Evan paced his living room floor, fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt, a soft blue Henley he’d chosen for this occasion. He wanted to look respectable but non-threatening when he told Ben the truth.

Assuming Ben ever showed up. He’d sent no reply to Evan’s all clear please come text message containing his home address. After today’s weirdness, Evan wouldn’t blame him for staying far, far away.

No bomb had been found at St. Andrew’s, so the wedding reception had finally been allowed to proceed, once the police had questioned all those present—including Ben—about what they’d seen and heard.

MI5 and Police Scotland weren’t yet certain it had all been a hoax. Threats were often phoned in not by the perpetrators but rather an innocent associate or even a conspirator having second thoughts. Or perhaps the men in the white Outlander had planned to shoot or stab the evacuees but had chickened out without telling the person who’d phoned in the tip.

The call itself had been made from an untraceable burner phone, but its signal had pinged off a mobile tower near St. Andrew’s, so theoretically the people in the SUV could have made the call themselves. But why? Certainly a bomb threat would instill fear, but not as much as an actual attack.

Now his task was to explain all this to Ben. During this evening’s debriefing, Kay had reviewed exactly what Evan could reveal about what had happened today, about his job in general, and about his past ops. He hoped he could resist sharing more than he should, but Ben’s eyes had a way of tearing down Evan’s well-honed defenses.

By now, Trent had stopped following him back and forth and was sitting on the arm of the couch watching him pace, occasionally batting him as he passed by.

His mobile rang with the number for his building’s security system. He answered, nearly dropping his phone before it could reach his ear.

“It’s me,” said a terse voice. “It’s Ben.”

Evan entered the code to unlock the building’s entrance, then hurried to put Trent into the bedroom. “Sorry, lass, it’s just for a few minutes,” he told her as he shut her inside.

He went back to watch through the peephole. When Ben’s form appeared to the left through the fish-eye lens, Evan opened the door as slowly and calmly as he could manage.

Ben stopped several feet away. “Hi,” he said, barely above a whisper. He’d changed clothes since this afternoon, but his hair was mussed from the wind and his eyes drooped at the corners with what looked like exhaustion.

“I’m glad you came,” Evan said.

Ben examined the open doorway like it was the entrance to Dante’s Inferno, but then stepped across the threshold and into the narrow foyer. “Where’s Trent?”

A loud mew answered from behind the bedroom door.

So Ben had recognized him as Gunnar from the start. Either he’d hidden his awareness well or Evan hadn’t looked for clues, wanting to believe his cover was intact so he could go on protecting Ben.

“Trent’s right here.” He opened the bedroom door. The cat dashed out and wound round Ben’s legs in a figure-of-eight. “She’s happy to see you.”

Ben crouched down to pet her. “Trent’s a girl?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I had a female cat.”

Ben gave him a look that said, But you lied about everything else.

Evan briefed him on Trent’s veterinary adventures, then asked, “Can I take your coat?”

Ben seemed to think about it, then shrugged it off and hung it on a wall peg. “You’re about to tell me a very good story, aren’t you?”

“A true story.”

“Hmph.” On his way to the living room, Ben peered into the bedroom and bathroom as though checking for an ambush. Then he sat on the couch, but on the edge of the seat, placing his hands carefully, almost symmetrically on each knee. His head remained still while his eyes darted to take in the room. “I thought your place would be…I don’t know, prettier.”

“The flat came furnished.” Evan shifted his feet, debating whether to sit beside him.

“Still, I thought with you being an architect and all…” Ben scoffed. “But you’re not really an architect, are you?”

“Actually, I do have a degree in—”

“Just tell me what happened today,” Ben said sharply. “Who was the target?”

“Not a ‘who,’ as far as we know.” Evan sat across from him in the armchair. “A bomb threat was phoned in, a threat which seemed related to St. Andrew’s in the Square. The caller didn’t mention any people or motive for the threat.”

“Surely you must have theories?”

“We do.” Evan forced himself to hold Ben’s gaze. “They’re classified.”

“Why? Don’t the public have a right to know about dangers?”

“Mmmrap!” Trent flumped in the middle of the floor between them and rolled onto her back.

“The public also have a right to security,” Evan said. “Announcing exactly what happened today could inspire copycat attacks, or it could teach today’s perpetrators—if they exist—how we deal with this sort of threat, which makes it easier for them to strike next time.” He softened his tone. “Just know that you’re safe.”

“I don’t feel safe. In general, that is.” Ben crossed his forearms, placing his hands on opposite knees. “Here with you, I feel safe. Ish. Safe-ish.” He gave a tiny, mirthless laugh. “I mean, if a cop can’t protect me, who can?”

“Meeerw!” Trent extended her paw toward Ben, gazing at him upside down.

Evan hesitated. He could let Ben believe he was a police officer. He could say he worked in Specialist Crime Division. It would edge closer to the truth without actually revealing it.

But he wanted to be real with Ben, as real as he could ever legally be.

“I’m not a cop.”

“But you were working undercover as Gunnar the waiter.” He gestured to Trent as she leapt onto her heated cat perch by the window. “She’s proof, and you knew I’d recognize her when I came over, so don’t pretend—”

“I’m not a cop,” Evan repeated.

“Then what are you?” Ben sat back, crossed his arms, and waggled his foot, looking like a hipster headmaster. “I’m waiting.”

“Right.” Evan drew in a long, deep breath, then let it out. “Sorry, I’ve never said what I’m about to say, not to anyone on the outside. Just give me a minute.”

Ben grumbled, then looked away to watch Trent shove her face beneath the lowered blinds. “Why is her shelf plugged in? Is it a kitty massage table?”

“It’s for heat. I’m an intelligence officer with Her Majesty’s Security Service.” God, that sounds even more pretentious out loud.

Ben jerked his head to stare at him. “You’re…”

“I work at MI5. Our job is to gather information and assess threats—”

“I know what MI5 does.” Ben planted his palms beside himself as though the couch was a boat threatening to capsize. “Fuck.”

Evan wanted to go to him, but knew it might scare him off. If anything, he should give Ben some space. “Sorry, I never offered you a drink.” He stood more quickly than he’d intended, thanks to his nerves.

Ben shrank back at the sudden movement, then gave a spastic nod.

Evan went into the kitchen. “I could make coffee or tea, since we’ll probably be up for a while. There’s also—” His heart sank when he saw Ben approaching but looking toward the foyer.

“Please don’t go,” Evan said. “Not yet.”

Ben took a step forward, then sagged against the kitchen doorpost. “What sort of booze have you got?”

“I knew you weren’t what you seemed,” Ben said after Evan had given him a minute to let it all sink in—and to consume a bit of whisky, which had served only to remind Ben why he didn’t drink. “But MI5 was not one of my guesses.”

Evan poured his own dram, then sat across the table from him. “What else did you think I could be, apart from police?”

“Loads of things crossed my mind.” Ben counted off on his fingers and thumb. “Assassin. Vigilante. Gangster. Mercenary. Ninja.” He paused. “Also superhero, but that was in a dream I had.” In a way, the last one seemed closest—this felt like the movie moment when a superhero’s friends realized he was more dangerous than they’d ever dreamed.

“You thought I could be a ninja,” Evan said, “but it never occurred to you I was a spook?”

“Of course it occurred to me. But last month I saw an advert for jobs at MI5. They wanted ordinary-looking folk who could work in London.”

Evan’s look of confusion suddenly cleared. “Ah, you’re thinking of surveillance officers, the people who track our targets on foot or in cars. That’s not what I do—I mean, I’ve done it on occasion when needs must, but mostly I work in an office like any normal person.”

“What do you do in that office?”

“Assess threats,” Evan said.

“Terrorist threats.”

“Aye, that’s our main purpose these days. Keeping the public safe from those who want to harm us.”

Ben drew his thumbs over his brows, his eyes aching from glaring. It was like a stranger had walked in mid-blink and taken the place of the man he was falling for. “Is any of this real?” He gestured between them. “Is Evan Hollister even your true name?”

“God, yes. We’re real. I’m real. At least I’m trying to be.” He reached across the table to touch Ben’s arm. “And I am Evan Hollister as much as you’re Ben Reid. The only thing I’ve lied to you about is my job.”

Ben pulled away. “But your job is who you are. It’s not like being a bank clerk or a bricklayer. Surely being a spy affects the way you think, the way you act with ‘normal people.’”

“You’re right.” Evan’s head drooped as he looked down into his whisky. “I’ll understand if it’s too much and you never want to see me again. But I’d be…” He pressed his lips together, then rubbed them hard. “I’d be devastated, because I really like you. A lot.” He raised his eyes to meet Ben’s again.

The feeling of foreignness began to fade. Ben stood up. “I just need to check something.” He planted his palms on the table, leaned over, and kissed Evan.

After a soft grunt of surprise, Evan kissed him back. He smelled, tasted, felt the same as ever. This was still the man Ben craved, and now what lay between them was no longer a packet of lies, but the truth.

Part of it, at least.

After that soul-plundering kiss, Evan was more relieved than ever that Ben hadn’t tried to bolt—mostly because it would have crushed Evan’s heart, but also because it would have made this next bit even more unpleasant.

Evan set Ben’s tea and his own coffee on the table, then sat across from him again. “Now that you know what I do for a living, this needs signed.” He opened the slip file sitting upon the corner of the table and pulled out a copy of the Official Secrets Act declaration.

Ben scanned the sheet, then flipped it over to read the provisions on the back. “I don’t understand. Specifically what ‘government information’ do I have access to? Is this about today’s operation or whatever?”

“Yes, but that’s not all.” Evan wrapped his hands round his coffee mug to keep from fidgeting. The Service had trained him how to lie about his job, but there was no manual on how to tell the truth. “When you enter this life, you discover that the world is much more complicated than you ever imagined. And by telling you what I do, I’ve brought you into that life. I did it because I wanted to be truthful with you, and because I believed you could handle it.”

Ben looked flattered but skeptical. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“The way you talk about your father and the sacrifices he’s made—that your family has made—for his military service. I thought you’d understand.”

Ben’s eyes softened. “Yes, unfortunately.” He went back to reading the provisions. “This is intense. I need to sign this to keep dating you?”

“You’re legally bound by it even if you don’t sign.” He set a pen beside the sheet. “So you may as well agree to its terms.”

Ben’s face pinched, but he picked up the pen. “What are the ‘serious consequences’ this thing speaks of?”

Evan shifted his feet under the table. He hated to scare Ben, but that fear could keep them both safe. “You could be fined or sent to prison.”

“Ooft.”

“Or I could die.”

Ben jolted in his seat. “What? Why?”

“Security-service officers are prime hostage targets for terrorists. By now you know what some of them do to their—to their captives.” He swallowed hard, his mouth dry after uttering that last word. “Sometimes on video.”

Ben went pale. “God…” He signed the form with white-knuckled fingers, then pushed it across the table. “I’ll never tell a soul.”

“That’s an easy promise to make, but a hard one to keep. Remember how you felt when we went to the Glasgow Greens match and those fans were running me down? You wanted to defend me, and I appreciate that, but if that happened in any other circumstance, you’d need to play along. Let people think I’m awful.”

Ben’s face fell. “You must have wanted to leave me after that match. You must have thought I can’t keep a secret to save my life.”

“Robert warned me about that, so I wasn’t shocked.”

“I accidentally grassed him up once to Liam. But it was for the best in the end. Honesty usually is.”

“Not when it gets people killed.”

“Right. Sorry.” He took a long sip of tea. “Who else knows you’re MI5?”

“My parents and sister. Also, several other people involved in my vetting know that I applied for a secret government job, but they don’t know which agency or whether I was accepted.” He met Ben’s eyes, wanting to burn the command into his brain. “Never talk to anyone about what I do, even if they act like they already know.”

“Okay.” Suddenly Ben sat back in his chair. “Fergus never knew, did he?”

Evan lowered his chin as fresh guilt washed over him. “No, he never did.”

“And you were never in Belgium.” Ben spoke faster now, unraveling the biggest secret of all. “MI5 only work inside the UK, right? So you couldn’t have just run off to another country for three months and kept your job.” He slapped the table. “Which means you didn’t leave him for another man. You left on an assignment.”

Evan nodded, his chest full of lead.

“I knew it!” Ben leapt up from the table and punched the air. “You were never a lying, cheating heartbreaker. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.”

“But I did lie to Fergus. I did betray him—not for another man, but for the Service. I did break his heart.” Evan’s voice cracked. “And he will never, ever know that I broke my own heart, too.”

Ben’s triumph suddenly deflated. “You let everyone think you were cruel. You had to play the villain when you were actually defending the realm.” He pulled his chair closer and sat again. “Do you ever regret it?”

Evan remembered going online that sunny day in July and seeing photos of children at the parade that never got bombed. “I don’t regret making that choice, but I do regret the hurt I caused.”

Ben put his hand over Evan’s. “Can you tell me where you went, what you did?”

Evan shook his head. “I can say only that it was a successful operation, in that we stopped a planned attack.”

Ben’s eyes went round and wide. “Wow.”

“But even if the operation had failed, it would still have been worth it. I would still have no regrets—or rather, my regrets would be outweighed by the certainty I’d done the right thing. See, this assignment couldn’t be done by just anyone.”

“Why not?”

Evan looked away. It was more than prudence keeping him silent about his unique profile. It was shame. “I can’t say.”

“But you foiled a terrorist plot. You saved lives.”

“Not singlehandedly. My team was—”

“You’re a hero, do you know that?”

Tell that to Fergus, whose life I shattered. Tell that to Patrick, whose life I— “It’s complicated,” Evan said, his throat thickening. “And classified.”

“I won’t ask about it anymore. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He squeezed Evan’s hand. “But you can tell me how you feel. Tell me anything, any time. I won’t judge.”

The thickness in Evan’s throat rose to his sinuses. He sniffled hard, blinking back rebellious tears. “Thanks,” he whispered. “That means a lot to me.”

“Are you kidding?” Ben kissed Evan’s knuckles. “It means a lot to me that you’re sharing all this. That you trust me enough to—” He broke off, glancing at the Official Secrets Act form. “Wait. If you couldn’t tell Fergus where you work, then why can you tell me? How do you know I’m trustworthy?”

In a way, this was the part Evan had dreaded the most. He reached into the file and pulled out the sealed envelope containing Ben’s vetting report. “This is how I know.”

As Ben finished reading the brief account of his life as prepared by Her Majesty’s Government, he’d never felt so small. “This is awful.”

“Is the report inaccurate?” Evan asked. “I’ve not read it myself. I didn’t want to violate your privacy.”

“It’s not inaccurate, it’s pathetic! Look at this.” With the pages on his palm, Ben bobbed his hand up and down as though weighing them. “My entire life summed up on three sheets of A4 paper—single-sided, even! And two of those pages are about my parents. I’m so boring.”

“Believe me, that’s—”

“My most radical actions have been a tonsillectomy and three parking violations, all of which I paid, like a well-behaved boring citizen.”

“Is it the contents of your dossier that bother you, or is it the fact this file exists at all, thanks to me?”

“There’s that, too.” Ben checked the date on the vetting report. “This was done before you phoned to ask me out.”

“Yes, I needed clearance to do that.”

Ben’s jaw dropped so hard he felt it click. “You…so, what, you met me at your ex’s wedding, then asked MI5 to paw through my personal information so we could have dinner together?”

“It’s protocol.”

“But surely they don’t surveil their employees all the time to make sure they’re behaving?”

“No, but if they found out I’d broken the rule, I could be suspended or even sacked. There’s a double standard, of course—straight men often get more leniency than women and gay men.” Evan fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt sleeves. “Sorry, I know it’s invasive. For what it’s worth, you’re the first person I’ve fancied enough to have vetted.”

Ben scoffed. “Ah, thanks for the honor.”

“That night we met, I thought we connected. I thought you were worth it.”

“We did, and I am.” Ben folded his dossier and shoved it back into the envelope. Then he thought of something else that didn’t compute. “You said I was the first person you’d had vetted, but what about Fergus? You were in love with him. Robert told me you two were planning to move in—” Ben stopped when he saw Evan’s stricken look. “What’s wrong?”

Evan ran his finger over the grain of the wood table. “When I first joined MI5, they vetted Fergus. He was clean. I could have told him then what I was doing, but I knew he wouldn’t approve. He hated the agency for political and moral reasons.”

“Didn’t he notice when you stopped being an architect?”

“He knew I’d left my firm, but I told him I was working as an architect for a government agency, which he considered a step down. Mind on, we weren’t living together, so most days he didn’t know where I was, especially as he was busy working on his Master’s.”

“So he had his head too far up his arse to suspect his boyfriend had become a secret agent.” Ben shifted his unwanted whisky on the table. “So it all went to shit when you left Glasgow for this heroic operation?”

“A few months before that. Last February when they passed the marriage-equality law, Fergus and I decided to move in together.” Evan gestured to Ben’s report. “To simply date someone it’s enough to know that they are who they say they are and have no connections to criminals or hostile foreign nations. But when cohabitation or even marriage is on the cards, the Service likes to dig deeper.” He paused. “A lot deeper.”

Ben felt a chill encircle his stomach. “And they found something.”

“Not about Fergus.” Evan waved his hands as if erasing an invisible white board between them. “I can’t say more.”

Ben was sorry he asked. “This thing in the deep background check…was it the reason you could never tell him who you worked for?”

Evan nodded, eyes closed.

“Just one more question,” Ben said, and to his relief Evan showed not an ounce of exasperation. “What if one day we—I’m not saying marry, but if we stay together long enough…”

“You’re worried something will turn up in a deeper vetting?”

“Of course I worry. My mum’s an immigrant.”

“She’s a UK citizen.”

“So? She’s Middle Eastern, and the way things are headed in this country, that alone could be a crime one day.”

“Not to MI5.” Evan’s eyes were pure serious. “Regardless of the political winds, we care only whether someone is an actual threat. Our limited resources can’t track every person in an unpopular ethnic group.” His brows lowered in determination. “We literally have no time for racism.”

Ben felt somewhat reassured by Evan’s matter-of-fact explanation—and by the way his face had switched to “professional setting” just now.

“How much contact do you have with your family,” Evan asked, “apart from your mother?”

Ben wondered whether Evan already knew the answer. “Not much. None of them even live in Iran anymore. Mum’s parents are dead, and the only cousins I’ve met live in Canada. We’re all pretty unremarkable, which now I realize is a good thing.”

“It is.” Evan spoke softly. “Look, Ben, if our relationship does…deepen one day, I don’t think there’ll be a problem like what I had with Fergus.”

It broke Ben’s heart to think of Evan’s life ripped apart by forces beyond his control. Even now his face was painted with regret and still held a tinge of fear. He probably hadn’t even wanted to reveal this secret tonight, but the St. Andrew’s evacuation had forced his hand. Evan had no doubt been nearly as unprepared and overwhelmed as Ben.

Ben stood slowly. “Are we still having brunch at noon tomorrow, then?”

Evan looked up with trepidation. “If you want.”

“I do. And I’m glad the reservation’s not too early.” He reached out a hand to Evan. “Seeing as we’re about to have a very late night.”