Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(20)

“Uh, no,” he told her. “Because they’re children’s books and I’m a thirty-five-year-old man.”

She blinked, giving him the same look she would have if he’d been growing a pair of feet out of his ears. “You say that like it’s a valid excuse.”

“She means He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” Penni supplied helpfully. Chelsea had already convinced herself that she liked former Secret Service Agent Penni DePaul. But finding out the woman was a fellow Potterhead sealed the deal.

“You-Know-Who,” Chelsea added. And when Z just stared at her, she threw her hands in the air in disgust. “First no Guardians of the Galaxy and now no Harry Potter? Have you been living under a rock, or are you being willfully dense? Because I have to say, if it’s the latter, it’s not a good look on you.”

One corner of his lips quirked. Almost. That almost did it.

“Oh, you’re talking about Winter—” he started and she had to slap a hand over his mouth.

“Yessss,” she hissed. When she removed her hand, she curled her fingers around the spot his breath had warmed. Although Z gave her no indication that he considered her anything more than a colleague, a coworker, a…pest most days, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering how it would feel to kiss those finely formed lips, to press herself tight against that broad chest, to…

Ahem! Okay. Back to business. It was either that or her chair was going to melt out from under her.

“And yes to you too,” she said, turning back to Penni. “I think it’s highly likely Comrade Kozlov is here for the same reason we’re here—because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is in town. And this is the first time our Intel has panned out.”

Penni frowned before tucking her menu into her lap. “Which means you think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named”—Z sighed beside Chelsea, and she could tell he was annoyed at the overly long, overly complicated nickname—“is in possession of information the Russians might want.”

“That and then some,” Chelsea said, her stomach hollowing out at the thought of the havoc Winterfield had already wrought and the chaos he could still create. “The data he stole was immense. Worth a pretty penny to any foreign government, be it friend or foe.”

“Christ almighty,” Penni breathed.

“You said it,” Chelsea agreed.

For a while no one uttered a word. Then Penni looked tentatively at each of them and finally ventured, “Uh, mind if I ask why your people”—she bobbed her chin toward Chelsea—“decided to pull back and let you three work the case alone? I mean, considering Wint…er, considering Lord Voldemort is one of your own, I’d think The Company would be sticklers about being the ones to bring him in.” Her New York accent dropped the r sounds on the ends of her words, making “sticklers” sound more like “sticklahs.”

“In a different situation,” Dan said, tapping his menu against the table, “that’d be the case. But, until recently, the CIA had themselves a little rodent problem.”

Ugh. Until about six months ago, Chelsea would’ve bet her best handbag it was impossible to have one traitor inside the CIA, much less two of them.

“Rodent problem?” Penni asked, eyebrow raised.

“A mole,” Dan clarified.

“Oh,” Penni said. Then, “Oh! You mean someone besides He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Just so you know,” Dan said, “I’m on Zoelner’s side when it comes to the nickname. The Harry Potter references go against my better judgment as a man of advancing years.”

Chelsea snorted. “Advancing years my ass, Dan. You’re a good decade or two away from needing Fixodent and fiber pills. And just so you know, I’m pretty sure a mole isn’t actually a rodent either. I don’t remember where in the hierarchy of biological classification they fall, but—”

“Jesus!” he swore. “Seriously? I guess I shoulda paid more attention during my middle-school science classes ’cause I’m zero for two today.”

“Huh?” Penni blinked.

Chelsea waved a hand in dismissal. “It goes back to a conversation we were having earlier and… You know what? Doesn’t matter. To answer your original question, The Company had a second mole who was disseminating classified information to our enemies. And given there was a fire-hose-sized leak inside our ranks, the president didn’t trust us to find him on our own. So these two”—she shot a finger gun first at Z and then at Dan—“were tasked to run a simultaneous and clandestine snatch-and-grab mission. Sort of like, May the best men win.”

Unfortunately, no men had won. Yet. Chelsea hoped that wouldn’t remain the case for very much longer. Her reputation within the CIA—and, you know, the fate of the world—hinged on them bringing Winterfield in sooner rather than later. No biggie.

“So you’re telling me there are two traitors inside The Company?” Penni whispered. Her face was the picture of astonishment.

“Were two,” Chelsea stressed, defending her organization. “The other has been found and is being interrogated.”

“And the capture of the second mole meant we could come out of hiding and let the spooks know we were also searching for…You-Know-Who,” Z said.

Chelsea beamed at him for playing along with the no-name game. He gave her a long-suffering look and shook his head.