Page 88 of You Only Love Twice
Time was running out. Miss Hamilton might be killed at any moment. Curse it. She wasn't wearing one of the aural communicators they used on jobs, having removed it for the ceremony. She had her two favorite sai strapped to her thighs, a knife up her sleeve, the pistol, a garrote in her necklace, and a decorative stiletto pinned in her hair, but she was woefully unprepared for this.
Where? Where would he have taken Miss Hamilton?
Gemma's heart raced as she surveyed the area. A cricket ground resided in the distance, the ornate gates of a cemetery, and a dozen small residences....
Malloryn. It all had to do with Malloryn.
It was as if something drew her toward the cemetery.
Instinct, perhaps.
Brompton Cemetery. One of the Magnificent Seven, and home to a grave she knew far too well. Catherine Tate. The young woman Malloryn had allegedly given his heart to when he was younger, though he'd only ever spoken of it once.
He still visited occasionally.
What were the chances the duke's fiancée was stolen from her home on her wedding day, and the blood trail led toward the cemetery Malloryn's first love was interred within?
"You son of a bitch," she whispered.
There was too much poetic justice for it to have been mere happenstance. Gemma started running.
How were thedhampirand the Chameleon connected?
Everything they've done has been with Malloryn in mind. Why not the Chameleon?
She was more convinced than ever of a link between Obsidian, his fellowdhampir, and the Chameleon.
Obsidian was an assassin; he'd shot her once without a flicker of remorse on his face.
He'd been in Malloryn's original safe house and killed his fellowdhampir, Zero, before she could succumb to Malloryn's questioning.
He'd worked for Lord Balfour, Malloryn's greatest enemy, before Malloryn cut the spymaster's throat and killed him.
What if the real Chameleon had been closer to her than she'd ever expected?
No. No. He'd been back and forth to Russia several times upon Balfour's whims. Surely Obsidian couldn't be responsible for the fifteen deaths the Chameleon claimed. She would have to check the timeline and see if she could place Obsidian out of the country when one of the assassinations occurred.
And Carlyle? How did he fit?
Too many puzzle pieces, not enough of the pattern to see.
But she couldn't deny there were links between her ex-lover and the assassin she was hunting.
And he hadn't trusted her enough to reveal a damned thing.
Gemma passed beneath the arched gateway, drawing the second pistol she always carried. It made a loud sound in the stillness of the fog as she drew back the hammer on both of them. Heart pounding, she moved between the colonnades that led toward the domed chapel ahead, scanning the graves and memorials that surrounded her.
Too many places for the Chameleon to hide. It made her skin crawl being out in the open like this. During a sunny day it was almost peaceful here, but with a malicious layer of fog serving as ground cover there was an eerie sensation that chilled her spine.
The scent of blood drew her like a lodestone toward the chapel, gravel crunching under her feet. Each memorial seemed to float in the fog like a disembodied figure, stark angels staring at her with empty eyes.
Sound whispered to her right. Gemma spun, staring through the pistol's sights, her pulse suddenly hammering.
Nothing moved.
But as her vision finally resolved, she could make out a yawning black crevice leading down into the bowels of the earth.
The perfect place to hide a not-quite-duchess.
