The Phoenix

Ella hesitated for a second before answering. ‘Yes.’

Gabriel took an audible breath, as if he’d just been punched in the stomach.

‘He would have expected that from Persephone. Demanded it, I think,’ said Ella. ‘I had to get close to him, to regain his trust. I’m not saying I wanted to sleep with him.’

‘But did you?’ Gabriel’s eyes bored into hers. ‘Want to?’

Ella thought guiltily about all the times she’d fantasized about making love to Makis. About the electric jolt of longing she felt whenever his hand touched hers, despite knowing he was a murderer. The only other man she’d ever felt that much attraction for was the one grilling her right now. But she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of getting her to admit it.

‘No,’ she lied. ‘Of course not.’

‘Good.’

It was the closest he’d ever come to acknowledging his desire for her. But the moment this intimate exchange was over, it was straight back to business.

‘Mak knows who you are. Obviously that means you’re in danger,’ he began.

‘From Mak, yes,’ agreed Ella. ‘But not necessarily from Athena.’

Gabriel shook his head. ‘It’s over, Ella. The boss wants you back in the States, as soon as you’re well enough to travel. I’m to deliver you there personally this time.’

‘And what if I won’t go?’ asked Ella indignantly.

‘You will go.’

‘Says who? I’m a free agent, you know. I’m not a piece of freight that you guys get to ship around at will.’

‘Don’t yell at me. I’m just the messenger. Redmayne won’t let you compromise the safety of The Group, and that’s that. He has countless operatives to think of, not just you.’

‘Redmayne can go to hell!’

Gabriel sighed. ‘Do you ever simply do what you’re told?’

‘No. Do you?’

He grinned. ‘Not very often.’

With an effort, Ella sat upright, hauling herself back against the stacked goose-down pillows. ‘I know you don’t like Redmayne.’

‘How could you possibly know that?’

She tapped the side of her head. ‘I know a lot of things about you.’

His eyes narrowed playfully. ‘Oh yeah? Like what.’

‘I know Gabriel’s not your real name.’

He looked at her, trying to fathom whether this was intuition speaking or whether, somehow, she’d actually found out information about his past. The latter possibility was deeply troubling.

‘Lots of people change their names when they get older,’ he said, trying to sound casual about it.

‘Only if they have something to hide,’ said Ella. ‘Or run away from.’

‘Bullshit,’ he countered. ‘What if they were christened Humperdinck? Or … Derek?’

His ploy worked. Ella laughed loudly.

‘Is that your real name? Derek?’