An Inconvenient Arrangement

Chapter 27: The Viper and The Phantom

Sebastian bit back a scowl as he wound his way through the London streets that were still somewhat glazed with snow. His skin was itching with discomfort knowing that he was being followed, that he was allowing himself to be followed. The Phantom's men were good, excellent, even, but not as good as him. He had spotted them weeks ago, but they had likely been watching him for longer, which was a fucking testament to how badly he was slipping. It went against every instinct to allow someone to watch him, but he needed to let it happen when he was doing the most benign things so that they would not notice anything amiss when he actually wanted to give them the slip.

When he would kill the same informant that had given The Collective vital information about Trentham's whereabouts. The one who had been instrumental in helping Sebastian track him to the small, sleepy village near Fort William. And then he would get on a fucking boat and never set foot in England again.

That thought had his breath catching, his heart twisting in protest. God bloody damn it, he hated this fucking weakness. The Collective had taught him a few basic rules; don't get attached and don't get emotional. And here he fucking was, doing both.

It went against his most basic training, making emotional decisions right and left.

But what other choice did he have? The only thing driving him these days seemed to be emotions, and his stupidity was going to catch up to him sooner rather than later.

Like selling his fucking dogs. He never should have done it. He should be pretending that nothing at all had happened while he was away. That everything was business as usual.

If The Phantom was truly keeping an eye on him, he would know that Sebastian was itching to make an escape.

And if The Widow ever tried to trace the money he'd sent using her contacts in Edinburgh, she'd find that a comfortable twenty thousand pounds were now situated in a bank account belonging to one Joseph Trentham. Under an alias, certainly, but it wouldn't be too hard to uncover who the account actually belonged to.

Madarchod.

Sebastian would be swinging from the gallows faster than you could say execution.

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"Twenty thousand pounds. You cannot trace twenty fucking thousand pounds?!" Rafe snarled at his subordinate as he began to pace the study as the man paled significantly.

"No, sir," he shook his head, "the bank records have been altered to show transactions going back years and purchases of properties all over England, but the man we have on the inside swears that the money practically disappeared overnight. We've checked the records of all seven of his bank accounts under all the aliases you provided and the money really seems to have vanished with a trace."

Rafe's mouth pulled into a sneer. It was an amount that would keep a man very comfortable for the rest of his life. His head started to throb with the beginnings of a migraine. He had already tried to push The Major into considering house arrest and had been berated for suggesting such a thing on the basis of The Viper selling his hounds, Rafe was doubtful that he would be well received if he showed up with some more dubious evidence.

"Can you get your hands on the records? I will have a forger look at them. And the properties that have been purchased, have someone check them. I have a feeling most of them might not even exist."

The man let out a long, troubled exhale.

"I don't know-"

"You want to keep affording your wife's treatment by the best physician money can buy?"