Page 17 of Summer of Fire
‘Good girl,’ Jack said absentmindedly.
‘Just because you’re older than me doesn’t mean you can treat me like a child, you know,’ Lizzie said.
‘Of course not. Forgive the expression. How old are you, Lizzie?’ Jack asked, forcing back the smile he knew would only antagonise her more.
‘Don’t play with me. You know exactly how old I am. I wouldn’t be surprised if you know what colour my toothbrush is, and the name of my school. You know everything about me because it’s your job to know.’
‘Goodness. You are extra feisty today. The Nazis have no idea who they’re up against!’
‘You can joke, but I’m deadly serious. You think I’m a child, but I am twenty-one. I’m a grown woman and old enough to do this mission. Please don’t treat me like a fool.’
Jack was only too aware she was a grown woman. And a gorgeous one at that. He’d been holding himself firmly in check and trying not to see her that way, but it was becoming more difficult.
The last thing he could afford was a romantic liaison withan agent. Getting too close spelt danger and set one up for carelessness. Mistakes in his line of business cost lives.
Hannah had quite possibly been captured and tortured by the Nazis for information—or transported to a concentration camp somewhere. If they suspected she was a German Jew, her chances of survival were even slimmer than that of a French member of the Resistance. The thought that she might be dead plagued him night and day, no matter how he tried not to dwell on it.
He had no intention of endangering Lizzie any more than required to put her in touch with the network to complete the mission. She’d only had the most basic training, but he could see how smart she was.
Despite his years of experience as an agent, he hadn’t slept properly since Hannah went silent. His dreams morphed into nightmares—full of anxiety and terrifying images of the Nazis and their evil murder machine. He saw Hannah, and others he knew who had sacrificed themselves for the war.
When he awoke each morning after a fretful night fighting with himself to get some sleep, his sheets were damp and twisted, and his head pounded. Sheer grit was the only thing keeping him going. Oh, and coffee. As awful as the acorn coffee tasted, and it was grim, it was considerably better than nothing.
No, Elizabeth Beaumont. It cannot go that way with us, no matter how gorgeous you are.
‘When you’re as old as me, everyone is a child,’ he said lightly to diffuse the growing tension. He needed Lizzie focused on the mission. Retrieving the vital intelligence for tilting the odds in their favour and assessing the status of the Reims Resistance network would depend on Lizzie’s ability to stay cool in the coming days. After observing her closely,he would put money on the fact that she was a natural at espionage.
‘Exactly how oldareyou?’ Lizzie prodded, not easily deflected.
He was amused by her sassiness. Most women, and men too for that matter, deferred to him and rarely questioned him like she did. He was a high-ranking intelligence officer, and he had worked hard to create an aura of authority—to erect a shield around himself that deterred people from getting too close. It was better that way.
For Jack to do his job, he couldn’t deal with unnecessary distractions. Hemustfind Hannah and get his hands on the intelligence she had gathered if they were to have a chance at winning this bloody war.
He played along anyway. ‘How old do you think?’
They had prepared Lizzie as well as they could for her brief foray into the world of the Resistance, and he wanted her rested and calm for when she would parachute into Reims. He felt sick just at the thought of this innocent young woman risking her life, when just a few days ago she had never heard his name. The responsibility of what he had to get people to do weighed heavily on him.
‘Hmm, let me see. You must be at least forty-five,’ she said, keeping a straight face, but he saw the teasing light in her warm green eyes.
‘You cheeky mare,’ he said, and he watched her dissolve into laughter. It was a most delightful tinkling sound, and he found himself wanting to hear more.
‘Well, it’s you who talks about yourself like you’re an ancient has-been. What am I supposed to think?’
He snorted and laughed, rolling his eyes. ‘The fact that you think forty-five is ancient shows just how young you are. I rest my case!’
They stood in a small room at St. Ermin’s. It was theroom Jack used as an office when he operated from the hotel. Generally, he preferred to work from the shabby flat where he had first interviewed Lizzie, but sometimes the job called him into HQ.
In a perfect world, Lizzie would not know the SOE offices in St. Ermin’s existed. It was better that way in case agents were caught.
If they had more time, Lizzie would have gone for extensive training in the countryside, where she could practice in the open, and they would put her through all kinds of tests.
The secret service had requisitioned stately homes specifically for this purpose, but they had a long way to go until they were set up with enough proper training facilities. There were ambitious plans for a paratrooper facility too, where they could send agents for parachute training, but in this case, they had to make do.
The only consolation was no one in their right mind would think a young woman would be trained to parachute into France, in a hotel in the centre of London. He and Val had engineered the most fundamental training they could on site, and Lizzie had passed all their tests with flying colours. They had given her lessons in basic map reading, unarmed combat, field craft and signalling with radio comms even though she wouldn’t take a wireless with her. And the big one—how to land safely with a parachute.
Their laughter died away, and he said, ‘I suggest you get some sleep whilst you can. You’ve been allocated a room, correct? You may not see a proper bed again until we pick you up, which could be several days.’
‘Yes, Val explained. My stuff is in the room.’
