She looked tired. Shadows lurked beneath her eyes, and her hair looked flat and dull, but she smiled a greeting and gave Caleb a careful hug.

  “Hi,” she said. “You came faster than I expected. It’s good to see you.”

  Caleb glanced at Jonathan. When should they tell her about Mark? Now? Or wait until they had the privacy of her hotel? Both options sucked.

  “Do you have a car?” Jonathan asked.

  “No. I used the Tube. My hotel’s not far away.”

  Jonathan tugged his wallet from a pocket. “I’ll sort out a rental. We’re going to need transport.”

  Caleb draped one arm around Emma’s shoulders and pulled her to him. “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Better, now you two are here. What did you tell your parole officer?”

  Ah, shit. What could he say? He was tired, his brain only firing at half-speed. “Jonathan came up with something. It’s not important.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “You can talk to Mark’s contact, and I’ll ask Jonathan to look into his online presence. While you’re doing that, I want to talk to his parents or his grandmother. I don’t know if they know he’s an agent.”

  Caleb squeezed her. “Whoa. You’re going to do what?”

  “Talk to his family. They must have contact details for him. I’m going to pretend to be organising a class reunion.”

  “Okay,” said Jonathan, joining the conversation. “I’ve got us an SUV. Let’s go collect it.”

  “My hotel has unoccupied rooms if you want to stay there as well. Good wi-fi, too.” Emma sighed. “Half the time, I’m mad at Mark for thinking I’d fall for his story about breaking up with me, but the rest of the time, I worry I’m being stupid because he was telling the truth. I love him so much. I don’t want to lose him.”

  Caleb met Jonathan’s gaze over Emma’s head. They had to tell her. And soon.

  Jonathan gave a little nod.

  Caleb held Emma close. “There’s something you need to know. I don’t know how to tell you.” His ribs ached, but that was nothing to how Em was going to feel soon. “We had bad news about Mark.”

  “Bad news?” She gazed at him, eyes wide. “What now?”

  There was no way to sugar-coat this. “He’s dead, Em. I’m so sorry.” It felt like a rerun of the conversation with Sandra and Geoff.

  She went completely motionless. The colour drained from her face. “What?”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s what I’ve been told,” said Jonathan.

  Emma shook her head. She pulled free from Caleb’s embrace and stood alone, her arms wrapped around herself. “No. I don’t believe it. You’re just saying this to stop me from looking for him. And let me tell you, it’s a really shitty thing to do.”

  “It’s the truth,” said Caleb.

  Jonathan spoke at the same time. “We’re not making it up.”

  Tears gleamed in her eyes. She opened and closed her mouth. “No.” It came out as a whisper.

  “My director sent me the notification from Mark’s boss,” said Jonathan.

  “When did it happen?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t have any details yet. I’m so sorry, Emma. That’s why we both came over.”

  She looked stricken. And very alone. “I don’t know what to say. I came here to look for him. I was convinced I’d find him, you know?” She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t want to be without him.”

  Watching Emma struggle with her grief, Caleb felt as useless as he’d been with Andi. It was so damned unfair. “We couldn’t tell you over the phone. It wouldn’t be right.”

  She frowned. “How long have you known?”

  “I was told on Monday morning,” said Jonathan. “You were still in transit. We set off as soon as we could.”

  She stepped away from them, her body stiff with tension. “Nobody told me. But they wouldn’t, would they? I wasn’t supposed to have a future with him, was I?” Bitterness lined her voice.

  “He was leaving the agency for you, Emma. That’s what you meant to him.” Jonathan spoke gently.

  “What about the funeral? I have to go to that. You can’t expect me to just go home again,” she said.

  “We’ll be there with you,” said Caleb.

  “I’ve given it some thought,” said Jonathan. “I introduce us as Mark’s colleagues. We have to use his real name, though. Mark Penney was his cover name.”

  “His real name was James Armstrong. Jamie,” said Emma.

  Tears gleamed in her eyes. It just about broke Caleb’s heart. All the time he was in jail and he thought about life in the free world again, he never imagined it would be this painful. He’d daydreamed about a future where he and his beloved twin sister could be free. Not this. Not seeing his closest friend falling apart, when there wasn’t a single damned thing he could do to help her.

  They drove across the outskirts of London in silence, the only voice the GPS on Jonathan’s phone, directing them. Emma sat in the back, her face turned to the window, her phone clutched tight to her chest. Every so often, she’d look at the screen, at the photo of Mark.

  When they arrived at the hotel, she finally spoke. “I need to tell Mum and Dad.”

  “Umm… I already did.” Caleb’s muscles were too stiff for him to turn around and look at her. “I wanted them to be ready to support you.”

  “Oh.” She sounded surprised. “Thanks, I think.” There was a pause. “I can’t believe it. I don’t think it’ll be real until I see some proof. This feels like a bad dream, and I’m waiting to wake up.”

  “I’ve asked for the details of the funeral,” said Jonathan. “His family lives on the outskirts of Manchester, apparently, so we should drive up there. It’s about four hours away.”

  Emma leaned forward and placed her hands on the back of Caleb’s and Jonathan’s seats. “There’s no point in us staying in London. I want to see his family. I need to. Are you okay to leave now, or do you need to rest? How tired are you?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “I slept on the flight. I could do with some breakfast and definitely need coffee, but after that, I’m good to go.”

  The mention of breakfast made Caleb’s stomach rumble. What time was it? He looked at his phone. Close to noon, local time. No wonder he was hungry, especially after chucking up when they landed. “Should we eat here? We’ll order food while you check out.”

  She was right. There was no point in staying in London.

  Their original plan had been to talk with Aiden Bradley, but there was no reason to anymore. Emma needed the closure of seeing Mark’s family, and Wilmslow was where they had to go.

  Chapter Five

  Before Emma checked out of her room, Caleb and Jonathan took the opportunity to shower and change into fresh clothes. That done, they all headed for the hotel restaurant.

  Caleb needed something in his empty belly and opted for an all-day breakfast.

  Jonathan was on his phone again, and Caleb didn’t interrupt him. Something nagged at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t grasp it. Something Emma said. What was it, and why was it significant?

  He replayed their conversations in his head. She talked about pretending to organise a class reunion, and then how much Mark meant to her.

  Nope. Whatever it was, niggling at him, there was a better chance he’d remember it if he stopped thinking about it.

  For something to do, he glanced at his phone and saw a new text from Delilah. It came in a few minutes earlier. There was a photo attachment, and he clicked on it with caution.

  It was a selfie of Delilah pulling a mock-surprised face, a tiny grey kitten sitting on her head. It was so unexpected that he smiled. He read the accompanying message.

  Delilah: Visited the local branch of Forgotten Felines today for a story, and this little guy wanted to go home with me. Not sure how to say no, but I thought it might cheer you up.

  She liked cats and motorbikes and had a rocking body, but Caleb wasn’t ready to take the bait. He had to reply, though.

  With the time difference, it had to be around midnight in New Zealand. Did she know where he was? How could she? Caleb deliberated for an age over what to say.

  Caleb: Cute. Also, you’re up late.

  Her reply was swift.

  Delilah: So are you! I’m a night owl and do my best writing at night.

  Okay, so she thought he was in the same time zone as her. There was no reason to tell her otherwise. He should say goodnight, but he lingered. Delilah was a pleasant distraction to the shit going on in his life.

  Caleb: Are you going to keep the kitten?

  Delilah: I don’t know! I work away a lot, and it wouldn’t be fair to leave him home alone.

  Could he ask for a clearer hint that she lived alone? She was playing with him. While he pondered what to say, she messaged again.

  Delilah: On a serious note, when you’re back in town, I want to ask your professional advice about something.

  Caleb looked around. Emma hadn’t come back down yet, Jonathan was still occupied, and there was no sign of their food.

  Caleb: I’ve got a minute now. What’s up?

  Delilah: Ugh. This is ugly, but I don’t know who else to ask.

  Caleb: So ask.

  Delilah: I’m getting trolled. A lot. It’s starting to really piss me off, and I wondered if there was anything I could do to prevent it?

  Caleb: You mean online protection?

  Delilah: Yes.

  It depended on what kind of trolling she meant, and what security measures she already had in place. Caleb: Sure. Let’s talk when I’m back.

  Delilah: Thank you! I appreciate it. I’ll buy the coffee next time.

  She sent a gif of a fluffy kitten sniffing a coffee mug, and he found he was still smiling.

  Nope. She’d done her homework, that was all. She knew he liked cats, and was appealing to his ego by asking a technical question.

  Delilah was grooming him. Setting him up. It’d be wise to remember that.

  When Mark met Emma, it was a setup while he was in deep cover. He stole her wallet in a café, and then bought her drink, supposedly to save her from being embarrassed. Mark did his homework on Emma before making a move, and that was what Delilah was doing.

  Something jogged Caleb’s memory again, and he let his brain run free.

  I wasn’t supposed to have a future with him. That was what Emma said about Mark. Mark wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her, let alone leave the ultra-secretive spy agency IG-6 to be with her. If his boss knew he planned to transfer to the New Zealand agency, what lengths would they go to, in order to stop him? Not murder. Would they?

  It felt more important than ever to talk to Mark’s trusted colleague, the mysterious Aiden Bradley.

  They finished eating, with Emma just picking at her food.

  Jonathan put down his phone. He had a serious look on his face, as though there was more bad news.

  “What now?” Caleb asked.

  “I’ve more news on what happened to Mark.”

  Emma’s face was as white as the plate she pushed away from her. “Tell me. Don’t make me guess.”

  “He was in a car accident near Manchester. A collision with another vehicle. The other driver was drunk and was killed outright. Mark was DOA at the hospital.”

  Emma pressed her hands to her face. “It’s all so random. I can’t wrap my head around this. I don’t know if I ever will.”

  Caleb went to hug her, but she shrugged him off.

  “Not here,” she whispered. “I’m too close to bawling my eyes out. Let’s go, please. I want to see his family. I need to meet them.”

  *

  Caleb was relieved Jonathan offered to drive. Wellington traffic was nothing, compared to the insanity of the British motorways. After an hour of battling through multiple lanes of slow-moving trucks and cars on the M25, the traffic cleared. London was left behind, and green fields opened up on both sides. When they left New Zealand, it was a mild, sunny autumn, but here it was a cloudy and chilly spring day.

  He glanced in the back of the car from time to time, but Emma appeared to be dozing in the back seat with a down jacket wrapped around her like a quilt. She’d spoken to her parents before she returned to the restaurant, her eyes puffy and red.

  Jonathan said little. He appeared to be concentrating on the road, and Caleb was glad of that. Quite apart from his ribs hurting, he didn’t think he could focus on the intricacies of the British motorway network.

  They stopped once for coffee, but then continued on their journey. The miles flew by, and the motorway became congested.

  Jonathan looked briefly at Caleb. “We’re coming to the exit junction. Time to wake Emma.”

  “How far are we from their house?”

  “Twenty minutes, maybe? We’re getting there in the evening rush hour.”

  Caleb had spent the best part of the past two days with Jonathan, but he knew next to nothing about him. “You been to the UK before?”

  “I did some cross-agency training here, a few years ago. The British security service, MI5, are the best-trained surveillance agents in the world. I learned a huge amount. I was mostly based in London, but we did exercises all around the country.”

  That explained his confidence behind the wheel. What would it be like, to have that Type-A personality, with everything under control? Caleb had always been slightly awkward around people, even without the stress of being in jail. He was happiest with a page of code. He understood data. He didn’t understand people.

  Caleb did his best to twist around in his seat, to squeeze Emma’s knee. “Wake up, Em. We’re nearly there.”

  She woke slowly and stretched her arms and legs. She met his gaze and smiled, but then it fell away.

  “For a moment, I forgot,” she said, her voice scratchy. “Can we stop somewhere first, so that I put on some makeup and do my hair? I must look a sight.”

  “Sure,” said Jonathan. “The GPS shows a set of services coming up. We’ll freshen up there. We’re less than half an hour away.”

  “What do you know about his family?” she asked.

  “Not much. His father is a high-ranking police officer, but his mother doesn’t appear to work. No mention of siblings. They’re organising the funeral from his family home. I suggest we introduce ourselves as his colleagues, offer our condolences, and then get the details of the service. We can ask them to recommend somewhere local to stay, too.”

  “His father’s a cop?” The idea made Caleb uneasy. He shook the feeling away. “How high-ranking?”

  “Chief Superintendent.”

  “That might explain Mark’s attention to detail,” said Emma. “He notices—noticed—everything. Do you think he will have mentioned me to his parents?”

  “Honestly?” Jonathan asked. “I don’t know. It depends how close they were.”

  “He planned to marry me. I’d like to think he told his immediate family.”

  “Here are the services,” said Jonathan, as he changed lane and left the road. “Ten minutes enough for everyone?”

  Caleb took the opportunity to stretch his cramped legs and breathe in some fresh air. It was good to get out of the car. He’d rather stick pins in his eyes than visit Mark’s grieving parents, but he was here for Emma. He had to put his own inadequacies to the side and support his friend.

  Emma reappeared ten minutes later, with her hair smooth and some colour in her cheeks. “I’m ready,” she said, as she clunked her seatbelt into place. “Let’s do this.”

  Jonathan navigated their way through the prosperous-looking town to a long, quiet road, with big houses at regular intervals. “We’re looking for Number Sixteen,” he said. “Coming up on the right.”

  White marble gateposts were marked with brass digits, and Jonathan turned off the road. The driveway was short. Gravel crunched under the tyres. They approached a large two-storey house built in grey stone, the dullness offset by terracotta tubs of brightly-coloured flowers. Sunset approached, and the light levels were dropping rapidly.

  So this was where Mark came from. Everything was neat and groomed. Expensive. No weeds dared to push through the gravel. There was probably a gardener or three, to keep the lawn immaculate.

  They parked next to two other cars outside the house. An open double-garage sat to the side. That held a couple of vehicles too.

  Caleb glanced down at himself. His jeans were clean, but his T-shirt was crumpled. Jonathan wore jeans for a change, but paired with a pale blue button-down shirt.

  “Is it me,” whispered Emma, “or does anyone else feel out of place here?”

  “Come on,” said Jonathan. “Let’s do this. And by the way, Caleb, we’re not using your name here. IG-6 have wanted to get their hands on you for some time. Let’s not make it easy for them.”

  Caleb nodded. It made sense. “Call me Mal.” After all, his online name was Captain Mal.

  As they approached the front door, security lamps activated and flooded the area with light. Jonathan rang the bell. They waited.

  A middle-aged man opened the door to them. He held himself stiffly, his back ramrod straight. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Armstrong?” Jonathan asked.

  “Yes. How may I help you?” His voice was crisp.

  “We’re friends of James’. We’ve come to pay our condolences.”

  Emma shivered at Jonathan’s words. Caleb moved closer to her.

  The man looked at them for a moment. “You’d better come in.”

  Caleb hesitated on the doorstep. In Kiwi houses, it was usual to remove footwear on entrance, but no neat piles of shoes were visible. Did he take off his boots or not? He’d follow Jonathan’s lead.

  Jonathan wiped his shoes on the doormat and followed Mark’s father, so Caleb did the same.

  A long corridor lay before them. How big was this freakin’ house? They were ushered into a huge lounge, where several people sat and stood. Everyone turned to face them.

  “More of James’ friends,” announced Mr. Armstrong. He looked at them expectantly.

  “Good evening,” said Jonathan, smooth as ever. “I’m Jonathan, and these are Mal and Emma. We worked with James recently. We’re terribly sorry for your loss. We’d like to attend the funeral and pay our respects.”