Page 80 of When a Lady Kisses a Scot
The woman at his side regarded Gavin with a slightly narrowed, unabashedly curious gaze. Jennie Quinn Colton. The former journalist’s well-honed skills and keen intellect no doubt served her well at the exclusive detective agency her husband had founded.
As Mrs. Colton reached up to pat the black velvet hat perched atop her auburn hair back into place, she frowned. Deep green, almond-shaped eyes flashed, and she shot Campbell a questioning glance.
“My, if I’d known we were entertaining a guest, I might’ve brought some of Gerry’s scones.”
Colton’s reaction was more direct. “Why the bloody hell areyouhere?”
Gavin stood, eye to eye with Colton. “I take it you know who I am.”
Colton slowly nodded. “What I don’t know is what you think to accomplish by coming here. Your interference has done enough damage.”
“That is not a valid assessment of the situation,” Sophie spoke up.
“You think not?” Colton kept his tone low and tightly controlled. “You were nearly abducted, and this bloke was nearly killed, days after he first consulted Trask. I cannot attribute the proximity of those events to coincidence.”
“There does appear to be a correlation,” Jennie Colton said. “But need I remind you, correlation does not imply causation.”
Colton set his jaw, appearing to digest his wife’s words. “Quite so,” he said finally, “but that does not change the truth. Stanwyck’s game with Trask exposed Sophie to greater scrutiny, compromising her cover.”
“That is likely not the case. Those men came after me the first night Stanwyck attended a sitting. Someone had already dispatched them. His actions could not have influenced that near miss.”
“She’s right,” Jennie Colton said. “The timing is off. I can only conclude you are both targets, but for different reasons.”
Even though he’d known Sophie was in danger, fear for her burrowed under Gavin’s skin. “Why would anyone want to hurt her?”
Jennie Colton cleared her throat. “My, it’s so dark in here, I feel like I’ve entered a cavern. Shall we let in a bit of light?” She went to the window and threw open the curtain, then fixed Gavin with her penetrating gaze. “Professor Stanwyck, there is something you should know. Sophie is indeed a reporter for theHerald. But she is also a valued operative of our agency.”
The revelation slammed into him like a bare-knuckle blow. “Is this true, Sophie?”
“Yes.” Her mouth pulled taut as a bowstring. “As you can understand, I was not at liberty to disclose this to you.”
“Of course. Is there anything else I should know?”
“My question to you is this, Professor Stanwyck—now that you know Sophie is a detective, what do you plan to do with that intelligence?” Jennie Colton’s voice was calm and firm.
The implication in Mrs. Colton’s question rubbed against the grain. Surely they did not suspect he would betray her. Bugger it, did they truly believe he’d trade his honor for the safety of his own hide?
“Not a damned thing.” He watched Sophie’s reaction. Was it his imagination, or did she release a breath she’d been holding?
“So, let’s return to my initial inquiry. Why did you come here today?” The calm in Matthew Colton’s tone was somehow more unnerving than his anger.
“I was concerned for her safety.” Gavin turned toward her. “I can protect her, if she will allow me that privilege.”
“Quite commendable, Professor.” Mrs. Colton turned to the editor. “Might I trouble you for the documents I brought over earlier.”
With a brusque nod, Campbell produced a binder labeled with Gavin’s name.
“You kept a file on me?”
“It is a recent development, I assure you.” Mrs. Colton took the binder from the editor’s hand. “Until you began delving into Trask’s enterprise, we had no reason to look into your background.”
“You have been spying on me?”
“We prepared some preliminary research, but there was no time to embark on an investigation. The situation has changed dramatically, and with alarming speed.” Jennie Colton produced a neatly trimmed square of newsprint. “This may be of interest to you.”
He stared down at the clipping. Sophie had correctly interpreted the meaning of the image. Trask knew of the connection between him and Peter Garner. With such information, even a fool could have deduced the true intention behind Gavin’s visits to the incense-clouded salon.
Gavin ran a finger around the edge of the paper. Had it been only three years since he and Peter had returned from their joint expedition to the Sahara? So much had changed in that brief time. Peter had been so driven then, so enthralled by the prospect of unearthing antiquities that had lain untouched for millennia. That had been before he fell headlong in love with his bride, before Amelia’s death had gutted him.
