Page 84 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
Isabel turned to Lily, whose screams had faded into hiccuping sobs. “Tell me what happened.”
Lily’s gaze snapped to her. “I—I don’t know, miss. One moment, his lordship was whispering in my ear, making free with his hands, you know.” A shaky swallow. “And the next . . .”
“The killer,” Callahan pressed, losing his American accent. “Which way did he go?”
“Out the back.” A choked sound, halfway between a sob and retch.
“What did he look like?”
Lily shook her head. “Didn’t get a proper look, did I? Tall bloke. Broad in the shoulders. Wearing a long, dark coat.”
Isabel gave Lily’s shoulder a quick squeeze, then turned to Callahan. “I’m going after him.”
Callahan opened his mouth to argue, but Isabel was already moving towards the rear entrance.
“Isabel. Wait—”
She whirled on him. “Our lead was just murdered for a reason. I want to find the murderer and question him. At knifepoint.”
Callahan made a frustrated sound. “And naturally, you’ve elected yourself for the task.”
“I can handle the Syndicate’s bully boys. Fetch Wentworth and make sure he’s apprised of the situation. We’ve a dead nob to contend with now, and if word gets out to the symposium, Ramsgate will bolt. We’ll need the Office’s resources to contain this mess.” Every instinct screamed against splitting up, but the rational, calculating part of her knew one of them had to manage the scene. “Don’t worry, I’ll only engage if I have a clean shot at death or capture.”
Callahan looked like he wanted to argue, but he stepped back.
“One hour, Trouble. Whether you catch the bastard or not, get that pretty arse back to Basil House, or I’m coming after you.”
“See you in an hour, then.”
She slipped out the rear entrance, emerging into a narrow alleyway. The night air was cool and damp, the cobblestones slick.
And there, disappearing into the gloom – a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette in a dark coat.
Isabel ran after him.
One hand hiked up her skirts, the other seeking the blade strapped to her thigh. She took a corner hard. Another turn, another. Blood roared in her ears. One more corner and—
She skidded to a halt when the alley terminated into a brick wall. She pivoted. Nothing. No sound, no movement. Just the harsh rasp of her breathing and the distant clatter of carriage wheels.
“Come out, you bastard. I know you’re here.”
A mocking chuckle came from the shadows to her left. She knew that laugh.
Favreau.
“Still so spirited. It’s part of your charm.”
“So you’re fond of telling me.”
She gripped the blade hard as he stepped out of the dark.
Even now, the sight of him struck like a blow behind her ribs. Silver-blond hair, winter-pale eyes, a mouth made for cruelty. To think she once found that smile charming. There was no warmth in this man, only the pitiless cold of a winter midnight.
Animal instinct screamed at her to flee. To make herself small and unobtrusive. After everything, he still reached deep, hooked talons into the most fragile parts of her andpulled.
“You must be wondering why I’ve summoned you to London.” His tone was conversational, almost pleasant.
She glared at him. “You didn’tsummonme anywhere.”
