“You’ve exposed the staircase?”
She nodded, proudly. “This was once one house, not two flats.”
In half a second, he realised what it meant. Kitt laughed, suddenly weightless. “That is brilliant.”
“It is, isn’t it? The stairs are hidden. It lets us go on as we were, only with more space and without having to clear it with your employer.” She put a hand on her hip. “Did you think I was leaving you?”
“Of course not.”
Mae tipped her chin and shot him the look that said he was full of shite. How he’d come to adore that expression.
“Yes, yes I did. It was something of a shock when I walked in and found my home empty. You mentioned you disposed of my clothes the morning we met Bryce. I was prepared for the clothes but not everything to be gone. It’s caught me with my trousers down.” Kitt frowned. “Have I any trousers left?”
She made a face. “No. I got rid of everything, shirts, trousers, jackets, underpants.”
“My underpants?”
“I believed you were dead, I couldn’t bear to have your shirts, your trousers, or underpants—”
“Yes, I see, underpants are far too intimate a reminder of someone you loved.”
“I’ll replace them.”
“Yes. You will. My Wedgewood and Minton china, my atlases, my bourbon, where are those things?”
“Downstairs for now. I thought I could have it all back in place before you returned from being held in prison, but you surprised me. I know this is not the homecoming you expected. It’s not what I wanted to happen either. Expectations for homecomings are so ridiculous. You’re cross, I’m cross, and we’re at cross purposes.” With a pfft, she gathered the books and left the kitchen, soles of her Mary Janes squeaking softly on tiles and polished wood as she went to the window seat in the sitting room.
“I’m not cross.” Kitt went after her and halted in the doorway. Kew had returned with a box of power tools and a roll of wiring. He sang along with the music coming through grotty-looking earbuds and stretched out a measuring tape along the built-in bookcase near the window seat.
Irritated with Kitt, with herself, Mae set the paperbacks in the window seat, watching the portly handyman crouch. She stared at the crack of the man’s arse. Unexpected, unpredictable, that’s what Kitt was, what he’d always been, chaos in her ordered world. There was something about having his chaos in her life, and everything pointed to why his chaos couldn’t, shouldn’t work, pointed to being practical and safe and alone, pointed to her walking away. She had to do what was right, despite every indication it was as wrong as seeing Mr Kew’s arse crack.
Kew rose, knees popping. He pulled out his earbuds, the music emanating from them tinny. “The TV will just fit, Missus,” he said. “If that’s what you want, I’ll have to take out these two shelves.”
“Thank you, Mr Kew.”
Kew hitched up his trousers, looking Kitt up and down. “Tell her. No intelligent person would put a TV there.”
“He’s right,” Kitt said, his nod matter-of-fact. “No intelligent person would put a TV there.”
“Why is that?”
“Too much glare from the window.” Kitt moved into the sitting room. “And I don’t have a television.”
“You do now. I’ve subscribed to a satellite package.” Mae looked at the window and the rain pattering against the glass, and back at the shelf. “I suppose you’ll have to run the line where you said, Mr Kew.”
Kew hitched his trousers again, shoved his earbuds in, and dug around his toolbox, while a tinny David Bowie wham-bam-thank-you-ma’med.
Mae lifted the stack of paperbacks, moved them across the cushions, and sat down. “Are you back at work now, Kitt?”
“Yes. Llewelyn’s apologised and put me on the duty desk. Indefinitely I believe.”
“I’m very sorry for your paperwork. I had very little paperwork.”
“Were you debriefed?”
“M-mm, by a man named Dexter. I was told my observational reports on Taittinger were valuable and then I was thanked for my service. Llewelyn was present, watching. He didn’t say a word. If that’s debriefing, then yes, I was debriefed.” She gave a half-snorted laugh. “Here we are then, at the resolution of this somewhat gritty cosy romantic spy thriller that tried hard to be amusing. What was it that exonerated you and led to your release?”
“Perhaps we can talk about this elsewhere?” Kitt slid his hands into his trouser pockets and flicked his gaze to Mr Kew.
“If we can hear Bowie, Kew can’t hear us.”
She had a point. Kitt nodded. “Tanner’s people got him at the Mexican border. Foley, as the Americans say, rolled on Ruby Bleuville. It only ever takes one weak or loose thread to create opportunity and Ruby, a well-respected and knowledgeable fine art expert, saw an opportunity. She discovered a client, a very well-connected, wealthy client, had left a thread hanging at his freeport storage unit. Rather than take advantage of him, she drew Walter Molony’s attention to the matter. He pulled the thread.”
“What about Dalton?”
“He’s very dead, but there’s evidence he’d aided Molony, misdirected information regularly and fed him information. That’s how Ruby knew about Grant. How she found out about you. How am I doing so far?”
Mae slipped an apron string between her fingers. “It seems plausible. So what was the thread Molony pulled?”
“Somehow, this client was issued a master pass security key fob to the Geneva Freeport. It could override the security systems, the fingerprint and retina-scan, facial and voice recognition of every location owned by FreeSuissePort in the world. Ruby said that it was Molony’s idea to exploit this flaw, that he mapped out and created a network, using one or two individuals working inside a government foundation, a museum, a university, or charitable foundation. They tested it on several pieces of art Molony had access to—one of which was a piece owned by HRM. Items had a stopover in freeport for a few months before being packed and shipped on to museums and galleries in smaller American cities, like Albuquerque and Healdsburg California, in Sonoma County—an area well known for wine. That’s where Ruby first met Milton Foley, at a tasting hosted by Taittinger.”
Mae sighed. “It’s easy to pin all this on a stupid, idealistic man like Taittinger.”
Kew fiddled with a spade bit on his drill and smiled at them both. He was missing a front tooth.
“Yes. But Taittinger was a pawn. According to Foley, Ruby and Molony started small, but then she saw another opportunity in Foley. Foley had already been on Molony’s radar. Taittinger had been on Ruby’s. He was a wine collector, an activist for refugees as well as a cultural conservationist. Molony knew Foley had been smuggling in pieces of art for his Bible museum, under the guise of decorating samples. Foley already had ties to a network set up in Mexico, through Hector Rodriguez’s wife’s less than savoury relatives who moved drugs and people across the border.”
“Tzin and Popo?” Mae ran her palms along her apron.
Kitt nodded. “Foley had been getting things past customs by packing artefacts with furniture and decorating samples. He turned to an already-existing route, one the Coyote brothers used for the Enrico Cartel, to smuggle pharmaceuticals and counterfeit handbags through Mexico to a warehouse in Las Cruces, New Mexico—where Taittinger and Felix were headed by the way. There’s a tunnel running between Mexico and Las Cruces, it goes right under the warehouse. It was dug by the Coyote brothers and exceptionally well-hidden.”
Mae untied apron strings, slipped off the white cotton, and tossed it beside the paperbacks. “They dug Taittinger’s wine cellars, didn’t they?”
“They did. The cellars are what made Taittinger so attractive. Ruby orchestrated things so that he never knew who Chichiltic was—he was unaware Hector Rodriquez unveiled a vintage after Foley since he missed the man’s Drunken Rabbits lecture.”
“Was that a surprise to Foley as well?”
“Quite. Everything was carried out
online. We traced a message trail that included photos of you, some came from Coyote’s phone, others were ones Derek took of party guests. They were sent to an account Molony set up for ‘Lou Ellen,’ meaning Molony knew you were there from the start, Mae.”
“And then he knew you were there.”
“Yes.”
“How did it all work?”
“When Ruby or Molony found a piece, they moved it through Taittinger since he knew who had an interest in wine and an interest in artefacts. He’d host a tasting and always include one or two collectors who were only interested in the wine to give a more legitimate feel to his auction. He was a stopping ground for artefacts he believed were going on to preservation and safe storage with Foley in his museum or warehouse. When a piece or pieces arrived, Taittinger had copies made and he was careful, but he wasn’t aware the originals were being sold. The scam’s been going on for years until someone, Nash we think, realised he’d been duped. Things began to unravel when Dalton decided to try for himself, but panicked and left a Byzantine icon on a tour bus outside Paris. Then it really started to disintegrate when Molony and Foley decided to take over and cut out some of the troublesome middlemen, like Ruby.”
She rolled her eyes. “One can almost understand Ruby’s murderous rage. Why do so many men think they can just take over?”
Kitt gave a sheepish grin. “Ego. Insecurity. A sense of entitlement. Stupidity.”
They fell silent for a moment, looking at each other until her mouth rumpled and she laughed. “I think I miss the cowboy hat. Did you keep it?”
“Good, God, no.”
Mae clucked her tongue. “There was never any counterfeit wine, was there?”
“No. Molony was covering his tracks by suggesting suspicion lay elsewhere, with several individuals who had wine and other items stored in freeports, like Taittinger, and intelligence officers like Gettler and Springer.”
“And you. And then you actually showed up.”
Kew’s drill whirred, zzzt-zzzt, then emanated a high-pitched whine and puff of smoke. The man released a stream of obscenities and turned. “Sorry. Sorry for the language, Missus. Be right back.” He jerked up his trousers and went to the kitchen.
Mae chuckled. “You were never going to be incarcerated, were you, Kitt?”
“It was a very real possibility.”
“Because you’d gone rogue?”
“Because I wasn’t authorised.”
She laughed. “Because you went rogue.”
“The bottom line is Agent Tanner preferred cooperating. As did Interpol.”
“Was Tanner the ‘distant relation’ Bryce mentioned, the person monitoring me?”
“Yes, but on the periphery. Tanner had Rodriguez and family under observation, not for wine, but for ties to the Enrico Cartel—the Coyote brothers had connections. It was kind of Isabel to remember we’re all on the same side, fighting for the same cause.”
“Isabel.” She smiled faintly. “You knew her?”
“I know her twin sister, she’s FBI. Agent Tanner made a case in my favour. Llewelyn was more than pleased with the outcome.”
“I bet he was.” Mae squinted. “Tell me what ‘the cause’ was all about.”
Casually, he lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “I can’t. You don’t have clearance.”
“The least you could do is make up something.”
The left side of his mouth rumpled. “It was all a matter of...greed.”
“That’s it?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“These things are always about greed, about money, aren’t they?”
Kitt shrugged again. “Sometimes it’s about revenge.”
“That basic human need.” Mae looked down at her hands. “Come sit here.”
Kitt shoved aside the paperbacks and sat in the cushioned cubby. Sun poked through rain clouds and lit the space, warming their backs. “Do you know what the eggs were like in prison?”
“Probably powdered.”
“I hoped we’d get back to where we were, but this homecoming without scrambled eggs and coffee is just so...unnatural, Mae.”
“More unnatural than powdered eggs?”
“Yes.”
She repositioned the books on the cushion. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about getting back to where we were, about how to best do that,” Her elbow brushed his and she laughed. “In these last weeks, when it seemed likely that you’d spend your life eating powdered eggs in Leavenworth, or wherever it is the Americans put international assassin types and foreign intelligence officers gone rogue—”
“I did not go rogue.”
Mae smiled contritely. “Do forgive me. In the last weeks when it seemed likely that you’d spend your life in Leavenworth, or wherever it is the Americans put supposedly dead international assassin types and foreign intelligence officers who are actually alive and breaching international laws without authorisation, I realised you were right about something. It’s far simpler than I thought. I lost sight of what was important.” She heaved a sigh of resignation. “I accept what you do. I accept what I’ve done. Nothing says I have to like it, or that it doesn’t trouble me, or that I have to pretend it doesn’t matter. It does matter. I don’t like it. It does trouble me. However iniquitous my actions, I’m done pretending or trying to convince myself this would work any other way. I don’t want to live my life focused on fear.” She set a hand on his thigh. “Maybe there’s something else we can do.”
“Yes, find a hotel. A very quiet hotel where no one is hammering or drilling walls.”
“Subtle innuendo, Kitt.”
“I do try.” His gaze settled back on her. “What do you mean by pretending? Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time, pretending?”
“If I’ve learned anything from you it’s the importance of improvising. Life is nothing but improvisation. You’re here when I didn’t think you would be, so I’m improvising, and I’m not doing it very well, but I think you’re mighty and you—”
The door buzzer rang, the sound thundering in the emptiness of the flat.
“That may be my new tenant—or Bryce. He’s been instructed to buzz from now on. He’s quite curious to see how this all goes.”
“I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
“Are you ever going to stop wanting to kill Bryce?”
“I’m plotting his demise right now.”
“Well, please don’t murder him here. I don’t want to scare off my new tenant.”
“I wouldn’t dream of killing him in my home.” The door buzzed again. Kitt stood and strode across polished wood. He reached the door and yanked it open. A silver-haired woman smiled at him She held a dog’s lead in her hand. Felix pulled against that lead, long tail wagging as he sniffed Kitt’s shoes.
“Forgot the upstairs door code,” the woman said, removing the dog’s blue coat, handing it to Mae.
“Thank you for the obedience training, Mrs Rigg.”
“He’s getting there, love.” Mrs Rigg gave Kitt the once-over, mouth pursing.
Kitt mirrored her actions.
“He looks like he could use a bit of training.”
“Well,” Mae glanced at Kitt and leaned close to the woman. “I do have trouble getting him to stay.”
Mrs Rigg chortled heartily and Kitt watched her disappear down the stairs with bewilderment rattling his bones. He faced Mae. She tossed aside the damp dog coat, cuddling Felix like a baby, and Kitt burst out laughing.
“I really liked the bit about the dog,” she shrugged.
“Clearly. Please, explain how it is I’m looking at Felix.”
“Reed.”
“My brother did you a favour?”
“You’re bully, I’m honey. You demand, I ask. Felix went to a shelter. He needed a home. I needed company while you were incarcerated.”
“Has he been sharing your bed?”
“Yes, my pea-sized single bed.” With a grin, she pulled the collar and le
ad from Felix and set him on his feet.
The dog darted around the empty flat, head down, sniffing a trail into the kitchen.
Mae moved back to the window seat. “I really should have waited until you came home to discuss it, but I thought organising a new home was more important.”
His mouth pursed. “Do you really think a spy can have a dog?”
“No, but a spy’s butler can have a dog. I didn’t know when, or if, you’d be coming home, but Felix seemed like a good idea.”
“I told you I’ll always come home to you.”
“Which brings us to your last postcard.” Mae snorted, head shaking.
“You received it. I’m delighted. After the previous occasion I wasn’t certain you would, but this time I posted it myself. Did you like it?”
“Shall I be honest?”
“Always.”
“A text message would have cleared up any confusion. There could have been scrambled waiting eggs for you. And the card was a soppy choice.”
“How I love your honesty.”
Her expression, the one that told him how full of shite he was, combined with a nuance that implied he scored high on the scale of idiocy, which did nothing to temper his asking, “Did you keep it, or...” he glanced about the empty room, “...dispose of it as you did my underpants?”
“I’m not sentimental, but...” Mae reached into a pocket at the side of her dress. “Be mine, Valentine.” She dabbed her nose with a tissue. A tear rolled down her cheek. “It was sappy, but quite sweet. You’re a thoughtful and rather romantic man.”
“Yes. No one is more surprised about that than I.” Kitt hadn’t expected tears, yet another one trickled down to her chin. “But the point is, you were moved. I moved you.”
“Obviously.”
He smiled, knowing exactly how smug that smile was. “I thought it an improvement on Quando, particularly with how that turned out.”
With a sniffle, she shifted the paperbacks again. “So here you are, and here we are.”
“I’m home now.”
Felix raced into the room and hopped up onto the cushion beside Mae, knocking over the stacked books as he turned one way then the other, two volumes falling to the gleaming floor. “Yes, you’re home now. I’ve been thinking about our circumstance, the surreptitiousness of it,” she said, scratching the dog’s long neck when he plopped his narrow head on her lap.
Forever in Your Service Page 31
