“Information I don’t have?” Peter was frankly doubtful. As Thomason was kicked upstairs he’d also been stripped of his contacts. There was very little chance he had access to intel Peter had missed.
Thomason didn’t blink. He was the epitome of an upper-class English civil servant—ruddy skin, spidery veins across his nose, colorless eyes and thinning white hair. “You forget—I’ve been in this business since before you were born. I have resources you wouldn’t imagine.”
“And you didn’t consider it important to pass those resources along?”
“They won’t talk to anyone but me. Are you in some kind of hurry? You keep looking at your watch. If I’m boring you, I can always leave. Isobel is an old hand at this sort of thing, and used to surprises. She’ll probably survive.”
In another lifetime Harry Thomason would be dead within minutes of walking in the door. Peter didn’t like him, didn’t trust him, which in the past would have been almost enough to find his death worth it. The fact that he wanted Isobel dead would have put him over the edge, and Thomason would be a corpse.
But Peter didn’t do that anymore. For the sake of his wife, who was already waiting for him. For the sake of his old friends, who needed a stable presence in the Kensington office. Hell, for the sake of the new operative Peter was supposed to be picking up at Heathrow later that night, Sir Harry Thomason would live to cause trouble.
So Peter kept his hand away from the drawer that held his Glock, the drawer Thomason knew existed, and leaned back in the chair. His leg was bothering him—the cold damp was getting to it. His limp would be more pronounced by evening, and Genny would fuss. “I don’t wish to be inhospitable, but I have a meeting.”
“Don’t let me keep you. I’ll be fine here at the office, catching up on things. And don’t think for a moment you can kick me out. I’m your boss, as I always was. Just one step higher up. I have access to all the information in this office anytime I want it.”
“Then what are you doing here? Why don’t you go back to your country house, have a brandy and ferret through our intel at your leisure?”
Thomason’s smile was slow and annoying. “You don’t like me, Madsen. You never did, and I expect my ordering you to terminate Bastien Toussaint was the final straw. I didn’t realize you went both ways for pleasure as well as duty. I don’t imagine your wife or Bastien’s little hausfrau would be pleased to hear about that.”
Peter merely looked at him. “Do you seriously believe you’ll annoy me with something a puerile as that? You’ve lost your edge in your retirement.”
The pale pink in Thomason’s plump cheeks darkened. “Hardly retirement, dear boy. And your sexual activities are of no interest to me.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. I’ve given up fucking for the Committee, so I’m afraid I’d have to turn you down.”
That last was possibly a mistake. Thomason was a vindictive, petty man, and he wouldn’t like having his virility questioned, particularly since he was so well closeted he was practically immured. But he was an old hand at this game, a worthy opponent, and he barely blinked, his pouchy eyes darting like a lizard’s. “Let’s keep this civilized, shall we? I know the veneer of breeding is particularly thin in your case, but I would hope it wouldn’t crack so easily. You aren’t so far removed from that bloody little brat who almost beat another child to death with his bare hands. Your talent for violence started early on, long before your pretensions to gentility. Just because your carelessness got you crippled and stuck in an office doesn’t mean your killer instinct is gone.”
“You should keep that in mind,” Peter said, unmoved by Thomason’s taunts. “In the meantime, whether or not you’re my superior, I’m not leaving this office unlocked. If you’re allowed access to our files, then you should be able to bring them up on your own computer.” Thomason had always been a notorious technophobe, but it was also unlike him to trust anyone enough to help him. The life expectancy for his secretaries and personal assistants had been appallingly short.
Thomason made a sound halfway between a grunt and a snarl. “Then I take it you’re not interested in the mess Isobel has gotten herself into?”
“In the years I’ve known Isobel I’ve never seen her unable to deal with what has to be done.” Peter wasn’t sure just how much Thomason knew about her current assignment, and he wasn’t about to offer any information.
“Josef Serafin isn’t only the most dangerous man in the world,” Thomason said, watching him. “He’s also someone from Isobel’s past.”
Peter didn’t blink. “Indeed. And you think she didn’t know that, going in?”
“Did she?”
“It’s always a mistake to underestimate your enemy, sir,” he said with exaggerated politeness.
“And you don’t think Isobel made that mistake with Serafin?”
“I think you’re making that mistake with her.”
“She’s hardly my enemy,” he said loftily. “She’s my employee.”
“She’s your replacement,” Peter corrected him bluntly. “And you’re not the sort of man who takes forced retirement in stride.”
“No, I’m not. But I don’t expect I’ll have to worry about it. Isobel is in over her head, and when she fails to complete her mission, there will be no one to turn to but me to fix the mess you’ve made.”
“In the meantime I have work to do,” Peter said, unmoved. “These are new offices since your tenure, but I’m sure you can find your way out.”
He rose, ever the polite recruit. He was a long ways from the hybrid street rat Thomason had brought in, and he knew manners better than those who were born to it. Harry Thomason’s jibes fell on deaf ears—if it were up to Peter he might have chosen his old life, not the bloody warfare thrust on him, along with the manners.
But then he wouldn’t have run afoul of Genevieve Spenser, Esq., and despite everything he had done, she loved him. And sorry excuse that it was, it still made everything all right.
Peter waited until Thomason left, then sank back down in his chair again, rubbing his leg absently. Isobel was smarter and cooler than anyone in the business. If Josef Serafin was indeed someone from her past, she would most certainly have known, and she’d have her own good reasons for not telling him. There was no denying the fact that the job was getting to her. It got to everyone sooner or later, and no matter how adept she was at hiding things, he suspected she was paying a very high price for her cool efficiency.