Page 19 of Lone Spy

"Yes," Ash answers for me.

ChapterNine

Fear gripsme in the elevator as I stand between and slightly behind Ash and Alesana. If something has happened to Temperance, and he’s no longer Ash's superior, then who is? And what about me? Do I even have a handler? Is it possible I'm free? Or have I simply lost my main protector?

I slip my hands into the satin-lined pockets of my wool pants to hide the tremble in them. The two men flank me as we leave through the hotel's secured VIP entrance. Alesana opens the back door of a black Bentley sedan with tinted windows. I climb in, and he closes the door firmly.

The interior is black leather, shining walnut, and copper accents. The carpet at my feet shows lines of a small vacuum. With both hands I clutch my brown leather crossbody purse that holds the compass I’m meant to give to the princess—if that indeed is still my mission.

The other door opens, and Ash slides in next to me. Alesana takes the driver’s seat. The privacy glass—tinted smoke gray—creates an opaque wall between us.

"It's only a ten-minute drive to the Globe Theatre. I've confirmed with the princess’s staff that she will be there. Her grandmother's condition is stable, and she doesn't want to disappoint the children." Ash tells all this to the back of Alesana's head.

I stare at his profile. Silence balloons between us as the Bentley navigates through the congested city in stilted traffic.

"I'm not at liberty to share information with you,” Ash says into the silence, still not looking at me.

"Ash." I reach out and grab his forearm, gripping his suit jacket, uncertainty making me desperate.

He finally looks over at me, but his eyes hold no comfort. Just empty cobalt glass. God, he's good at this. At giving no fucks. Is there anyone in Ash's life who he's spent as much time with as me since we met? This robot of a man has been my most constant companion for over two years.

"Who do you work for?" I ask, not even trying to hide the tears threatening to ease from my eyes. I won't let them. But I don't need to hide these feelings from Ash. Lord knows, he doesn't care.

“Sentinel Security Group.” His voice is even—no hint that he wants to elaborate.

"Can I fire you?" My heart flutters at the thought. If I'm free, then I can hire my own security. People loyal to me.

"You have a contract with my security agency. You're certainly welcome to speak to the office about personnel changes." He looks forward again, as if that finishes this discussion. I stare at his profile. There is a subtle tightness around the eyes.

Ash shifts, his attention moving to his window. "But I think you'll find that I'm the best man for the job," he says as the car slows to a stop. In the window beyond Ash, photographers crowd metal barricades lining the path to a set of stairs. The Globe Theatre looms at the top of them—white and medieval looking. I'm out of time.

"Do I still need to…" My sentence dies.

"Complete the mission." Ash answers my unfinished question, then opens his door. Light and sound spill in. He reaches back for me. Palm open, thick fingers curled gently. I place my hand in his and he traps it, holding me steady as I leave the car.

The Globe Theatrestage is open to the sky but surrounded by curved walls housing private boxes and stadium seating. Rain gently soaks the thatched roofs. Weak sunlight illuminates the stage and standing area in front of it—the cheap seats. The Duchess of Balmoral, a princess, third in line to the royal throne, stands next to me on the stage. It all feels surreal.

"When it rains, the actors and anyone in the standing area get wet. No umbrellas allowed," the director of the Young Bards program explains.

The princess's assistant approaches. She's the kind of white woman who exudes proficiency, propriety, and all the other trappings of imperialism that make it so damn insidious. The director falls silent at her approach. Gangly, passionate, and clothed in tweed, he's no match for her.

The princess excuses herself, and the two walk far enough away that their low conversation does not reach us. "This place is amazing," I say, smiling.

"It truly is." He nods his agreement.

"I'm sorry, but I must leave early," Princess Victoria says as she crosses back to us, her low heels clicking on the wood theater floor. Her black pantsuit is misted from the light rain, her hair dewed with it.

"I hope it's not your grandmother," I say, stepping closer, my instincts wanting to protect her from the pain of possibly losing such a close relative.

"Yes, but it's good news. I can't share it with you, of course you understand." She reaches out for my hand as if we are old friends who might touch each other for comfort or when asking for understanding.

I squeeze her hand. "Completely. Please, don't allow me to keep you."

She turns and leaves me alone with the director. Our tour continues. I can't pay attention to anything, not the museum in the basement with its exhibits about costumes and blueprints of the theater. Not the view from the private boxes down onto the stage. My mind is churning over my problems.

How will I get the compass to the princess now?

What the fuck happened to Temperance?

---