Griffin had Savanna on her feet a moment later, most likely having sensed the same. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Ella reached for Savanna’s hand as they started past her, and she gently squeezed, letting her know she loved her.
“What’s she talking about?” Sydney broke the silence that had enveloped the room like a blanket of fog once again after Savanna and Griffin had left.
Zoey turned and gave Sydney her attention. Maybe she’d sensed Sydney’s strong presence, realizing she commanded the respect of her gaze. “The Chechen killed my fiancé.” She jerked her thumb Carter’s way. “And this arsehole let him.”
“Is that really the story you’re still selling?” Carter’s gravelly tone raised the hairs on Ella’s bare arms. She smoothed her palms over them like she was chilly rather than frightened so Jesse wouldn’t feel the need to whisk her away too. No, she wanted to be there. She wanted to know the circumstances behind the situation she’d been thrown into and the dangers they were all facing.
“It’s not a story. I’m stating a fact.” Zoey squared off with Carter again, this time with less than a foot of space between them. “You left him alone to die.”
Carter leaned in, dropping his gaze to level her with a steely look. “Both of us couldn’t stay and keep fighting The Chechen, not when a bomb that would level three blocks was on the verge of going off.”
Ella closed her eyes and clutched her stomach at Carter’s revelation and the picture it painted.
“One of us had to handle the bomb, and I had the best chance. More experience. Your stubborn fiancé insisted I go.” He paused for a moment. “He was MI6. He knew what he was getting himself into. People die in our line of work. People we care about become collateral damage because of our fucking battles.” His tone gradually ticked up and up into a full-on yell, and Ella’s eyes widened in shock. “But like hell will I let you be that fucker’s next victim,” he snarled, emotions officially on display from the man.
Zoey was visibly shaking, but was it because she wanted to cry or hit Carter? “I’m not leaving, not without killing Yuri myself,” she returned in a calm tone.
Yuri? Was that The Chechen’s real name?
Zoey faced Gray as if seeking his approval, so she must have known he was co-leader of the team.
Carter went back to the bar for drink number three. The alcohol made sense now. He felt guilty and a whole lot of other feelings, she was sure. Feelings she doubted a man like Carter was used to sharing so publicly.
“I’ve accumulated years of intel I can share with your team. I can help you bring down this man once and for all.” Zoey slipped her hand into her coat pocket and retrieved a USB, but when Gray reached for it, she shook her head and returned it to her pocket. “You’ll have it when you talk your arsehat partner into agreeing to accept my help.”
Gray frowned and looked at Jack, then over to Sydney. “How do we know this isn’t part of Thatcher’s plan? They may have eyes in the sky, but they don’t have eyes and ears on the inside.”
Ahhh, true. Could Zoey be trusted, especially when it sounded like she’d go to any lengths for revenge? What if she knew about the plan with Rochella? Jesse wouldn’t let her stay if that were the case, and Ella knew it.
“I was the one who informed the CIA that Zoran hired Yuri, so the Agency owed me a favor. When I learned they’d be intercepting your plane in Paris, I was allowed to tag along,” Zoey steadily explained. “But I wasn’t privy to any of the initial intel regarding why you all came to Paris or what they’d planned at Rochella’s. I knew when you knew.” Her polished British accent, combined with her poise and sophistication, made even such critical information sound elegant.
But a polished tone didn’t make it true. And based on the way Gray eyed Zoey, he wasn’t sure whether they could trust her or not.
“I risked my neck by giving Carter that intel at the safe house. And I risked my job.” Zoey turned toward Carter, his back once again to the room, a drink in hand. “But you’re right, no one stopped me from coming here, which leads me to believe that cocksucker Thatcher hoped things would play out this way. He most likely knew what I’d do even before I did. My suspension may have been calculated as well. I wouldn’t put anything past the CIA, or hell, my own boss.”
“If Thatcher wants you here, it’s for his own benefit, that’s for damn sure,” Jesse spoke for the first time since Zoey’s arrival.
“He wants Yuri. We all do. But the difference is Thatcher wants the son of a bitch captured and will use any means to achieve that, and I want The Chechen dead,” Zoey informed Jesse, leveling him with a hard look. Her gaze then moved to Ella, and her green eyes softened. “I promise I would never use innocent people to get what I want though. I would never have agreed to Thatcher’s plan involving you.”
The plan. Rochella. Paris. All fake. Ella closed her eyes for a second, doing her best not to stalk across the room and throw back a shot of one of her favorite whiskeys she spied there.
“Yuri won’t come here. Nor will he send his men. If Thatcher told you to stay here like sitting ducks, it was because he knows you won’t actually do that.” Zoey shook her head. “I’ve worked with him before, and I know how he operates. He’s anticipating you won’t follow his rules.” She turned toward Carter. “Especially you.” She let go of a deep exhale. “There’s a reason you’re called The Rogue One.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I think they need to hash this out,” Jesse suggested. “Alone.” He dropped his hand from Ella’s back and stalked over to the bar, snatched the bottle of Woodford Reserve she’d eyed earlier, then slipped out the door to the courtyard without another word.
Did he just . . .? Ella looked around the room, taken aback by Jesse’s abrupt exit, especially the part where he left her there, which wasn’t like him. Everyone but Carter and Zoey quickly cleared out, so Ella ran to their room, grabbed a coat and shoes, and hurried outside in search of him.
The jacket was Jesse’s, the one he’d thrown over her shoulders at Rochella’s after the battle, and his strong, masculine scent clung to her nose as she hugged her arms to her chest in the freezing night air.
The courtyard was enclosed by stone walls, and she imagined it was beautiful in the summer, but the few circular wrought iron tables were covered in snow, and the raised garden beds were bare. The only illumination came from the windows of the B&B and the moon overhead, surrounded by a handful of twinkling stars.
She would’ve taken a moment to appreciate the beauty of the scene if she weren’t worried about her “husband.”
“Jesse,” she cried out softly when she spotted him, his ass on the snowy ground, knees propped up and his back against the stone wall. He had to be frozen to the bone.
“I’ll just be a second. Go back inside. It’s too cold,” he said, raising the bottle and taking a long swig.
Ella ignored his order and crouched before him, not wanting to get her sweats wet with snow. And from the looks of things, Savanna’s prediction was wrong—she and Jesse wouldn’t be “consummating” their fake marriage tonight. Technically, it was well after midnight at this point anyway.