No Going Back (Club Aegis Book 6) Read online

  NO GOING BACK

  CLUB AEGIS

  Christie Adams

  Blue Topaz Books

  UNITED KINGDOM

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  CLUB AEGIS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  Other books by Christie Adams

  About the author

  Acknowledgements

  Once again, it’s my great pleasure to express my gratitude to a very special group of people for their time and input into the creative process, so thank you again, Julie W., Lucy C., Miss M and Vicki B.

  My thanks also go to my lovely friend Karen, who gave me an invaluable insight into organising a wedding at a country house hotel.

  CLUB AEGIS

  Aegis—the shield of Zeus, and by extension, a means of protection. The men and women who are members of Club Aegis have all played their part in protecting their country. They work hard… and they play hard. Their lives are not always easy—and sometimes they have to put their lives on the line, not just for their country but for those they love.

  Available now

  The Velvet Ribbon

  A Wanting Heart

  Love Is Danger

  Passion’s Last Promise

  Winter’s Fire

  No Going Back

  Next in series

  Shattered Secrets

  PROLOGUE

  Eleven years ago

  Not everyone can say they’ve attended their own funeral.

  A pedant might argue that everyone does attend their own funeral. As ever, the devil is in the details. Everyone does indeed attend their own funeral, but unless there’s something to that afterlife business after all, no one can actually say they have.

  Except for me.

  It’s a strange feeling, watching your coffin being lowered into the ground. Even stranger is knowing there’s someone inside it who’s going to have your name for all eternity. Except it’s no longer my name.

  God, it’s cold. I’d stamp my feet to get the circulation going, but even with snow to muffle the sound, it might attract unwanted attention. In this cotton wool silence, the handful of people around my grave could be the only human beings for miles around. An occasional raucous cry from the crow in one of the trees whose bare branches scratch at the grey sky adds to the cliché playing out before me.

  Elizabeth is dead, long live Elizaveta…

  Even though the name’s so similar to my own, it still sounds foreign. Russian, to be precise, and that country is where I’m heading in a few short hours.

  “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

  Tell me something I don’t know. If I hadn’t given in to temptation, I wouldn’t be, and I’d never have known he came to say goodbye. Oh, not the pompous idiot with the nerve-grating nasal whine standing beside me. I mean him, the man who used to be the centre of my world, and who’s now the sole mourner at my interment.

  “Who was she?”

  William Matthews—the idiot—shrugs. I sense it, even though I’m not looking at him. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to waste a moment looking at him when this is my last sight of the lover who still owns my heart.

  “A vagrant. We got lucky—she was close to your age and height, close enough to be convincing when they found the remains after the fire.”

  The lack of emotion in his statement makes me shiver, for which I’m grateful. If I were to stay in this business, would I end up like him? I’d like to think not. And the fire—is state-sponsored arson a crime in this country? Probably not, if it’s deemed to be “for the greater good”, a cause they use to justify any action necessary to protect the nation from its enemies.

  This time, it’s the posthumous conscription of an unknown, unmissed stranger. Her body was burned to a crisp in an abandoned building, where I’d supposedly been seen after a spurious missing person’s report was filed. No thought for the woman herself, or the child she’d once been, with endless possible futures ahead of her. The whole concept of what they’ve done leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I hate that I’ve been a part of it. If I’d had any idea…

  “And my dental records?” I already know what the answer’s going to be.

  “Doctored to match Jane Doe’s rather dubious dental work, of course. Don’t worry—we’re very thorough, as you should be aware.” The supercilious tone is almost dismissive. “Your new identity is beyond foolproof.”

  It had better be, otherwise this mission will be over before it starts. “So what happens next?”

  In my mind’s eye, I see the eyebrow rise, accompanied by a slight adjustment made to each cuff, the flicking away of an invisible piece of lint. “You know what happens next, my dear. Transport to the theatre of operations.”

  And the first test of my fake passport and other documents. It’s all a game to men like the ice-cold pen-pusher standing beside me. It’s a game they play in the shadows, without rules, where the only goal is to win. At any cost. It’s been my way of life for so long, ever since my stellar performance at Oxford attracted the attention of my lords and so-called masters. I was the ideal recruit for them—parents dead, no extended family to speak of… no connections close enough to bother asking questions.

  To think I’d once found it all so thrilling, revelled in the adrenaline pumping through my veins as we saved the day one more time.

  But this… this is my swansong, my last mission, and when it’s done, assuming I make it back alive, I’m finished with this half-life. I agreed to take the assignment because of him, the man standing beside my grave. I agreed because I’d been convinced it was over between us.

  That he’s here now doesn’t make sense. Not to me, at any rate. I can’t help but wonder why, when I didn’t mean enough to him alive for him even to tell me he wanted to end our relationship. My instincts are telling me that’s a rabbit hole I really don’t want to go down.

  The situation is what it is. I volunteered to go deep undercover in Moscow because, at the time they asked me, I had no reason to stay and every reason to go. Besides, it came with the not inconsiderable carrot of a new start afterwards. I reinvented myself for the mission, and I can do it again when I return. Especially with the substantial bank balance and generous monthly stipend they’ve promised I’ll receive for the rest of my life. An unexpected benefit, but only if I make it back alive.

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do when you come back?”

  The lackey’s cautious tone tells me the question is loaded. I shrug. I haven’t thought that far ahead, and for very good reason. “Take some time off… brush up my French… smell the roses. Who knows?”

  “Write a book?”

  My memoirs? No chance—there’s no way I’ll willingly dredge up everything I’ve done in defence of the realm, when I’ve tried so hard to forget it. “You can be a good little lapdog, Matthews, and inform them I won’t be telling all. As far as I’m concerned, when this is all over, n
one of it will ever have happened. It’ll be fresh start, one that gives me a clear conscience and wipes out the past. Not many people have that chance—I intend to make the most of it.”

  Doing what, I have no idea—what I told Matthews was the truth. No sense in making any plans, though, in case I don’t come back. People like the ones I’m going to mess with mean business, and the business is always dirty.

  I take one last look towards my grave, and that now solitary figure—strong and tall, pride in every line of the body I knew so well—beside it. He looks so lonely. Even though there’s nothing I can do about it, my heart beats a little faster with the hope that I was wrong, that maybe he still cares after all.

  Have I made a monumental mistake in taking on this mission? Doubt nibbles away at the back of my mind, but even if I have, it’s too late to stop this juggernaut now.

  Though he broke my heart, he’s the one part of my past I can’t bear to leave behind, but I have to. In spite of everything, I’m still insanely in love with him. I always will be. At one time I even thought… Nope, not going there, some things are best left the stuff of dreams. I made this choice, and now I have to live with it. Far better for him to believe me dead and gone. He can move on with his life now, rather than waiting to welcome home a corpse.

  The impatient sigh beside me tells me I’m out of time. I take my last look—he’s bending to pick up a handful of frozen soil, and as the crow caws one last time, he drops it into the grave. I watch him leave. His steps are slow, almost resigned, and in keeping with the veil of sadness wrapped around him.

  Only one thing remains for me to do. Although my heart will never let him go, I have to say the words in my head. It’s the only way I can make the break final—if it works. The last words I’ll ever say to him, though he’ll never know.

  Goodbye, Fawkes. I love you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Present day

  With a gentle roll of the stem between his thumb and forefinger, Sir Guy Somerton held the tulip-shaped glass up to examine the contents more closely. Against the dimmed light on the library wall, the deep-amber cognac acquired a warm, golden heart. On a cool, late spring evening, the spirit was a welcome accompaniment to the heat emanating from the log fire in the hearth.

  Lowering the glass again, he inhaled the bouquet, savoured the rich, spicy notes. He took a sip, and allowed the flavours to develop before swallowing.

  Superb.

  In this very room, more years ago than he liked to recall while sober, he’d taught his niece how to appreciate the fine French spirit. While school had done its best to give her an academic education, he’d taken it upon himself to provide a social one. His instincts had demanded he equip her to hold her own in the elite circles to which he’d anticipated life would take her. The orphaned tomboy had grown into a woman Meg and Oliver would have been proud of.

  The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, reminding Guy that Ros and Simon were due to arrive any time now. Following their break in Norway, they had news to share—Guy had a good idea what that news might be. As a couple, they were damn near perfect for each other.

  There’d once been a woman who was perfect for him. He only had himself to blame for losing her. He’d been such a monumental fool. In the intervening years, not a day had gone by that he hadn’t thought about her. He’d never told Ros about Liz, and vice versa—they’d been in separate compartments in his life, and he’d seen no reason to change that. Maybe he should have, but it was too late now—much too late. Liz was gone, and all that remained was the mountain of regret for all the things he should have done with her but hadn’t. All these years, and the pain of losing her still flayed his heart.

  It was no worse a punishment than he deserved.

  Noises of visitors arriving, followed by an enthusiastic greeting, alerted him to the imminent disruption of his too-peaceful evening. With a smile, he set the cognac down on the side table, next to the ashtray in which his double corona smouldered. Ros, no doubt, would give him hell for not giving up the habit yet. As the door swung open, he stood, ready to greet the source of the disturbance.

  “Guy!”

  The hug his niece gave him was full of energy and happiness. “Welcome home, both of you. Make yourselves comfortable. Did you have a good time?”

  They sat together on the sofa that matched his leather armchair. With great satisfaction, Guy noted the way Simon put a protective arm around his niece. He also noted the thong around the other man’s neck, which hadn’t been there when Guy had seen them both off at the airport almost three weeks earlier.

  “Better than we ever imagined.” Ros glanced at Simon and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “I asked Ros to marry me, and she said yes. You don’t look surprised.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think he is.” She placed a proprietorial hand on her fiancé’s thigh. “Machiavelli could learn a thing or two from uncle dear.”

  Guy snorted. “Machiavelli was an amateur. Now, if I’d written The Prince…”

  “We’d be in a lot of trouble! Ah, before I forget, Heather said she’d bring us some coffee before she leaves for the day. You work that poor woman far too hard,” Ros scolded.

  “And you know very well the only reason she’s stayed late today is to see you,” he parried.

  The knock at the library door announced Heather’s perfectly timed arrival with coffee for three and a whole, pristine chocolate fudge cake.

  “I see you got Della on the case?” Guy observed, one eyebrow raised.

  “Of course. Special occasions only, you said, and I think this qualifies as a special occasion. Is there anything else you need before I go?”

  “We’ll be fine, Heather, thank you. And I appreciate your staying late tonight.”

  “My pleasure, Sir Guy. I’m just sorry Rob and I are going away tomorrow.”

  “Oh no, I wish I’d known. We could have come back earlier.” Ros jumped up and flung her arms around the woman who’d been such a strong maternal influence during her teenage years.

  “Nonsense. It’s only for a few days. There’ll be plenty of time to catch up when we get back. And you know you only have to give me the word. I’ll leave the old curmudgeon—” she glanced at Guy “—to sort himself out while I’m helping you with your wedding.”

  Guy assumed a mock wounded air. “You told Heather you’re getting married before you told me?”

  “I saw Heather before I saw you,” Ros pointed out.

  Heather joined in, too. “And I wasn’t about to pretend I hadn’t seen that gorgeous ring!”

  Guy’s response was a loud and blatantly fake cough. “Mrs. Tregowan, I believe your better half is waiting to whisk you away.”

  Their relationship might be employer and employee, but Heather and her husband were also longstanding family friends. That friendship included acerbic wit, with obligatory regular barbed exchanges. Heather fixed her boss with a mock stony glare. “Better half, is it? Well, they say the devil makes work for idle hands—it sounds like he makes work for the tongue attached to those hands as well.”

  Guy shot a quick look at Ros. Her puzzled expression spoke volumes, reminding him he had yet to deliver his own news. “Are you going to Barcelona, or am I going to have to put up with you giving me grief for the next few days after all? You and Rob have a great time, and don’t hurry back.”

  Having sent Heather off to join her husband, Guy poured the coffee, and cut slices of the cake for Simon and himself. Ros declined. Guy suspected her refusal of her favourite treat might have something to do with wedding dresses. And so it begins.

  “So, how was Norway? Leaving aside the obvious excitement.” He nodded in the direction of Ros’ left hand.

  “Incredible—you wouldn’t believe a lodge in the middle of nowhere could be so luxurious,” Ros enthused. “I would love a place like that.”

  Her fiancé caught Guy’s eye and winked. Simon was up to something, and Guy would put money on his planning to make that happ
en—if he hadn’t already. “You found plenty to do, then? In the middle of nowhere?”

  “Sometimes, the middle of nowhere is exactly where you want to be, when the company’s perfect.” She reached for Simon’s hand. “It was so peaceful there.”

  Guy couldn’t blame her for that. An absence of excitement was exactly what she needed after the trials of her last few months with the unit.

  Speaking for himself, peace was something he’d come to value more and more. Although he’d soon be back in harness, the nature of his new role would be poles apart from what he’d left behind. Peace of a less obvious kind, perhaps, but in his book, peace nonetheless. “Do you think you’ll go back sometime?”

  Ros turned to her fiancé. “I think so. There were lots of things we didn’t get around to doing.”

  “As long as you took care of the important things, there’s always time for the rest.”

  Except when you didn’t take care of the important things. Then time ran out, because the woman you loved died, and you hadn’t told her half the things you should have done.

  “So what’s the latest gossip from the office?”

  The abrupt change of subject zeroed in on the news Guy had yet to impart. “Ah, about that. If you went into the office, you’d probably find the latest gossip was about me.”

  “What on earth does that mean?”

  Guy gave a nonchalant shrug. “Nothing serious. I resigned. A couple of weeks ago now. Don’t look so shocked. It’s been on the cards for a while, and like you, I had an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  Ros’ eyes narrowed. “You resigned, and you say it’s nothing serious? And what offer? Why haven’t you mentioned all this before?”

  “A man’s got to have some secrets, even from his favourite niece.”

  “I’m your only niece. So come on—spit it out. What’s been going on?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Change is as good as a rest, and all that.”