Ghost of a Chance: Spies of Texas, #6

Copyright © 2024 Brittany E. Brinegar

Cover Design © 2024 Britt Lizz

All rights reserved

BRITT LIZZ PUBLISHING COMPANY

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Created with Atticus

Contents

About the Book

1.Jailbreak

2.Safe House

3.Black Swan

4.Bridge of Spies

5.Mission Objective

6.Method to the Madness

7.For Whom the Bell Tolls

8.Ghost Town

9.New Leads

10.Uninvited Guests

11.Mum’s the Word

12.Wolfe in Sheep’s Clothing

13.London Bridge Falling Down

14.Birds of a Feather

15.Arrow of Time

16.Change of Heart

17.Light at the End of the Tunnel

18.Shepherd’s Warning

19.Face the Music

20.Fat Lady Sings

21.King’s Ransom

22.Royal Flush

23.Give Up the Ghost

Sneak Peek

A free book for you...

The Secret of the Bluebonnet Ranch

About the Author

Books by Britt

About the Book

Rolling hills, ghostly mists, and a royal twist. A dance with death lurks beneath the English fog.

In the enchanting English countryside of 1950, a chilling mystery unfolds. CIA agents Jenny Nicolay and Sawyer Finn find themselves fish out of water as they cross the pond to investigate a forgotten cold case - the murder of an MI6 agent.

Against orders and risking their careers, the young spies dig deep into the shadows of the past, to uncover long-buried secrets. But as the fog thickens, they realize they're not just chasing Ghosts.

With an assassin targeting a member of the royal family. Jenny and Sawyer must navigate the treacherous landscape of English aristocracy and infiltrate the castle at Bellbrooke Abbey.

Can they uncover the traitor in Parliament before Big Ben ticks its final chime? Or will their blossoming romance meet an untimely end, making their second date a dance with death?

Collect all the books in the Spies of Texas series!

Enigma of Lake Falls

Undercover Pursuit

Cloak & Danger

Double Agent

Shadow of Doubt

Ghost of a Chance

Dig Two Graves

Chapter 1

Jailbreak

Sawyer

June 3, 1950 – Scotland

My glasses slid down my nose as I approached the towering medieval fortress with forged papers and a cover story. A breeze straight off the North Sea threatened to steal my bowler hat—an accessory handpicked by Jenny. Her reasoning: ‘No one has ever looked threatening while wearing a bowler hat. And when one stages a prison break, unassuming is a wise choice, Finn.’

She wasn’t wrong. If one part of the plan failed, the team would be captured and imprisoned for espionage. We couldn’t afford a single hiccup.

I shoved the immense pressure deep into my gut and focused on reconnaissance. We had reports and pictures, but visiting Ravenloch in person and putting boots on the ground made it real. Dangerous. We were no longer operating in theory.

The castle prison was perched atop a rocky peninsula. On one side, jagged cliffs dropped into the sea, making a seaward escape nearly impossible. On the other, a dense, untamed Scottish countryside created a sense of isolation and foreboding.

My grip tightened on my leather briefcase as I crossed the single-stone bridge to the heavily fortified main gate. It was broad enough to allow one car to pass at a time and could be raised in an emergency. I glanced over the edge to the genuine moat below. A deep, murky channel surrounded the inland side of the castle, fed by the cold waters of a nearby stream. Algae and reeds made navigating it impossible. As did the armed guards patrolling from walkways along the walls.

My eyes lifted above the round wire rims. I felt the weight of everyone watching me, assessing my threat level. Four corner towers rose from the fortress, topped with battlements, and served as watchtowers. Guards roamed from the guardhouse carrying radios as they paced by the electric fence. The juxtaposition of medieval architecture and modern security measures increased the difficulty of the job.

The last sliver of sunlight reflected in the sea as the sun slipped below the western horizon. A powerful searchlight flicked on and began scanning the grounds. With each pass, I worried it would alert the prison to my breach.

This isn’t a jailbreak. You’re a simple country solicitor. I repeated the mantra, hoping I would eventually believe it.

A large oak door, reinforced with iron, loomed before me. I flashed my forged documents, and the guard waved me into the security checkpoint, a modern addition to the medieval structure.

With an expression colder than the drafty fortress, the stone-faced guard in a military-style uniform held up a hand. He barked orders in a Scottish brogue so thick it sounded like another language.

Dinnae think ye can just stroll in an' oot. We’re a bit stricter than yer usual court.

Would the mission's success hinge on my ability to understand the brute? I glanced from him to the identical expression of his Doberman companion. The intelligence said German Shepherds were their search dog of choice. The snarl of a Doberman was more intimidating.

I shoved my glasses and played the role of a meek Yankee. Two things I definitely wasn’t. Sorry, bud. I didn’t catch that last part.

Whaur’s yer credentials, lad? Need tae see yer official stamp.

Right, yes. Of course. I patted my jacket and checked various pockets. I unbuttoned the blazer and located the papers in my waistcoat. There you go, Sport.

Hae ye met wi' the prisoner afore? Ye look a bit fresh.

I’m his new attorney, S.W. Stephens of O’Malley, Peters, and Stephens. My father, not me. I’m not a partner. Not yet, but maybe my second year out of Yale law. I crossed my fingers.

You’re American?

Yes sirree Bob. As is my client, allegedly. I cupped a hand in front of my mouth. Though, between you, me, and the priest over there, I think he might be a Ruski.

The guard reviewed my paperwork and compared it to the logs. Even though I was confident everything was in order, my heart hammered. He slid the documents across the table. How long ye plan tae be, eh?

I realize I’m cutting visitor hours a bit close. I checked my watch. But our court date is coming up, and I still need to get myself one of those snazzy powdered wigs you guys wear…

He waved to the briefcase. Whit’s in the case? Best nae be anything ye shouldnae be bringin'.

No, sir. I heaved it onto the table and opened the latch with a click.

The guard looked to the Doberman for cues before inspecting it himself. He flipped on a flashlight and lifted the files and stack of documents. An’ ye'll be signin' oot the exact minute ye leave, nae lingerin’ after yer time’s up.

I saluted. Sure thing.

He whistled for a flunky to lead me to the private meeting room to speak to my client. This fella was short, skinny, and easy to overpower if it came to that.

I tipped my hat to the priest. Father.

Bless you, Child. May God be with you as you carry out the work set before you. His path is clear, though hidden to many. Go in peace, and may you be guided by His hand, he said in a perfect British accent that would be the envy of Laurence Olivier.

But the blessing was so much more. It was a signal to proceed with the plan. The priest was in on the jailbreak.

I entered a small, windowless room, and the guard locked the door behind me. The cold stone walls and sparse furniture made it look more like a cell than a meeting space. A bulb hung from the ceiling, casting everything in a dull yellow glow. A musty stench lingered in the air, reminding me of Ravenloch’s age.

The iron door separating the room from the rest of the prison swung open, and my shackled client entered. The guard standing post outside likely listened to our conversation.

How do you like my hair, Boss? The cuffs jingled as he coifed thick black hair. A very nice woman from the church gave me a shave and a trim.

Terrific. You look ready for court.

Think we have a chance to win?

I opened my briefcase. As long as you did your part, Dmitri. Did you do as I asked?

Of course, Boss. I’m not stupid. When a man is given an opportunity like this, you don’t refuse. Even if success seems wildly unlikely.

I wanted to discuss specifics to make sure Waley got our message. My gaze cut to the guard. I couldn’t tell if he heard us, but I had to assume he did. Everything is in motion, Dmitri.

How soon are we talking? Tomorrow?

If I had my way, it wouldn’t take ten minutes.

Really? That fast. I have some packing to do then.

I rubbed my chin. Make sure you remember who your friends are.

I spoke to the priest. My house is in order, Boss. He placed his palms on the table. Is that all?

Yup. I slammed the briefcase and motioned to the guard. We’re done here.

Dmitri darted through the prison door, and the small-stature guard led me back down the drafty hall to the check-in point. I switched the case to my left hand and prepared to swing it if necessary.

This castle is fantastic. I’ve never seen such a swell prison. It reminds me of Alcatraz in Frisco. You ever been?

No. The guard jingled his keys.

Alcatraz is famous for being impossible to escape from. It’s surrounded by San Francisco Bay, which has freezing waters about a mile wide. So, if you survive the jump, you’ll likely freeze in the water. Has anyone ever escaped Ravenloch?

Why, you planning to bust out the jailhouse snitch?

I pushed my glasses by the bridge. Me? No, I don’t know Dmitri well enough to do something that stupid. I’m just his lawyer.

The priest popped from around the corner, blocking our path. Ah, two strapping young lads. I require assistance if you please. The prisoners got a bit rowdy and tipped over a pew—

Not now, Father, the guard said.

The priest leaned on his cane, making his hunch more prominent. It won’t take but a minute.

Baird gave strict orders not to let the solicitor loiter. I’ll send someone back, Father.

Remember, my boy, blessing be to those who lend a helping hand.

The guard tilted his hat. Fine, but we can’t dally.

The priest waved us into the chapel. It will be quick and painless, I assure you.

Candlelight reflected in the stained-glass windows, casting eerie shadows on the vaulted ceilings. The chapel was one of the oldest parts of the castle and the least secure. The door closed with a shrill squeak of the hinges.

Where’s the tipped pew? the guard asked.

Right over there, lad. The priest pointed with his cane. When the guard turned his back, the father’s demeanor shifted. He replaced the hunch with perfect posture. The friendly face became stoic determination. He stabbed the cane into the guard's leg, and the man fell like a tree instantly.

Nighty, night. Tobias Hutchinson combed a hand through his white hair. The only trace of the priest remaining was the collar.

What the heck was in that poison, Hun? Margo, his beautiful blonde wife, stepped out of the shadows with her barbershop bag.

He’ll be fine. His head will ache like a terrible hangover, but he’ll live.

As a retired couple in their sixties, the Hutchinsons were often overlooked and underestimated. As a priest and a female barber, they were invisible.

Do you have the detonator? Tobias asked.

Margo held up a leather case containing sharp scissors. You know, Sawyer. This is the second time we’ve come out of retirement to save your bacon. Not that I’m complaining about going on a mission with a charmer like you.

This time, we’re saving Waley. I snapped open my briefcase and removed the false bottom. Hidden underneath was the detonator.

How the Admiral, a brilliant CIA agent, got himself thrown in a Scottish hoosegow by the British government, I’ll never understand. She twisted to her husband. Aren’t you redcoats supposed to be our allies?

The explosive, please, Margo.

He hates when I insult jolly old England. She rolled her eyes as she carefully detached the cap from a hollowed-out comb. Ready for the soup?

Tobias unscrewed the trigger from his cane and went to work assembling the explosive device. You better change, Sawyer. This will be armed in just a moment.

Margo cocked her head to the side and placed a hand on her hip. She scrutinized the guard at her feet. You shoulda taken out a bigger guy. You’ll never fit into this little fella’s uniform.

The entire plan hinges on placing the charges in the guardhouse in four minutes, Tobias said. Please figure out another way.

I checked my watch. And what happens if Jenny’s early?

Margo tossed blonde curls. Don’t start with that. I’m too old to wear pinstripe jumpsuits. I’ll look like one of those old-timey Victorian women in bathing suits. Not happening. She snagged Tobias' cane. Where’s the button to shoot poison?

On the shaft.

Ooh, Anne has outdone herself again. She arched a brow. I need to get me one of these.

What are you going to do? I asked.

Attack a six-foot-two guard with broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw.

What does his jaw have to do with uniform size? Tobias asked.

It seemed relevant at the time. Margo twirled the cane as she stepped out into the hall. A few beats later, she rushed inside, her voice shrill and panicked. Hurry, Officer, they’re in here!

A tall guard sprinted by her. Oy! What are you boys—

Margo jabbed him in the back, and he fell face-first in the aisle. En garde.

Y’all don’t waste any time.

Tobias armed the explosive device. You should take a page out of our book, Sawyer. Waley’s life depends on this happening down to the second.

I loosened my tie and threw off my jacket. No pressure.

Jenny

The bulky rubber suit clung to my skin like wet seaweed tangling in my limbs, and the aqualung weighed me down like an anchor. The two pieces of equipment that were designed to help one survive underwater just might be the things that killed me.

My arms windmilled as I struggled to find my footing on the slick rock. The spotlight danced above, threatening to shine a light on our prison break. The cold, briny waters of the Scottish coast lapped against the rugged terrain, sloshing over my ankles. The timing of our approach was crucial.

My gaze lifted to the impenetrable fortress guarded by the jagged shoreline. Ravenloch, its dark stone walls weathered by centuries of wind and rain, stood like a grim sentinel of the sea. The medieval castle withstood periods of attacks and intruders, but as legend had it, no one ever escaped the prison… until now.

Our entry point was hidden just beneath the castle’s foundations—an old, rusted iron grate concealed within the rocks and partially submerged at high tide. Getting there was the hardest part.

I shuffled along the rockface as a wave crashed into my thigh. The icy water bit through my wetsuit and the salty tang of the sea stung my lips.

Like a cat balancing on a pitched roof, Bo Parker snagged my wrist, preventing a spill. A far cry from the Texas cowboy, he wore a rubber suit matching mine. He carried triple the weight I did and never lost his balance.

I suppose it pays to travel with a Marine, I said as I steadied myself.

Ready your mask. We’re going under after this sweep.

Aye-aye, captain.

The man of few words signaled a countdown as we waited for the spotlight to pass. At zero, he dropped into the water like a jackknife, minimizing his splash. With a final breath of fresh air, I followed, diving beneath the surface. We navigated through narrow channels between sharp underwater rocks that threatened to slice our suits. The current grew stronger and stronger, pulling at us like unseen hands, making it nearly impossible to maintain a steady course. Every stroke through the dark water required strength and precision.

With ancient Ravenloch maps memorized, Parker led the way to the submerged grate. I squinted behind my mask as the faint outline of the grate came into view, half-concealed by seaweed and crusted over with barnacles.

Treading water, I waited for nonverbal orders. Parker held up a fist as he inspected the partially corroded hinges. If we couldn’t open the grate, the entire plan would fall apart.

Parker pulled a small crowbar from his waterproof kit, straining as he wedged it between the rusted bars. His cheeks puffed as he tried to create leverage while floating underwater.

My eyes located the surface as a light shined above, hesitating on our location. The water is too murky to spot us, isn’t it?

With a creaking groan, the grate gave way, opening just enough for us to slip is. I shimmied through, and Parker squeezed his massive frame inside the tunnel.

I kicked my legs like a mermaid as I surfaced. Despite the aqualung, I found myself desperate for air. The first rule of diving, Jenny, is not to panic. My father’s words were no longer a source of comfort, but I remembered the training.

With a final surge, I propelled into the catacombs beneath the prison—a forgotten network of ancient tunnels carved into the rock. I removed my mask and struggled under the weight of the aqualung. The air was damp and cold, and the scent of seawater lingered.

Parker splashed through the water and heaved himself onto the rock walkway. Keep your tank.

The tunnel is a mile long. Wouldn’t it be better to leave our diving gear behind and suit up later?

You have to assume we won’t have time.

If we do our jobs right, no one will follow.

Hope for the best, assume the worst. If we’re pursued, we won’t have time. He rubbed his square chin. The tunnels are old. We might encounter more flooding.

Alright, the tank stays on. I dug through my waterproof bag for a flashlight and inspected our surroundings.

The beam of light cut through the gloom, revealing narrow passageways lined with decaying wood and old iron reinforcements. The walls were slick with moisture and moss.

What were these used for? I asked.

Storage. Maybe escape routes in medieval times. Parker removed a pistol from his bag and checked to make sure the bullets were dry. Tunnels are ancient and treacherous. Watch your step, Jenny.

Water dripped from the ceiling in an eerie, rhythmic pattern. A wave of uncertainty stole my words, so I nodded. The plan required precise timing, and I worried we underestimated the difficulty of infiltration.

As we slipped deeper into the catacombs, the faint rumbling of the waves crashing against the cliffs outside reminded us how perilously close we were to the ocean’s pull. My gaze bounced from wall to wall as I shadowed my mentor. The cowboy taught me everything I knew about fighting and shooting, but his skills continued to surprise me. I didn’t expect a country boy from Texas to be a superb diver, but here we were.

He held up a calloused palm. Don’t move.

I froze in place. What is it?

He lifted the beam of my flashlight, catching a glimmer of something. His icy blue eyes directed me to a thin, almost invisible wire stretched low across the narrow corridor. Tripwire mechanism.

Sheesh, how ancient is that thing?

Old but deadly. He dropped to his knee and examined the wire with steady hands. He traced its path to the crossbow gadget hidden in the rocks. He inspected the tip of the arrow. Poisoned. I’m going to disarm it.

Is that wise? Can’t we just step over it?

And risk triggering it on the return trip?

That’s a decent point. I held my breath as I watched him work.

Using a small pair of wire cutters from his kit, Parker carefully snipped the wire without triggering the mechanism. It’s safe. Let’s continue.

Do you think there are more of those?

Crossbows? No. But we can probably expect other similar security systems.

It seems King Arthur and his Round Table were sticklers for protecting their gold. I half expect a dragon around the next corner.

Highly unlikely.

Further down the passage, the corridor opened, allowing us to walk shoulder-to-shoulder. I lifted my rubber sleeve to check the time. We should pick up the pace. We’re behind schedule.

Fine, but stay ready.

A shift in the airflow put all my senses on high alert—a draft swept through the catacombs. I stopped in my tracks and shined the flashlight ahead. The walkway was suspiciously uneven, with some of the stones raised. Are those land mines?

Pressure plates. Parker tapped a stone with the butt of his flashlight, and the rock crumbled, dropping deep into the abyss below. The section is rigged to collapse.

I flicked an eyebrow. This is starting to remind me of Nonsuch Island.

Parker shrugged.

The island where Finn and I found the lab that created the Cuban Blue Diamond… the truth serum.

I’ve been too busy to read mission reports. Parker motioned to a clear path. Follow my steps exactly.

Ever since Admiral Waley disappeared on Parker’s watch, he had worked tirelessly to find his friend. When a source finally located Waley in a Scottish prison under a different name, we took the intelligence to the CIA, thinking the brass would arrange a rescue mission. They ran it up the channels and promised to work out an agreement. That was a month ago. Now, it was time to take matters into our own hands.

After successfully navigating the trap, we followed the western path to a completely flooded section of the catacombs. The sea breached the section of the old tunnel system, turning it into an underwater obstacle. The water was dark and murky, with only a faint current indicating where the passage continued.

I tapped the canister strapped to my back. Guess it’s a good thing you didn’t listen to me.

No telling where this leads. We could be under for a while. Stay close.

I adjusted the breathing regulator, secured my tank, and put on my diving mask. With a thumbs-up, I dropped into the water. A chill ripped through my body like my suit was made of tissue paper. The sea was so much colder inside the caves, and the confined space forced us to swim single file.

The flooded section was tight, claustrophobic, and full of debris from centuries of disuse. The pressure pressed against my ears as we descended into the murky depths. Even with our flashlights slicing through the gloom, visibility was poor. Parker took the lead, swimming slowly and carefully through the submerged passage, cutting deeper into the pits.

Our progress was slow and methodical as we avoided sharp debris and checked for hidden traps beneath the water. Parker stopped near a submerged iron gate, similar to the one at the start of our journey and just as rusted.

Parker maneuvered to a vertical position and retrieved his tools from his kit. I held the waterproof flashlight as he worked on removing the rusty bolts. The underwater environment made everything more challenging, as our time melted away. The final bolt fell, and the heavy gate sunk to the floor like a capsized ship.

We reached the end of the flooded passage and surfaced in a tight, air-filled chamber. I yanked off my mask and took a deep breath. The cold, wet stone pulsed through my hands as I pulled myself out of the water. Our breathing echoed in the small space, tension mounting as we prepared for the mission's next stage of the mission.

I checked my watch. An explosion shook the rocky ceiling, spilling debris into the water. Uh-oh, we’re late.

Sawyer

Perspiration cascaded down my face despite the brisk summer night on the coast. Beads of sweat dripped on the detonator as I secured it into place. The stolen uniform gave me unrestricted access to the guardhouse, but I was still working against the clock. The guards wouldn’t move Waley unless prompted.

Margo and Tobias waited at the rendezvous point, and it was up to me to set the charges. I twisted the last wire and double-checked the timer. We wanted to cause chaos, not casualties. And more importantly, we didn’t want anyone on the team left in the lurch.

I closed my eyes. Jenny was a capable agent and would be safe with Parker, even if her mission was dangerous. Keep telling yourself that, Finn.

I was in the open, infiltrating guards, but Jenny operated in the unknown. We had no idea what lurked beneath the surface of the catacombs. And that was what worried me.

I placed the bomb under the guardhouse console, wedging it behind the steel piping, where it would cause enough damage to disable the power grid without blowing anyone to pieces. My hand was steady, but my mind raced through the next steps—set the timer, get out, signal Chuck. But before I could finish, I heard footsteps.

You shouldn't be here. A guard with LeBlanc stitched into his uniform stood in the doorway, his voice more curious than angry. Unlike the Scots and the Brits I encountered, he spoke with a French accent, making him more out of place than me.

I straightened, turning to face him. My stomach tightened as I noticed the twitch of his fingers, the way his hand hovered too close to his belt. I’m exactly where I need to be.

Your voice gives you away, Yank.

LeBlanc was the kind of man whose appearance stayed with you long after he left. His clean-cut look—a chiseled jawline, smooth hair swept back just so—made him look more like an actor than a prison guard. But his eyes were the giveaway. Dark, hollow, and hauntingly calm. They seemed to know more than they should, and the longer I looked into them, the more I realized he wasn't just another guard. He was something else entirely.

I know who you’re here for. He took a step forward, his gaze never leaving mine. You aren’t even going to deny it?

My mind raced through options. The timer was ticking down fast. Deny what?

We were expecting this. Contingencies were made. Laughter rolled from his gut. You poor fool. The closest you’ll get to Admiral Waley is the neighboring cell. High-value prisoners are not kept in the general population.

Would it be too much to ask where is being held?

I’ll take you there myself. Faster than I expected, LeBlanc’s hand shot out, aiming for a lethal punch to the windpipe.

I deflected, his bony fingers grazing the fabric of my collar. His movements were smooth and practiced—he knew what he was doing. Thanks to Parker’s training, I did too.

I threw a punch toward his ribs, but he sidestepped, countering with a pointed elbow to my side. Pain coursed through me, but I didn’t let it slow me down. The best boxers knew how to bounce back from a hit. My eyes lifted to the clock. I didn’t have time for ten rounds with the Frenchman. The bomb’s timer was ticking.

LeBlanc charged, throwing a hook aimed at my jaw. I ducked, grabbing his wrist and twisting hard. He grimaced, and I attempted to secure him. Instead, he shifted his weight, pulling me off balance and launching us both crashing into the guard console. I slammed into the panel, my head ringing from the impact.

He raised a chair overhead, and I rolled out of the way just in time. I kicked out, catching him in the knee. He stumbled, and I used the moment to regain my footing. As he lunged at me again, I grabbed a flashlight and swung it hard. The metal cracked against his shoulder, sending