Forever in Your Service

by Sandra Antonelli

  “Trust is more important, and I’ve given you every reason to mistrust me.” With a groan, Kitt got to his feet and followed her to the car.

  She climbed behind the wheel and waited for him to get in the other side. “I trust you with my life,” she said, once he’d slid into the passenger seat and shut the door.

  “Which scares the living daylights from me.”

  Mae laughed, a dry, rasping noise. “I know what you are. I may not understand, but I know. The strangest thing is that I trust you more than I trust myself, and I scare myself more than you have ever frightened me. I keep telling you that.” She lay a hand on his thigh.

  He glanced at the fingers that leached cold warmth into his skin, and then into her face. That stray wisp of hair curved around her chin. “Is there something you have in mind, a suggestion about climbing into the back seat and steaming up windows?” He put his hand over the top of hers. “I’ll disappoint you, like I did last night. My back feels as if it has a flaming poker slicing into it. A kidney jab will do that.”

  “A shag is the last thing on my mind.”

  “What is on your mind then?”

  “Llewelyn, Taittinger’s stolen artefacts, who wants me dead, who wanted you dead. Us.” She turned her hand and closed her fingers around his. “If this is going to work, we can’t have secrets, we can’t keep things from each other, even if you think it’s for my own safety.”

  There were a few things he hated to admit or face as true. For three years, he’d tried to ignore the feelings he had for Mae, tried to pretend he could keep them hidden, told himself that holding them at bay made so much more sense than all the trouble she would be, and yes, she was trouble. Most of the trouble came from those moments when she was right about something that had nothing to do with her. “You’re right. You’re right and I hate that you’re right.” Kitt squeezed her hand. “What you know about intelligence work comes from books and film. You think it’s all guns, dirty bare-handed fighting, and killing. Mostly it’s paperwork, handling and receiving information, delivering bribes, not one man saving the world from nuclear annihilation.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  He let go of her hand. “It’s not sexy, it doesn’t make for an exciting tale, but it’s true. There are times an intelligence officer may be seconded to work with a team and do shadowy unpleasant things as part of that team. Because of my military background, I have often been seconded to a team, as I was in October, as I have been on numerous occasions over the last three years we have known each other. That is all I am willing and able to tell you about what I do. Some topics are—don’t laugh—classified. Do you see where I am going with this?”

  She ran her tongue over her teeth to keep from chuckling. “Not yet.”

  “I find it vexing that I won’t be able to do this without you. I find it exasperating that, for you to go on trusting me, I have to tell you things I believe are better left unsaid. I find it irritating that you and Reed form part of a team, but all of this frustration is the reality. Part of me likes that you’re here because I know where you are, and part of me hates that you’re here because I know where you are. This reality means I will always put your safety and Reed’s safety first, as I see fit, whether you like it or not. And you are correct. For this to move ahead there are things you need to know.”

  For a half second, she blinked, her lips parted, her brow rumpled repeatedly.

  “Surprised you, didn’t I?”

  “What gave it away, my gob hanging open or my dumbfounded blinking?”

  “Neither. It was your undulating eyebrows, which were, I must say, quite fetching.”

  “What do I need to know?”

  “At the moment, the personal is less important than the...business side of things.” His mouth tipped at one corner. “Listen to me carefully. This is the most important thing I will ever tell you.”

  “I know you love me.”

  “Yes, so then, this is the other most important thing you need to know, particularly should you again find yourself in a situation where someone has a gun and you don’t. Or if there’s a knife, or if there is a threat of violence of any sort. Are you listening?”

  Mae snorted and started the car’s engine. “I do not need another scolding from you.”

  “Bloody woman.” Kitt reached across and twisted the key in the ignition, killing the engine. “Why is it you dislike taking instruction?”

  “I take instruction fine. What I dislike is you speaking to me in a patriarchal tone.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Of course you are. You’re looking at me with your head down and eyes up, staring at me through your lashes. That’s you at your most serious. I must say it’s quite fetching.”

  Kitt lifted his head. “You are maddening, Mrs Valentine.”

  “It’s part of my charm.”

  He exhaled, slowly. “Please, Mae.”

  “Good manners are always appreciated. What is it you want me to know about facing potential violence?”

  “There is one word you need to remember. And I really like how you’re leaning in to show me you are attentively listening.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Run, Mae. The word is run. Don’t stand there, don’t throw a punch, don’t throw a cup of coffee, don’t lash out with a block of cheese, don’t strike with a toilet brush, and don’t stand in between the muzzle of a gun and another man. Run. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “What, you promise what?”

  “To run, should the potential for gun violence arise.” She exhaled and ran her tongue over her front teeth. “There’s just one thing.”

  “Christ. What?”

  “What will you do in the same situation?”

  “This isn’t about me.”

  She dug her fingers into the seat upholstery. “Why not? Why doesn’t the same direction apply to you? Why can’t you run?”

  Kitt gave her a faint smile. “We could sit here and talk in circles about this for the next hour, but there’s something we need to think about.”

  “Such as?”

  “Llewelyn and Bryce.”

  “You really think you’re going to change the subject?”

  “When were you supposed to meet Bryce?”

  “Yes, you changed the subject.” She looked heavenward for a moment. “Early tomorrow morning.”

  “How early?”

  “Six-thirty.”

  “Where?”

  “Ruby K’s, a café in Los Alamos.”

  “Indoors. Thank God almighty. I look forward to seeing him.”

  “You look forward...” Mae fell quiet, except for the drumming of her fingers on the edge of her seat. After a moment, she stopped the drum beat, licked her bottom lip, and inhaled. “You think he’s responsible?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does Bryce know you’re alive?”

  Kitt turned to her fully as he drew on his seatbelt. “Perhaps.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means perhaps.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “We’ll find out tomorrow when you meet him.”

  Mae gave an incredulous shake of her head and started the car’s engine again. “Now you want me to see him?”

  “I want us to see him. I’m coming with you. I’d enjoy a bagel from Ruby K’s.”

  “How did you know they sold bagels?

  “It’s not my first time in Los Alamos.”

  “Naturally. The last time you were here you dealt with actual espionage at the Los Alamos National Laboratory, didn’t you?”

  “That’s classified.”

  “Feckin’ balls.”

  Kitt’s mouth quirked. “The Ruby K’s has been there more than ten years, the Fuller Lodge even longer. Pretty place, the Lodge, wood panels and exposed beams, a log cabin on a grand scale. But first things first. Continuity is i
mportant, especially when improvising. Before we proceed with anything here’s another matter to attend to. You need to buy eggs.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance and pulled away from the parking space. “After three years in your employ, I am only beginning to understand exactly how much you think with your stomach.”

  One supermarket stop and nine minutes later, Kitt got out of the SUV at the bottom of Taittinger’s driveway. “I’ll take my time getting back.”

  “Going to have another look at the wine cellar?”

  “And the studio. There’s something we missed.” Kitt grimaced when he twisted and climbed out of the car and put his jacket on. “Find Reed. Stay with him. And for the love of all that’s holy, Mae, keep those eggs safe.”

  Mae parked the Volvo in the garage, took the groceries across the patio and into the laundry where Felix met her, his long tail whipping back and forth. He’d been shut between the laundry and kitchen.

  Happy to see him, giddiness overtook her and mixed with lingering adrenaline. She set aside the groceries, snatched up the animal, and gave him a cuddle. The dog poked his snout into her neck and she sniffled, going into the great room with Felix snuggled in her arms, and Shirley Bassey belting out a song about diamonds. Mae stopped dead.

  Bodies, supine, loose and open-mouthed had wilted in chairs, crumpled on sofas, collapsed onto the floor. Crackers, bread, nuts, empty bottles of wine had turned the Persian rug into a relief map around Nash and his bright-orange runners.

  Lifeless, Taittinger slumped sideways on the sofa, Ruby’s strawberry head in his neck, a deck of cards scattered about near her feet, as if the pack had exploded.

  Newlyweds Ernie and Anna Chung, together on a wide ottoman, lay locked in an embrace amidst the chaos, Anna’s long black hair a veil over both of their faces.

  Reed, head back, throat exposed, long legs spread, held an empty tumbler loose in one hand, wrist propped on the arm of his chair, a little pile of cashews on his chest.

  Chapter 16

  The rolling snnnaaarrrk that burst from Basil’s open mouth gave her a start. Her heart bounced to her feet and back into her chest. Mae put the dog on his feet and moved deeper into the den of unconscious, not dead, oenophiles, stepping over spent bottles and food scraps, and switched off the music.

  “Before you say anything, Kitty,” Reed said suddenly, “I wondered what sort of charge would be tacked on to my sentence, but I thought, since I’m already in this arse deep...” He sighed.

  “Mr Reed,” Mae’s heart bounced again as Felix gobbled something near Nash’s foot.

  Reed’s relaxed features twisted into a frown, his eyes popped open, and he sat up, cashews rolling down his chest. “Shit.” He gave her a hard look. “Kitty fucked up. I’d ask if you killed him, but I think his fucking up is more likely.”

  She surveyed the unconscious. “What the bloody hell happened?

  “Well, petal, alcohol increases the effect of whatever Taittinger and I put in the wine. I was surprised he drank it too, although he did have the look of a man who’d shit himself and was trying to hide it.”

  Mae took off her coat and tossed it on a vacant chair. She flicked her gaze about the comatose houseguests, the upended spittoons, the dog snacking on things that weren’t healthy canine treats, at the untidiness and all those wine bottles, one of which was a 1945 Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Grand Cru she’d seen in Taittinger’s hidden wine cellar. Despite understanding the necessity of neutralising guests, this was scandalous, inhospitable, and utterly unprofessional. This was akin to serving tainted food that sickened visitors. “This won’t do. This won’t do at all. You’ll have to help me, Mr Reed.”

  “I thought that’s what I was doing, possum.” He rose, hands going into his pockets, cashews spilling onto the Persian carpet. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be on your way to a safe house, in the car I arranged for you to drive there. What happened to your cheek?”

  “Someone followed us. There was trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble? Where’s Kitt?”

  “He’ll be along soon. And I meant you’ll have to help me put these people to bed.”

  “You want to put these people to bed?” He moved closer to her, stepping around the dog trying to sink small teeth into a crusty loaf of sourdough bread bigger than his head, and paused an arm’s length away to look her up and down, his scrutiny cold, hard, and careful.

  She looked back at him the same way.

  “Yes, I see. He said you were, let me see if I get this right, a fortress of unmovable loyalty and professionalism. Hardly romantic, but Kitty loves you.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Mm-hm. So do you.”

  “Sadly, I do. What happened to the ring he gave you?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.” Mae started with Reed’s brown leather shoes, and slid her eyes from there to his crotch, the flat stomach hidden behind a dark green polo-neck jumper, his chest, freckled face, and top of his ginger head, before reversing the path back to his shoes. Then she met his pretty blue eyes. “I believe Kitty said you were, and let me see if I get this right, a twat.”

  Reed burst out laughing. “Oh, I like you. It’s a pity Kitty’s fucked up things with you.” He smiled handsomely, eyes crinkling. “Okay, who do we move first?

  “Mr Nash. His trousers are giving me a headache.”

  The Irishman glowed in turquoise trousers and a red, black, and yellow Watford FC jersey, air puffed and popped from his bottom lip.

  “Nash is a headache,” Reed said and turned to the sleeping newlyweds. “What about those two?”

  “The bedroom next to yo—”

  “What part of ‘be sensible’ confused you, Simon?” Kitt stood at the edge of the great room, eyes cold, mouth curved in a smile without warmth.

  Reed exhaled. “It seemed to be taking too long. Nash was not cooperating, spitting out everything. I had to help things move.”

  “So you put the backup phial in every bottle?”

  “Look, mate, I may be adept at sleight of hand, but this sort of thing’s not my gig, it’s yours. I don’t do covert ops. I’m doing the best I can, and all you do is whinge about it. Where were you?”

  “Finding a passageway running from the barn cellar to the studio, where there’s a freight lift hidden under a crate of glass. It’s smeared with blood.”

  “Blood?” Reed clucked his tongue. “So much for your being thorough. How’d you miss blood, Kitty?”

  “Every bottle, Reedy?”

  “I told you you’re getting too old for this work.”

  “Every bottle, Simon?”

  Mae watched two men stare at each other coolly, their shared history suddenly palpable in a way it hadn’t been before. Irritation, pain, respect, love, it was on icy-hot display and Jaysus, what an eejit she was not to have considered the significance of their past more carefully, with more attention. “Such an eejit,” she muttered.

  Kitt glanced at Mae as she muttered something under her breath. She looked tired. He would have traded his fatigued for her tired. He needed coffee, a shower, eight to ten hours of solid sleep. He ached all over. If Taittinger’s taste in recreational drugs had run to cocaine, Kitt would have had a snort. “Why every bottle?” he said.

  Reed scratched his neck. “It makes sense when you think about it. They were all drinking. They’ve been drinking all day and they all drink a lot. They all had hangovers this morning, except for Nash.” He snorted. “Flunitrazepam can cause drowsiness, dizziness, loss of motor control, lack of coordination, slurred speech, confusion, sedation, gastrointestinal disturbances lasting twelve hours or more, and amnesia. Sounds like a bender and hell of a hangover to me. They’ll all be crook in the morning, Nash included.”

  “Indeed.” Kitt studied the room for a moment, his thumb tapping pared-down fingers. Then he scooped up Ruby. “When we’re done here, coffee, Mae. Please.”

  Reed grabbed Nash unde
r the armpits. Mae grabbed his ankles. They lifted the man together.

  “No, no.” Ruby’s strawberry head lolled against Kitt’s shoulder. “Put him on the sofa. Turn him on his side. Grab that book over there and put it under his hand.”

  “Why does he stay here?” Reed said as the man’s deadweight plopped onto sofa cushions.

  Mae smoothed an apron that wasn’t there. “Because this is about plausibility. Nash boasts about not getting drunk, so he fell asleep reading.”

  “Are you thinking about switching professions, petal?”

  “THE PACK IS IN THE side pocket of my duffel, in the walk-in.” Reed finished tying his shoe and rose from the bedroom’s love seat, his frown deep. “Why would he do that? Why would Timothy Bryce have any part in this, Hamish?”

  Kitt looked at Mae. She sat in the charcoal armchair near the door, Felix on her lap, her mind elsewhere, fingers absently stroking the dog, ruminating, he supposed, on the last two days or few hours. “I’m not saying he does.” Weary and heading towards exhausted, Kitt turned his attention to Reed. “He might. He could. I thought there was a rat, but maybe it’s rats. Bryce could be as much as Llewelyn could be part of this. I have to contemplate that prospect, but at the moment I’m leaning more toward Dalton and Llewelyn playing major roles in this.”

  “Based on what, an assassin’s mention?”

  “Wouldn’t that make you consider the possibility?”

  “No. Not that alone, but what you suggest about her,” Reed glanced at Mae, “being in a position that has a connection to you, whatever it is, means somebody wanted her out of the way, or wanted her where they could keep an eye on her.” Reed ran a hand through his hair. “You’ve considered that, haven’t you?”

  “You know I have. Have there been rumblings in your world?”

  “No. The handbags and other counterfeit intellectual property you found in those containers are a link in the supply chain we’ve been following. Lyon passed along our initial heads up to your lot, and you all went about business. You rang, then you sent me notification from Singapore; Shithouse, henhouse, sweatshop. Routes and methods are shifting, and I can justify my presence here for that reason, without any connection to you, if I need to, and I will need to, but I’m safe, Hamish.” For a moment, Reed was quiet. Then he jerked his chin at Mae. “Who knows about her, departmentally speaking?”