Page 37 of Code Name: Typhon

“Okay,” I said to Leviticus. “I’ll accept your offer of a ride, but I insist on paying you.”

Rather than respond, he walked over and opened the door. I was momentarily confused by the steering wheel on the left rather than the right.

“It’s German,” he said.

“I’ve seen cars like this before,” I responded, perhaps a bit defensively.

Once behind the wheel, he requested directions from the vehicle’s computer, then sped off. It responded that the expected drive time was one hour, forty minutes.

“It won’t take me that long.” He wiggled his brows.

My worry over Harper prevented me from saying anything at all, especially a pithy comeback. “I appreciate this,” I said after a few seconds.

“Do you want to tell me why it’s urgent you get there tonight?”

“My cousin’s wife is in hospital. Surgery, in fact.”

He nodded once. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Niv is frantic, of course.”

“The two of you are very close.”

“He’s like a brother to me. Neither of us has siblings,” I explained.

His eyes scrunched, but he didn’t respond.

“You’re with SIS.”

He nodded. “I am.”

“Do you know Niven?”

He sighed. “Did he say he knew me?”

It wasn’t an answer to my question, which irritated me, but the man was driving me over one hundred kilometers from London. “He did not,” I admitted.

“It’s been several years, but, yes, we knew each other.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel.

“You don’t care for him.”

Leviticus glanced over at me. “The feeling is mutual, Eliza.”

“He’s not well-liked at MI6. Or at least, that’s what he told me one night after having a pint too many.”

“I really can’t say.”

“I was surprised to hear him say he was visiting their headquarters earlier.” I looked down at the bouquet of roses sitting on the console between us. “They’re lovely, thank you.”

His eyes lit up, perhaps relieved at my change of subject. “They say the two colors of roses in a bouquet are the combination of passionate red, signifying sorrow over past mistakes, and pure white, which represents the desire for a fresh start.”

“What happened? Was it something I did? Something I said?” I hardly remembered talking at all.

“It was nothing you did. You’re perfect, Eliza. I got spooked.”

I opened my mouth to say I was hardly perfect, but he lifted his hand, and I closed it.

“It’s difficult for those in my line of work to form close bonds with those outside of SIS. I’m sure you know this from your cousin.”