Shana Galen - [A Lord & Lady Spy Novella] (5 page)

“Good.” He’d always liked her sister. She’d been a sweet girl. “My parents are fine, or so I hear. I have not seen them in some time.”

“How is Lord Melbourne then?”

“He’s the Secretary of the group now, and he’s recruited some excellent agents.”

She gave him a sad smile.

“What is it?”

“You can tell me how Melbourne is but not your own family. Nothing has changed, I see.”

“Why should I change?” he demanded. “My parents never cared about me. The Barbican group has always been more of a family to me than anyone who shared my family name.”

“And yet at one time you were ready to walk away.”

“I thought I had a reason.”

She stood. “I’m sorry I was not enough for you—”

“I never said that.”

“—but need I remind you that without me, you would not be half the agent you are.” Her hands were on her hips and she glared at him, challenge in her dark brown eyes.

Blue rose slowly. “I am afraid you do need to remind me. Everything I’ve accomplished I did on my own.”

“Oh, really?” She stomped to face him. “When I met you, you knew nothing about the art of disguise. You couldn’t change hair color, facial features, body shape.”

“I have a natural skill.”

“I’m not going to argue with that, but it would have only taken you so far.”

The scent of sweet coffee and warm bread surrounded her, and when Blue looked at her pursed lips, he didn’t want to argue anymore. He wanted her to relax her lips and wet them with her tongue. He wanted her to press her mouth to him. He wanted to feel her body flush against his.

“Perhaps you are correct.”

Her brows winged upward. “Of course I am correct. And what was my reward? I taught you everything I knew, and you abandoned me for your precious group.”

Now his fury rose, and he clutched her waist and yanked her to him. “You abandoned me, Helena. Or don’t you remember how often you preferred the bottle to me?”

Her cheeks colored. “I…”

“I don’t want to hear your apologies.” His hold on her softened, and her body leaned into his, warm and supple and so tempting. “We both made mistakes.”

“This would be a mistake,” she whispered, indicating with a glance their entwined forms.

“What’s another mistake?”

“One too many.” She pulled away, and his hands shook with the effort it took not to drag her back. “Have you seen the city?” she asked, sipping her coffee again and looking at the table.

“I have the lay of the land.”

She glanced at him. “No. Have you seen the city? The Cappella Sansevero, the Castel dell’Ovo, or the catacombs?”

Blue glanced at her frosted window. He’d done his share of shivering on cold days and nights while waiting for an informant to arrive. He did not intend to expose himself to the elements if he did not have to. “I’d rather see the city you live in,” he said. “Where do you live your life?”

It was a far more personal request than a trip to the Castel dell’Ovo, which would reveal nothing about her. He half expected her to refuse, but she nodded thoughtfully, and then snatched her cape up again. “I know just the place.” She started for the door.

Blue looked longingly at the food left on the table. The damn cat would nibble on it once they were away. “What about the coffee?”

“Where we are going, you can find tea.”

That settled it. Blue lifted his greatcoat as the cat, sensing an opportunity, approached. “It’s all yours, gato.”

The bookstore was in the old Napoli Centrale. Helena loved to stroll through it when she had rare free time. The ancient buildings, the busy people, the fragrance of bread baking mixed with that of horses and the faint scent of the harbor if the wind blew the right way…

A few quick glances at Blue told her he liked the area too. His gaze rested lovingly on this building or that, and he paused frequently to take the scene in, a small smile on his lips. They were both alike in that they had a preference for the classic and historical.

“Here we are,” she said, indicating a dark old shop, which most would have walked past without a second glance. Blue nodded appreciatively. “Bowden’s Books? Doesn’t sound particularly Italian.”

“It’s not. Come inside. Signor Bowden will make you hot English tea.”

“Ah.” Blue opened the door for her, and she entered to the sound of a bell jingling. “A man after my own heart.”

“Buon giorno!” Bowden said, stepping out from one of the cavernous aisles. His ancient face lit when he saw her. “Or perhaps I should say good day. Welcome, my English friend. It has been too long.” He hobbled across the worn carpet and took both of her hands, kissing first one cheek and then the other with his paper-thin lips. His gnarled hands had a steady, strong grip, and she squeezed them warmly.

“Mr. Bowden, this is my friend Ernest Bloomington.”

Bowden nodded his head. “Mr. Bloomington. A rare treat to meet one of Signorina Giles’s friends. Did you come to see the last performance of
L’Italiana in Algeri
? She was wonderful as Elvira.”

Helena felt her face color. She did not know why Mr. Bowden’s compliments should make her feel as bashful as a schoolgirl when others far more knowledgeable and influential had praised her. Perhaps because in Bowden she found a man who was warm, caring, and fatherly—more so than her own father had ever been.

“I did not see the performance,” Blue said. “But I have heard her sing many times. I am certain she was magnificent.”

“Take off your coats,” Bowden said, gesturing to the coat rack. “Stay for tea.”

“Thank you,” Helena answered, while Blue helped her remove her mantle.

“Make yourself at home.” Bowden ducked into a small room off to the side of the shop and called, “I will be out in a few moments.”

“Where do I begin?” Blue gestured to the cozy space, crammed floor to ceiling with books. “It would take years to merely read all the titles.”

“Perfect, isn’t it?” Helena said, wandering into one of the aisles. She remembered the first time she had stepped into the shop. She’d been in something of a hurry but had decided to duck in for a quick peek. Three hours later, she’d missed her appointment and didn’t care. From the moment she’d stepped inside, the lovely smell of old paper and ink surrounded her. It was comforting, as were the towering shelves that all but blocked out light from the windows, though those rectangular windows had been set almost to the roof. Here and there, at the end of an aisle, a sunken chair beckoned the reader to take his or her ease and to stay for awhile. The shop was always quiet, almost always empty, and Bowden never pushy. Helena did not know how the man stayed in business.

She pulled a worn red leather volume from a shelf and studied the French writing. She knew a little French from pieces she had performed, but she’d never studied it. Still, the feel of the soft, almost damp pages soothed her, and for a few moments, she forgot the murders at the theater, Blue’s unsettling reappearance, and that haunting vision of the man in the larva mask.

She heard the rattle of teacups and made her way to Bowden’s small desk, where he was arranging the tea tray. Accompanying the tea were crumpets and jam. She never ceased to marvel at how he managed to acquire such items so far from England. Once he had served her scones and clotted cream. Clotted cream could be difficult to acquire in some parts of England, but when she asked his secret, he smiled and pretended to lock his lips.

The three of them huddled together now, talking in soft voices, laughing occasionally, and drinking hot tea sweetened with sugar. Helena felt strangely at home here, even with Blue. But then he always seemed to adapt to his surroundings. That was what made him a good operative. A few patrons came and went, and she noted Blue studied them each as they entered. She saw no one suspicious, but then, she did not know what to look for.

After a time, the conversation turned to books, as it always did. Blue mentioned he was looking for a volume on poisons for a friend—a fellow spy, no doubt—and Bowden led him down one of the long aisles to a shelf in the back of the shop. How he knew where anything was in this shop was beyond her. She had never been able to see a rhyme or reason to the way it was organized, but Bowden seemed to know exactly where each and every book was located.

Helena nibbled the last bites of her crumpet, turning the pages of a book on archery near her elbow. She could hear the men’s muffled voices as they discussed the merits of this author over another. Behind her, the bell jingled, and a tall, thin man with long hair entered. He doffed his hat to her and moved confidently deeper into the shop. He seemed to know what he wanted.

Helena sipped her tea and turned another page. A flash of movement caught her eye, and she looked up to see the blur of one of the tall shelves toppling over. “No!” she screamed, but she could already hear the roar of books thudding against the floor. “No, no, no!” She ran toward the shelf, praying it was not the one adjacent to where Blue and Bowden had been standing, and knowing full well it had been. As the avalanche of books thundered, one on top of another, she fell back from the sheer force and volume of the weight falling before her.

“Blue!” Helena ran around the avalanche to reach Blue, but finding her path blocked by a landslide of books, reversed directions and tried the opposite path. It too was blocked. “Blue!” She stilled, listened for a response. All she heard was the thud and smack of books. She looked up at the tower of books and saw with growing horror that the situation was impossible. The books were piled higher than her head. They blocked her path, and there was no hope of going over them. Beyond the books, a cloud of dust rose, dancing in the muted sunlight. But she could not give up. There must be a way to reach Blue. She tried again to access the area behind the fallen shelf from the exterior side. The books had fallen mostly inward here, and she could dig through. But the shelf had not toppled over in a straight line. The edge had caught on the wall, blocking her path. She supposed the angling of the shelves was intentional. That way if one fell, the others did not all follow, but now she had no way of reaching her friends. “Blue!” She covered her face with her hands. “No.” Sobs choked her, making her next words incoherent.

She hadn’t wanted him to come back. She hadn’t wanted to ever see him again, and somehow not seeing him, simply knowing he was alive somewhere in the world, was enough. But now that she’d seen him again, touched him again, she could not bear to think he was gone from her.

She could not bear to lose him a second time. This time forever.

Somewhere, a door opened and closed with a creak and a thud, and she wobbled to her feet. She needed to fetch help. She stumbled toward the front of the shop, momentarily dismayed to find no patron standing in front of the door, and then she heard it.

She ceased moving, listening intently.

“Helena.”

A voice, weak but coherent. “Blue!” She ran back to the mountain of books and started throwing them aside. “Blue!”

“I need you to help me.”

“I’m trying.” She threw books over her shoulder as fast as possible, but her efforts seemed to be for naught. As soon as she moved one book, another slid down to take its place.

“Helena, where are you?” His voice was fainter, and her heart clutched painfully. She was too slow. Blue was dying.

“I’m digging as fast as I can,” she called. “Hold on.” She threw two, three, four more books over her shoulder.

“Why, exactly, are you digging?”

Helena’s head whipped around, and she stared at Blue standing behind her. She blinked, certain this was some sort of hallucination. He did not even look rumpled, and how was that possible? She looked at the mountain of books and then back at him, trying to make sense of what she saw. “But how did—?” She shook her head. She did not even care. Jumping to her feet, she ran to him, throwing herself into his arms. He caught her with a surprised
oof
, and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling how solid and present he was. “You’re alive,” she all but cried.

“If only I’d known it would engender this response, I would have pointed out the obvious much earlier.”

She pulled back and glared at him. “I won’t even allow you to annoy me today.” And she grabbed his face and slid her mouth over his. His response was slow and hesitant, but it did not matter. Once their lips touched, the effect had always been explosive. It was him. It was really Blue, in the flesh. No one else could kiss her like this, make her feel like this. She clutched him tighter, not wanting to let him go. Not wanting to be apart from him ever again.

But instead of pushing her back against one of the shelves still standing and kissing her as thoroughly as she needed to be kissed, he gently drew back. “Helena, Signor Bowden.”

The haze cleared, and she gasped. What was wrong with her? “Is he hurt? How could I have been so thoughtless?” She jumped out of Blue’s arms and returned to the mountain of books. “What do we do? How do we reach him?” When Blue did not join her, she peered back at him.

“Are you under the impression Bowden is under that tower of books?”

“He’s not?”

“No. He is fine.”

“But I saw you both walk back this way, and I thought…” She gestured to the tower.

“Ah. I see. That makes more sense now. You thought I was dead. That explains why you kissed me.”

“And why are you not dead?” she said, a warning in her tone.

“Because Bowden and I were standing at the end of the aisle when the shelf began to fall, and the shelf fell at an angle. I pushed him out of the way, and we both avoided the avalanche. Although, Bowden did receive a rather nasty bump. I thought you might—”

But she was already racing down another aisle, toward Bowden. She found him, propped against a back wall, holding a hand to a knot on his forehead. He held up his other hand. “I am perfectly well. Just a bump. I’ve had far worse.”

Helena could have kissed him.

When they’d tended to Bowden and settled him in his small apartment above the shop, Helena and Blue returned to the shop and stared at the mountain of books. Helena tested the weight of the shelf. She could not budge it. “How would something of this height, weighted down as it was, topple over so suddenly?” she asked.

“Good question. I do not believe it fell by itself.”

She thought for a moment. “Someone pushed it over?” She shook her head. “Who and why?”

“Why? To kill me. Who? I would have said you until your affectionate display when you realized I was still alive convinced me otherwise.”

“You think I did this?” She gestured to stack of books as one slid down and hit the floor with a plop.

“Who else was in the shop at the time? We three were the only ones present.”

“But what about that man?” She looked around now. Where was he? Surely he would have heard the commotion of the shelf falling and come to her assistance.

Blue grabbed her shoulder, shaking her attention away from her thoughts. “What man?”

“The man who came into the shop right before you—no, wait—it must have been after Bowden took you to look at the shelves on poisons.”

He frowned. Whatever he was thinking, it did not bode well. “Did you see him? Did you see his face?”

She nodded, growing increasingly concerned. “Yes. Why?”

“I could be wrong.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I must be wrong,” Blue said to himself.

She prayed he was wrong because she did not like the fear she saw in his eyes.

He looked up at her. “Does he know you saw him?”

“He doffed his hat at me. Why? What’s the matter?”

Blue closed his eyes. “I cannot be certain, but I believe the man you saw was Reaper.”

“The man who killed Luca? The man you’re searching for?”

“Yes. He’s an assassin. He won’t be pleased when he realizes he missed his target. And I am none too pleased he found me so quickly and easily or that you may be in danger.”

“Why would I be in danger?”

“You saw his face, Helena.” Blue’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “No one who sees his face and knows what he is lives.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t him at all. Have you seen his face?”

“No. I’ve seen drawings made by those who have.”

“What does he look like?”

“Tall, thin, pale complexion.”

Helena took a shaky breath.

“He has brown hair, which he wears long, either loose or in a queue. And he has light eyes, almost gray in color.”

“I think I need to sit down.” When her legs began to crumple, he pulled her up.

“You’ll be fine.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t have your luck.”

“We do not know for certain you are a target, but no matter because I am not going to allow anything to happen to you.”

“You couldn’t protect Luca.”

“I didn’t know who he would attack then. He could have gone after anyone in Pacca’s employ.”

“He still might.”

Blue gave her a grave look. “No.”

“Why not? It doesn’t have to be me. He doesn’t know I know who he is.”

“But he knows you mean something to me. He’ll kill you and then come after me. He accomplishes two goals that way—Pacca’s theater will surely go into bankruptcy, and he kills yet another agent of the Barbican group.”

She looked past him, at the dusk gathering outside the shop windows. Suddenly this quaint quarter of Naples did not feel quite so cozy. “What do we do now?” She dragged her gaze back to Blue.

“We wait.”

***

Blue could tell Helena did not like his answer. She was never the sort to wait for anything. She liked to take action. Blue preferred to step back, look at all the choices, and make an informed decision. Blue had traveled the world, and he’d seen the dance of predator and prey. All too often, the prey, sensing danger, tried to flee and ran right into the trap set for it.