by Jane Cousins
“I may just be an analyst but I’m not easy to take out.”
Now he was being self-deprecating? She wanted blow by blow details, but tamped down on her irritation. “What happened?”
“I realised in that moment that the not-Agricultural Branch had a mole, so I disappeared. Left who ever was behind the plot to take me out to stew and wonder. With nothing but seven dead bodies and my subsequent disappearance, they would have no choice but to suspend all their activities and wait to see if I would emerge to point an accusatory finger their way.”
“And?”
“I knew I had to take myself completely out of the equation for the foreseeable future. Let them get comfortable. Let them become complacent.”
“Ah, that explains the cracked rib you are trying so hard to hide and that knee you twisted last March. You’re stalking who ever this mole is, aren’t you?”
He wasn’t surprised Trix had noted his injuries, she was sharp like that. “Yes. There are three potential suspects.”
“No, I don’t get it.”
“Excuse me? What precisely do you not get?”
“You strike me as very determined and single-minded. Yet here you are, two years later. You’ve saddled yourself with a house. You joined the archery and target shooting clubs. You went to court and won the dubious right to declare your Potting Shed a Library Annexe, and took on all the responsibilities that came along with that association. And now, in your very limited spare time, you tell me you are trying to identify a mole in the British not-Agricultural Department, one who tried to have you killed. Aren’t your priorities a little ass around backwards?”
“I love how you Aussies don’t beat about the bush.”
“And sometimes we set the whole bloody forest on fire, that’s not answering my question.”
“Truthfully? I’m a little surprised myself. Oh, I knew it wasn’t going to be a quick or easy process to identify the mole. The three suspects are all former field operatives. Risen through the ranks. Each have surrounded themselves with highly competent people. When I came here, I thought I was only looking for a temporary bolthole and then…”
“Then?”
“A little thing called perspective bashed me over the head. I saw a picture of the house on Lily Pily Lane and thought - home. I met people who I instantly thought of as potential friends, not just acquaintances I needed to use as part of my cover. I found things here at the Sanctuary that I didn’t even know I was missing.” Like you. But it was way too soon to make that pronouncement. She’d run, or knowing Trix, slug him. “And it hit me, how isolated I had allowed myself to become. Part of that was the job. Part of that was living amongst mundanes. And I realised that I didn’t want that any longer. Sure, I could spend all my time and energy on my… hobby, but I think I have allowed enough of life just to pass me by.”
“Still, this hobby of yours, chasing down the mole, it has to be dangerous.” Patricia sent a brief pointed glance down at his ribcage. “Have you thought of requesting some backup? I’m sure Elijah has some infiltration specialists who could help.”
Cullen took a swig of beer, thinking, hmmm, backup? He who always worked alone? Huh, and look how that had turned out. But… “You know, you might be right. Would you be interested in taking a look at the files?”
“Me?”
“Who better? You have an unparalleled eye for detail. You have an instinct for linking data and making tenuous connections that pay off. I’ve read your Research files, I know how you operate. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Maybe I’m too close to this. A fresh set of eyes? It’s a good idea.”
Patricia was grateful for the dim glow cast by the re-enactment tableau, knowing it would hide the flush of heat rushing into her cheeks. So the man admired her skills and intelligence, it was no big deal. She should just take it as her due and move on, be just as casual and off-hand as he was being. “Sure, if you’d like.” She could be the bigger person and offer her help, especially if by doing so it brought a traitor to justice.
Was this what it meant to be turning fifty? No more men complimenting her looks or her hard fought for lithe curves? Suddenly every man she met was admiring her intelligence. First Zartel, now Cullen. She was brutally honest enough to say her ego was a little pricked at the thought.
Cullen bit his tongue to keep from smiling. Yes, spending more time in Trix’s company, it could only be a good thing. And he had a sound approach all mapped out. First, he would prove what a suitable match they were on an intellectual level. Then, he’d move on to the more physical aspects. Grrr, just the thought of exploring all those curves, those long legs. He shifted again, not his rib aching this time, his cock. The physical side of the equation couldn’t come around soon enough for his liking.
“Are you hungry? There’s pizza and fruit. Oh, and a bathroom just down the corridor. If you leave the door open the light from in here should just reach.” Patricia was having a hard time to keep from cackling in glee. Spending more time with Cullen, it was a good move. She would just need to stay on her toes, an opportunity to oust him as an associate Librarian would no doubt rear its head sooner rather than later. Especially given the number of devious traps she had lined up for him over the coming two weeks. And she’d be johnny on the spot to point out the infraction.
Damn, she should be better than this. But hey, to make it up to him for pulling the rug out from under his feet she would help him catch his traitorous mole. Which, truth be told, sounded like fun. And then it would be so long Cullen. Once he was out of the picture she could devote her time and energy to bringing Zartel up to scratch.
Huh, and why did the idea of that challenge fail to excite her half as much as the idea of matching wits with Cullen?
She couldn’t help but wonder if all the fictional heroines she loved so much ever seriously contemplated ditching the Alpha Warrior, heading instead for the peace and quiet of the nearest nunnery? Hmm, no, they usually got too distracted by the great sex. Maybe she needed to duct tape Zartel’s mouth shut and have her wicked way with him.
Then perhaps everything would fall neatly into place like it so often seemed to in the fictional world. Okay, she’d add that to her to-do list, sex with Cullen, oust Zartel. What, no, that was wrong, sex with Zartel, oust Cullen.
Hmmm, and why did a tiny, niggly… annoyingly tingly feeling clamour at her that she’d got it right the first time? She was over-worked and stretched too thin, that was all it was. When was the last time she’d had a holiday, just laid on a beach and read? Too long. Okay, so she’d add booking a holiday to her list.
Damn, her to-do list was getting longer by the second. To-do… and she was back to thinking about Cullen again, yes, she really needed that holiday.
Chapter Seven
“You really would feel more comfortable if you shed a few layers.”
Patricia ground her teeth together and fought the urge to squirm. The couch she was lying on was comfortable but every time she moved it made a soft, hissing sound. She was restless, it was natural, given the still air in here and the slowly rising temperature. It had nothing to do with the fact that every time she closed her eyes she kept picturing Cullen dressed in nothing but navy silk boxers.
After they’d eaten, chatting about inconsequential things, they had taken turns visiting the bathroom and then each chosen a sofa, in the hopes of catching some shut eye. While Patricia had been fiddling with the controls of the tableau, searching for the night light setting. Because some of the Re-enactment Members had deemed it necessary they study the battle under every possible condition in their search for clues. Cullen had began stripping off his clothes and folding them.
Patricia hadn’t been too perturbed when he’d removed his shoes, socks, and waistcoat, but when he’d kept going. A heated flush had gripped her. It was a pity the sheet of ice was in reality a polymer made of some type of clear plastic Grandpa Gard had whipped up in his laboratory. With the light settings on dim she dived for the refu
ge of her sofa, primly shedding her sandals and lying down.
Not thinking about how defined Cullen’s calves were. Did he cycle? And the sculpted lines of his back, his chest, those abs. The hours he spent swimming certainly were paying off. Who knew Cullen had such a hard, defined body under all those formal trousers, shirts and waistcoats?
Grrr, reaching down, Patricia unbuttoned her trousers and shimmied out of them. Folding the trousers she placed them on the ground, punched the cushion she was resting her head on and released a deep, frustrated sigh. The moment she closed her eyes there was Cullen again, why navy? And silk? She would have thought black more his colour, and sensible cotton ones. Not that she wasted much time ever thinking about Cullen’s underwear.
“Did you always want to be a Librarian?”
Thank Goddess, a distraction. Turning her head it was a little disconcerting to note that the sofa Cullen had chosen off to her right gave him an unobstructed view of her. That jade green gaze intense and sparkling with little pinpoints of light, reflected from the fake, magical, twinkling stars that were now spread out over the night time depicted tableau.
“Heavens, no. My first love was figure skating. I was aiming for the Olympics. But by the time I was seventeen it became apparent that was no longer a viable dream.”
“Oh?”
“I shot up, height-wise, rather abruptly. And with it came a gawky awkwardness that took me a while to overcome. By then I had lost my competitive edge. Now I only skate for my own pleasure.”
Cullen turned on his side. Damn, that was quite the view before him. Patricia Bennett stretched out on a nearby sofa, wearing nothing but a short-sleeved blouse, and white, lacy underwear. Those long, long legs bare, gleaming, looking oh-so touchable in the dim light. Her gawky days were way in the past. Remember man, you are going down the cerebral path first. Keep talking, for pity sake. “And then?”
“I decided to become an Enforcer, like my Dad.”
“An Enforcer?”
“You don’t have to say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“That incredulous tone. I’ll have you know I was a bad-ass.”
“Hold on. Are you saying you actually were an Enforcer?”
“Yes. For almost two years. Until the day I was on rotation at the Library along with my Cousin, Amos. Have you met Amos?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Probably not, they shunted him into Research and Development at SRG years ago. Thing about Amos you have to understand is that he is always poking at things, and I mean that literally, trying to figure out how they work. So we’re doing a circuit in the Vault, and Amos comes across this scroll on medieval torture that had just been acquired and yet to be catalogued by any of the Librarians.”
“I’m sensing this doesn’t go well for Amos.”
“So the Doofus unrolls it, and the next thing you know he’s screaming, blood is everywhere and the scroll is latched on to his throat like a man-eating barnacle.”
“What did you do?”
“I stood back and let the professionals do their job. Problem was, the Librarians didn’t seem to have a clue how to detach the scroll from Amos, who’s still screaming, still flailing about spraying blood everywhere. They tried coaxing it off him with wads of treated leather. Stabbed it with a silver dagger. No reaction. Other than to freak Amos out even further.”
Cullen found himself chuckling, able to readily imagine the scene Trix was describing.
“So, in my spare time, when I was assigned to the Library rotation, I had been doing some reading and I suddenly just knew what was needed to distract the scroll. So I ran to the History Wing and grabbed Father Praisbo Conetti’s diary. As soon as the scroll got a whiff, it released Amos and glommed onto the diary.”
“Conetti?”
“It’s a little known fact but the good Father was the inventor of the majority of medieval torture devices. He was, as they say, one sick puppy.”
“And just like that a career was born.” Cullen smiled.
“What about you, did you always want to be a spy?”
“You could call it a family tradition. I’m an Archer.”
Patricia’s stomach roiled, excitement making her heart race. “Of the Camelot Archers?”
“Yes.”
“I… I’ve read about your clan and their magic. How they’ve secretly aligned themselves with select ruling bodies throughout the centuries. I’d love to get access to your family’s Library.”
“Unfortunately our Library is pretty sparse. We are more oral storytellers. Can’t afford to put what we’ve done, what we’ve seen, in print. I can’t tell you the number of knees I sat on as a lad, listening to some aged relative retell some centuries old lark as they breathed hundred year old scotch fumes on me.”
“That sounds wonderful. So your family are all in the Intelligence game?”
“A few are in the field, yes. Though you’ll find the majority seeded throughout the military, the police, the London Underground administration, and a handful are highly sought after wedding planners.”
“The London Underground?”
“It’s all too often a convenient target. My family do what we can to head off any attacks.”
“And wedding planners?”
“Nothing stabilises the government, boosts the economy, and sends the Windsor’s approval ratings soaring, than a royal wedding.”
Patricia could just imagine Cullen and his family gathering for Christmas in some solemn, historic mansion. Politely swapping heroic deeds as they sipped sherry and discussed the fate of the country, like other families would discuss sports or the latest antics of the dog.
Hmm, her eyelids started to grow heavy and she suppressed a yawn. She began to wonder if Cullen wasn’t having some sort of mid-life crisis. She’d done the math, he had to be around her age, though he didn’t look a day over forty.
Being blind-sided like that, betrayed? For a man, an Archer, who saw everyone as a potential target, it would have been galling to discover he was in someone else’s crosshairs.
He had to have been a little shaken by the turn of events. Forced to leave everything and everyone he knew behind and move to the Southern Sanctuary. Discombobulating to say the least. Especially given the fact her eccentric family would have been circling from the moment he stepped inside the boundary lines of the District. Inquisitive, mostly harmless but relentless, that was her family. It was a wonder Cullen hadn’t immediately turned tail.
And joining the archery and shooting clubs. Even getting involved in the Library, it all made sense now to her. On some level Cullen was looking for distractions, so he wouldn’t have to face the no doubt gut wrenching truth that must haunt him - betrayed, targeted for death by someone he had trusted. Classic burn out signs.
Turning onto her side Patricia snuggled deeper into the sofa. Her last thought before she let sleep take over was that by ousting Cullen from the Library Annexe she was, in reality, doing him a favour. He needed to face up to his demons, not let them drive him away from the country he was quite literally destined to protect.
She had been right all along, he didn’t belong here. Hmm, and as sleep stole over her a small frown puckered her forehead as she was sucked into a frustrating dreamscape where something… someone important always remained just out of reach.
* * *
“Hey…” Patricia swallowed a yawn. “…Fen. You drew the short straw today?” She slammed her car door shut and made her way over to where her cousin was leaning against the side of his truck. “Damn, it’s early.”
“Your office was the one that booked the six o’clock start time.” Fen’s blue eyes lifted to the dark morning sky that was only just beginning to turn a slightly lighter grey.
“True. But I didn’t think that I would have to attend the inspection.”
Fen grinned, holding up his tablet computer. “Cullen was the one who pointed out the codicil of the old Charter by-law, something about having the most
senior Library representative present in order to protect the…” Fen glanced down at his tablet screen. “… Legacy of the founding of the Southern Sanctuary, what ever the hell that means.”
“It means protecting our family’s secrets. Which still doesn’t explain why I’m here since all the books and documents pertaining to our personal family history are locked away securely in the Library vault.”
Fen shrugged, pushing away from the truck. “I suspect you’ll need to take that up with Cullen. I’m just here to conduct a thorough and long overdue Fire Code Inspection. Come on.”
Patricia smothered another yawn and began to follow Fen’s broad shoulders. Honestly, she needed more sleep. The three in the morning start yesterday, when the iron shutters had all retracted, releasing her and Cullen from the History Wing. And now today’s ridiculously early morning meeting. She believed she could be forgiven for taking a few minutes to realise that this wasn’t the path leading to Cullen’s house.
“Hey, where are we going?”
“Ur, to the Potting Shed.”
“But, shouldn’t we be going that way?” Patricia pointed back towards the main house.
“I’m guessing it’s been a while since you were last here. Cullen has made some changes. Big changes. One of them was having a separate access path incorporated into the landscaping. Cuts down on our sticky beak family nosing around his house. Smart man.”
Yes, of course, that made sense. And even as the rim of the sun kissed the horizon and glimmers of pink fingers warred with dark blue, Patricia could see that a lot of effort had been put in to making the wide path leading to the Annexe a sensory feast for both the eyes and nose. Salvias, roses, hibiscus and lilies all fought for space.
She shouldn’t be surprised. It had been going on two years since she had stormed into the Potting Shed and requested Cullen cease and desist stealing her library books. Of course he would make some changes, at the very least build a few more bookcases to shelve his temporary catalogue of ‘mysteriously acquired’ books.
