Page 11 of The Gentleman

He waited, scanning Kat’s garden. Rounded hydrangeas, bobbing calendulas, and love in a mist. The plants were well-tended. Did Kat like gardening? How could he know so little about the woman who dominated his thoughts?

Measured footsteps approached.

His attention snapped back to the door.A woman appeared in the hallway. Mid-forties, her lean build suggested regular fitness training. Her eyes were faded blue as if life had leached the color from them.She wore a black belted trench coat, the right side hanging slightly heavier than the left.

Concealed holster, standard issue.

Her eyes flicked over him, mirroring his rapid head-to-toe assessment. A skinny tabby cat darted past her and bolted into the garden, disappearing beneath a battered-looking hedge.

“Can I help you?” The woman’s tone was professionally neutral, but she adjusted her posture, right hand closing to her side.

“I’m looking for Katarina Landon.” Leo kept his voice even, his own hands visible and relaxed. Two more figures moved in the gloom behind her—additional personnel, probably armed.

Her pupils contracted in the washed out blue. “Landon’s not here right now.”

No denial of knowing Kat—which meant they’d found something. Leo raised his eyebrows, letting calculated confusion color his voice. “And you are?”

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t think I can help you. You should leave now.”

She reached for the door handle, but Leo’s foot slid forward, wedging into the gap. The heavy door bounced against his boot leather with a dull thud.

“I’m looking for Kat. Where is she?” Leo maintained his calm tone, though he tensed in readiness.

Movement in the hallway beyond her.

A man with a military haircut and broad shoulders stepped into view, a butterfly bandage above one eyebrow, its white stark against his flushed skin. Behind him, a woman with a clinical haircut and gray suit emerged, the slight bulge of a shoulder holster beneath her jacket. She had the bearing of senior command. Not a routine inquiry.

Three operatives. Professional positioning.

Automatically, he catalogued exits—front door blocked, side return likely monitored, neighbors too close for a messy extraction. A hairline crack spider-webbed across the door’s glass panel near the handle.

His skin prickled with uneasy awareness.The pieces were assembling into a picture he didn’t like. The butterfly bandage on the heavy—fresh injury. Cracked glass on the door.

They’d come for Kat, and she’d fought back.

Had she gotten away?

The lead woman’s hand drifted closer to her weapon. “Sir, I’m going to ask you to step back from the door.”

“Of course.” Leo filed away every detail of their faces. “My mistake.” He withdrew his foot.

Her posture softened. “Actually, sir—we’re trying to locate Ms. Landon’s current whereabouts. Any information you might have would be helpful.”

There it was. Confirmation. They’d lost her.

Kat had given them the slip, and now they were fishing. Which meant she was out there, alone, with whatever resources she could muster.

He had two choices. Push for information, and risk exposure, or play ignorant and maintain operational security. The tacticalchoice was obvious—these people had already underestimated Kat once. Let them keep doing it.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you.” His voice carried just the right note of disappointed confusion. “I was hoping to surprise her for lunch. Haven’t spoken to her in weeks.”

The woman’s pale eyes narrowed, searching his face for tells. Let her look. He’d been lying to hostile interrogators since before she’d made sergeant.

“If you hear from her,” the woman said. “You should encourage her to contact us immediately. For her own safety.”

For her own safety. Christ. “Of course. Is there... should I be concerned about something?”

The woman frowned. “And you are?”

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