I'm glad you liked the the last chapter, and I'm really glad I chose to combine them. Today is where shit really starts happening. ;)

Point B

Point B was a tiny coffee shop made from an old double decker bus, the kind that ferried tourists around London. The only seating was on the upper level, and they served various types of coffee drinks and fresh pastry (baked off-site). Their cinnamon crumb cake was one of Olivia's weaknesses.

It was called, in a true burst of inspiration, Café Brittanica.

Olivia bought two slices of cake and a cappuccino and climbed the tight spiral stairs to the upper deck. She found a table near the back, squeezed into the corner, and sat down to wait. She wore a hat over her bright hair, and sunglasses to cover her eyes, but she knew Chibs would have no trouble finding her.

When he finally showed up she slid a plate and a fork across the table. He grimaced his thanks and settled into the chair.

"I can't believe you chose this place," she said. "It's English themed."

"Aye, well, point A wasn't viable." He wore a gray felt hat that he took off and dropped onto the table between them.

"Why the fuck are you talking like you're in Her Majesty's Secret Service? What's going on?"

He added a dollop of cream to his coffee and stirred it. She waited him out, fingers drumming against her porcelain coffee cup. He took a brief sip, nodded in satisfaction, and leaned forward on his elbows.

His dark eyes were intense on hers, and she shifted under his scrutiny.

"You're kind of scaring me, Chibs," she said.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the cloak and dagger and the double talk." He reached for her hand and caught it in his. "Ollie, we've got good reason to believe you've been made."

Her immediate reaction was to laugh. But his expression was so grave the humor died almost instantly. Panic replaced it, for a second, then a sort of quiet calm.

"How? Why am I still alive?"

He sighed and scrubbed his free hand over his chin. "Evidence points to a mole. You've been made the whole time. It's all been bullshit, from the beginning. They're playing you. All of them."

She tugged out of his grip and gave a slow shake of her head. "We."

"Hmm?" he said.

"We've been made the whole time. They've been playing us. That's what you mean, right? Ortiz and I."

He ducked his head and suddenly became very absorbed in his cake.

"Chibs," she said. Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard before she tried again. "Chibs, tell me you fucking well mean we."

He let out a long breath. "No, darlin'," he said. "As best we can tell, Ortiz is the mole."

She shoved back from the table so hard their drinks sloshed. He jumped away from the scalding liquid with a brief cry, and when people around them looked over in alarm he waved them away.

"Bee," he said. "Lass hates bees."

They waited until no one was paying attention before she leaned in. "What the fuck, Telford?" she hissed. "You can't just say things like that. Ortiz is my partner. He's had my back every step of the way. This whole thing was his idea!"

"Aye," he said, grimly. "We're not entirely sure what the endgame is, but we do know they've been steps ahead of us with every move we make. We move you in next door: they stop meeting at Teller's house. We get you in the shop: they relocate all their guns, and we've got no idea where."

"I don't understand," she said on a breath. "This isn't possible. It's just not!"

"What's been happenin' with Jax?"

The seeming change of subject threw her. She rubbed at her forehead and tried to gather her scattered thoughts. Her brain refused to work. She kept seeing Juice. The way he smiled at her. How he'd touched her last night, and this morning. It couldn't have been a lie. There was no way.

"Um," she finally managed. "I got close. Last night."

"Close? Andrei Glazkov close?"

She scowled a little. "Yes, sort of. But nothing really happened. I stopped it."

He lifted a brow. "Do you have a backup plan?"

"It was Juice's," she said. She felt exhausted, like a giant boulder had been dropped on her. Even breathing was painful.

"Juice, aye?" He gave her a long, assessing look.

She flicked her fingers. "Get off it," she said. "He's the one who talked me out of sleeping with Teller. He wanted us to give his plan a chance. Why would he give a damn who I fuck if he's some mole? It's not like Jax would tell me anything I could use. If anything it would be an advantage! He could feed me false intel and I'd eat that shit up like ice cream."

"His plan. The virus?"

"Yeah," she said. She wasn't surprised he knew; Juice was always very thorough with his reports. "I planted it yesterday. The first part, I mean. It has to disable to computers so Juice can come in and plant the second part."

"Aye."

"So what—fuck this is so fucked up, Chibs. I can't believe it. I can't."

He soothed his fingers over the back of her hand. "We aren't one hundred percent sure. It's why we need you."

"You want me to spy on my fucking partner."

"Aye, lass. That's the long and short of it." He tapped a fingertip against the table. "Think of it this way: you say he can't be guilty. Prove it."

"Why Ortiz, though? Couldn't it be anyone on the task force? Anyone who has access to our reports?"

"It's possible," he said in a tone that said it wasn't, very. "It's the timing of things is all. It…raises suspicions."

"And you think this virus of his is total bullshit?"

"Perhaps. Maybe something else. Ortiz is a hacker. Who knows what kind of information he might have access to."

"Jesus," she whispered.

"You really had no idea."

"Of course I didn't! Why would I?"

"Olivia, how long have we known each other?"

She rubbed a hand over her eyes. "Please don't ask me ridiculous questions right now, Chibs. I'm not in the mood."

"Do you think I'd lie to you?"

"No," she said. "Of course I don't. But you said yourself you aren't sure."

"Aye. That's why I'm bringin' it to you first. Find what we need, either to clear him or…not. But find it."

"You didn't answer my question."

His head tilted.

"Why aren't I dead? Why would the Tellers allow me so close?"

He bared his teeth in what was probably meant to be a smile. "Keep your friends close, lass, but your enemies closer."

"Right," she said. Just for something to do she took a bite of cake, but the taste of it made her nauseous. She knew then she'd never, ever be able to eat cinnamon crumb cake again. She pushed her plate away and raked her hair back from her face with both hands. "This is surreal, Chibs. I can't—I can't get my brain around it."

There was a long quiet moment while he sipped his coffee and studied her through shrewd eyes. They had known each other a long time, and he remembered the way she'd been in the days after the Glazkov takedown.

"Have you slept with him?" he said.

"Teller? No, I told you that. I stopped it."

"Not Teller, Ollie."

She glared down at her cake and stabbed at it with her fork. "No, Telford. I'm not fucking my partner." Her scowl cut to him. "Either of them."

He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It was just a question, and I think a reasonable one, considering your reaction."

"Oh my God." Her fork hit the plate with a clatter. "I would react the same way if someone came to me with claims about you. Or any other partner I've had over the years." She waved between them. "It's a relationship built on trust, Filip. I trust Ortiz—or I did. Now you're telling me that all my instincts, everything my gut has been telling me for the past two months, is wrong. Now what the fuck am I supposed to trust?"

"Trust me, Olivia. I've never lied to you and I never will. I told you we don't know for sure. Stay steady. Don't change what you're doing. You know how to do this."

"On fucking criminals! Not someone who's supposed to be my—to be on my side."

"If he's a mole he is a criminal." He sighed again and pushed himself to his feet. Dropped his hat onto his head and squeezed her shoulder. "I have faith in you."

And with that he left her there to wrestle with it as best she could.

That night they sat across the table from each other and had a nice dinner, like an actual married couple might do. She asked him to explain the virus in more detail and his face lit up like a Christmas tree. When he got excited he used his hands. She liked his hands. She liked how enthusiastic he was about his work.

Sweet, smart, slightly bumbling guy with a possessive streak. They could've lifted that shit straight out of her last psych eval. She smiled and nodded and made the appropriate noises of interest, but inside her mind was working.

She didn't believe words. Words were bullshit and anyone could lie. But a touch? A kiss? Those she believed. She always had. It was harder to lie with a touch.

Except…isn't that what she did? She'd done it for two years with Andrei before she'd finally given in and admitted she loved him and the touches had become real. And the other night, with Jax. He'd believed she wanted him.

Egocentric, lust-driven men, she thought with an internal snort.

But then she paused. Was that what she was? Egocentric and lust-driven? She remembered the oh-so-sweet engagement story, and how softly he'd kissed her. He'd let her come to him. Then the next time, he'd checked her out in those shorts, but he'd been so cute about it…and when she sat on his lap he'd waited until she initiated things even though she'd left the invitation wide open.

Every time they'd touched or kissed he'd pulled away. She'd been the one pressing forward. Asking for more. Last night in bed she would have had sex with him, but he seemed content with kissing and talking until they fell asleep, and even that morning when she'd woken up with his cock against her ass he hadn't pushed it.

Her hands were suddenly shaking so hard she dropped her fork. Holy shit had he been playing her? Playing her like she'd played Andrei? Like she'd planned to play Jackson Teller?

"Olivia?" he said, breaking off his narrative and reaching for her with a concerned frown. "Liv, what's wrong?"

She jerked back before he could touch her, then tried to cover it with a shiver. "Sorry. Sorry, I—my head suddenly—I think I need to lie down."

"Yeah," he said. He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, but she waved him down.

"It's fine. I'm okay. I get migraines sometimes. I just need a dark room and a cool washcloth."

"Go upstairs. I'll get the washcloth. Do you take anything for them?"

"It's in my room."

"I'll bring some water, too. Go lie down before it gets worse."

She nodded and struggled to find a smile, then spun and hurried up the stairs. She got the door to her room shut behind her before she slumped against it and clamped both hands over her mouth to muffle her screams.

No. No. It wasn't possible. He was so—so—

So everything she'd ever wanted. Just like she'd made herself everything Andrei wanted, and had been working on the same thing with Jax.

"Oh God," she whispered on a sob. "Oh my God."

She pressed her hands to her face and struggled to breathe. Falling apart wasn't going to help anything. It would just get her dead. Slowly calm settled over her again. She lifted her head and studied her face in the mirror.

She looked wrecked, but then she had claimed she was coming down with a migraine. And the room would be dark when he poked his head in. She flicked off the lights, stripped down to her shirt and underwear, and crawled into bed.

Keep it cool. Keep it calm. She had no proof he was the mole, and until she did she couldn't risk trying to expose him. If she were wrong her career would be ruined. His too, maybe, because that was a hard stain to come back from.

She would watch him. Study him. He couldn't lie to her forever. A crack would show itself eventually, and when it did she'd be ready for it.

O.O