he knew he was completely and utterly involved, every single fiber in his body was sharply alive, turned on high. He’d accepted long ago that he was a predator, remembered his mother had told him he had the push-it-to-the-edge danger gene, and surely that was a good thing for the FBI. And this ridiculous COE group was still running free. But not for long. No, not for long.
And he had Michaela, and wasn’t that a bit of miraculous luck? He couldn’t imagine his life here without her. Like him, she was fairly bursting with life, ready to tackle anything, always straight ahead, that was Michaela. Did she have the danger gene, too? Yes, very probably.
As he washed out his glass, he admitted to himself that he was indeed doing well here in New York. And, evidently, Barneys was doing well, too.
He took a hot shower, pulled out his first-aid kit and smeared some burn cream on his palms, then climbed into bed, his mobile next to his head.
But he couldn’t sleep, too many unknown faces tracking through his mind, too many codes he had yet to untangle.
? ? ?
Mike was in her ancient bathrobe, eating a cold slice of pepperoni pizza, when her cell rang. She was tempted not to answer it, but of course that wasn’t an option.
Nicholas. No surprise he was still working. She wished she could give him all the freedom he wanted and fewer rules, but alas, she wouldn’t be that high on the FBI food chain for many years to come. And how high would Nicholas be by the time they hit forty?
Mike sat down at her small work desk, stared at the mess of papers—bills, mostly. Maybe she should dust. Or not. She swung her feet up onto the cluttered surface, put the phone on speaker. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Why aren’t you?”
She laughed. “I’m eating. Cold pizza.”
“Booze is better. Mike, I’m as sure as can be there’s a new player in COE.”
“Talk to me.”
“Remember Paris? When we chatted with a young gentleman about his future?”
He was speaking, of course, of Adam Pearce, a brilliant young hacker who’d been invaluable in stopping that madman Manfred Havelock. After an obligatory three months in jail, they’d gotten him out, and now he worked for the FBI. She understood why Nicholas hadn’t used his name on an open line—the FBI were also responsible for keeping him safe until Adam’s antics against foreign governments were smoothed over.
“What about our young friend?”
“I want to use him. He’d be great bait.”
“So soon? He’s so young and he’s been through a lot. This is a major case. It may be too much too soon.”
But Nicholas understood Adam Pearce, recently turned twenty years old. “He’s tough, talented, and I think he’d be perfect for the role. We have to get inside the organization. Their previous help was murdered. They’ll need someone new to continue the attacks. What with the cyber-attack and Bayway, I’ll bet another young hacker with a grudge against the world can’t wait to join the fun.”
He was right.
“Will you make the call?”
She heard typing.
“Done. I’ve sent word. As soon as I hear something, I’ll let you know.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No. Doesn’t matter. What I have in mind he can do from anywhere.”