Noble Intentions: Season Four by L.T. Ryan Page A

for a single vase with three roses. She replaced the flowers every week on Monday morning. A habit started
    two months prior.
    The current batch made it the week without wilting or losing a petal. Unusual.
    Sasha unlocked her computer, logged into the system and pulled up her email, quickly prioritizing the messages. She knew that nothing important had come in
    overnight, having checked her phone both before leaving home and during her commute while in the tubes. Likewise, nothing had arrived for her in the time
    it took to reach her office.
    A quiet Friday. For once.
    She immediately wished she hadn't allowed the thought to manifest.
    Sasha performed a quick check of the major news sites, then MI6's internal bulletin board for any updated threat assessment information. Nothing new today.
    Moments later, there was a rap on her door.
    "Come in," she said.
    Mason Sutton opened the door, took a step, stopped a foot inside. His gaze traveled over her head, toward the sky or the water or whatever else might have
    caught his fancy across the river. His attire was casual for MI5 standards. MI6, for that matter. And though his short hair was presentable, he'd left his
    face unshaven.
    "Day off?" she asked.
    "Late start," he replied, tracing his thumb along his jaw line. "Keep an electric shaver at my desk for days like this."
    "And your clothing?"
    "Why do you care, Sasha?"
    She swiveled side to side in her chair. "I don't, really. Just like getting a rise out of you lads."
    He glanced away and shook his head, then stepped forward. She hadn't reached the point of trusting the man yet. Jack did, for whatever reason, even when
    the guy had threatened him hours after Noble had entered the UK. There was something Jack liked about Mason Sutton. Sasha couldn't quite put her finger on
    it, though. Maybe in time, after a few of these meetings, she'd feel the same way.
    "Anyway," he said. "What are we going to start with? Foreign or domestic?"
    She reached down for her bag and pulled out a Moleskin notebook. The damned things were expensive, but they seemed a good fit for her.
    "Why don't you start?" she said.
    He pursed his lips together and exhaled through them. They vibrated and his cheeks puffed out. After, he said, "Samir Parsa. Let's start with him."
    "Parsa," she repeated. "He took over for Naseer Shehata, that millionaire, or was it billionaire, terrorist wannabee?"
    Mason nodded and scratched something into his notebook. Upon closer inspection, it was a cartoon head. His shabby clothing and stubbled face had not
    betrayed him, after all. But as the image came together, she recognized the face from the papers, the news, and their files.
    "So what is Samir up to these days?" She aimed her pen toward the drawing.
    "Seems he's been importing talent from all over the Middle East. Most are coming in on mangled passports, entering through France."
    "Are we thinking they are planning an attack? If I recall correctly, Naseer wasn't much into that. He seemed to like to attend parties while dabbling in
    organized crime, and consorting with billionaires with loose morals, like that Thornton Walloway character that turned up dead a few months ago."
    They both remained silent, avoiding the other's stare. Walloway had been assassinated. A hit planned by his ex-wife, and carried out by Naseer's men. Maybe
    even Naseer himself. The only witness they knew never divulged the details.
    "Right," Mason said. "Ancient history now, though, isn't it?"
    She agreed.
    Mason continued. "Samir has been rather quiet since Naseer died. If not for two of these
travelers
getting picked up for petty crimes, we might
    not have found out he was importing a whole host of soldiers."
    "So are you going to move?"
    "Over this?" He leaned back in his chair and wrapped his hands around the back of his head. "It'd be pointless. The only thing that would happen is Samir
    would start shifting money and assets around. He wouldn't do any time. And no judge would allow us to keep him