Reserved for Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  “Heading out?” I asked, when I reached him.

  “I was, and still am, if you’ll join me.” Gavin held out his hand. “Just a short trip out into the sound, I promise.”

  I examined his face for any sign of deception, but once again, sunglasses hid his eyes and I couldn’t read his expression. It seemed a little dangerous, getting on a boat with a comparative stranger, but … If he were to harm you, he’d have to answer to Ellen. Assuming that consequence alone was an effective deterrent to any rash action, I took hold of his hand and allowed him to help me onto the boat. My curiosity over what he had to say overwhelmed any sense of caution.

  As I stepped in, I noted the name painted across the stern of the vessel—Anna-Lisa Marie—and idly wondered if this was a reference to someone, or even multiple someones, in Gavin’s life.

  Gavin cast off the rest of the line and directed me to follow him into the covered area that held the wheel, which he informed me was called the helm, as well as other controls. Not having grown up near the water, I was fairly ignorant about boats, although I did know that port meant the left side, starboard the right side, and the front of the boat was called the bow while the back was the stern. But that was about the extent of my knowledge.

  Fortunately, Gavin seemed to know what he was doing.

  I took a seat on one of the padded benches that ran along both sides of the covered portion of the deck. “Is this yours, or a loaner from your agency?”

  “She’s all mine,” Gavin said, as he steered us away from the docks and out into Taylor’s Creek.

  “I didn’t realize intelligence officers were so well paid,” I said, admiring the beauty of the polished wood and chrome interior.

  Gavin cast me an amused glance. “They aren’t, but I live on her when I’m not working, so that makes it feasible.”

  “No other home?” I turned sideways and stared out the window before adding, “I thought maybe with that name on the stern … I mean, I wondered if it referenced someone significant in your life.”

  Focused on something on his control panel, Gavin didn’t look at me. “The name came along with the boat. I figured it meant something to the original owner, so why not keep it?”.

  “Ah, so I guessed wrong. Anna-Lisa Marie isn’t your wife or significant other.”

  Gavin fiddled with something that looked like a compass. “No, I don’t have one of those. Just a boat.”

  “Less trouble, I suppose,” I said.

  Gavin side-eyed me, his lips curving into what looked suspiciously like a smile. “Not always. She takes a lot of upkeep and doesn’t give much in return.”

  “Except this.” I swept my hand through the air, indicating the vista we could see as the boat rounded the far end of Carrot Island. Ahead, the channel opened up into more open waters, although I could still see strips of land in the distance. “What do they call this—the Back Sound?”

  “That’s correct. It lies between Harker’s Island and the Shackleford Banks, and connects to what is called the Core Sound, which separates the Outer Banks from the mainland.” Gavin cast me a glance. “It’s all the same body of water, really. It’s just been given different names in various locations.”

  “And you can sail out to sea from here, right? I did that once, on one of the sightseeing cruises.”

  “Through the Beaufort Inlet, which separates the Banks and the end of Atlantic Beach. You do need to know what you’re doing though. Currents can be treacherous there at times.” One hand still on the helm, Gavin turned to face me. “Most boaters use the intercoastal waterway to travel up the coast instead, unless they really want to put out to sea.”

  I drew in a deep breath of air, relishing the slight hint of salt. Overhead, the harsh call of seagulls broke the stillness. “The Beaufort Inlet is where they discovered Blackbeard’s ship.”

  “Right. Rumor has it he intentionally grounded it, so it wasn’t a typical wreck, although there are plenty of those scattered all over the area.”

  “That’s one good reason to maintain the Cape Lookout lighthouse, I guess.” I stared back out the window. “Are you stopping?”

  “Just slowing down so we can talk. I don’t like to use too much speed when I’m not totally focused on navigation.”

  I pressed my back against the wood paneling covering the space between the window and my seat. “You said you could give me information. I assume this is about the situation involving my great-aunt and Ellen?”

  “It has more to do with Ophelia Sandburg, but yes.” Gavin’s gaze was fixed on the expanse of water visible through the windshield of the boat. “I asked my superiors if I could share a few facts with you and, surprisingly, they agreed.” He shot me a questioning look. “There was something said about you discovering that journal last year and sharing it with them? I think that turned the tide in your favor.”

  “I actually gave it to Ellen, so I think she’s the one who deserves the credit. But I did find one of Isabella’s old coded journals in my attic. I couldn’t read it, of course.”

  “It seems one of our codebreakers could, or so I’m told.” Gavin’s hand, resting lightly on the helm, twitched. “I haven’t seen it, but apparently it contained something that clued the agency into the identity of someone they were looking for—the woman connected to a man called Leo Evans back in the late sixties.”

  “Ophelia Sandburg.” I plucked at the scoop neckline of my navy short-sleeved top. Although the moving boat provided a pleasant breeze, my neck and collarbone were damp with perspiration.

  “Right.” Gavin turned to look at me again. “I take it Ellen took it upon herself to fill you in on Ophelia’s relationship with Leo, and how she and Isabella leveraged that to their advantage?”

  “She did. She also said that she’s sorry for that now.” I frowned, trying to remember if Ellen had ever explicitly stated this. “At least, she seems to harbor genuine regrets.”

  “That’s all very well, but not the real problem.” Gavin slipped off his sunglasses and hung the frames from the pocket of his light-weight white cotton shirt. “If this was just some unfortunate past operation, I wouldn’t have been sent to Beaufort.”

  “Exactly why were you sent here? To dig up dirt on Ellen after all these years?” I tapped my sunglasses against my palm. “Honestly, that doesn’t make sense to me.”

  Gavin’s fingers tightened on the helm, blanching his knuckles. “That isn’t my mission. Water under the bridge, no matter how murky. No, I was deployed here to keep tabs on Ophelia Sandburg.”

  “To spy on her?” I fought, and failed, to keep disapproval from frosting my tone.

  Looking me over, Gavin sighed. “No, to make sure no one else was stalking her. And, if necessary, to protect her.”

  I slid to the edge of the bench seat. “Protect her? What do you need to protect her from?”

  “Someone who wants to make sure she can’t blow his cover.” A shadow clouded Gavin’s light brown eyes. “A man who wants her dead.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I leapt to my feet, allowing my sunglasses to fall from my lap and clatter to the deck. “Who in the world would want to kill Ophelia?”

  “Leo Evans, now known as Leonard Ellis-White. Who abandoned his communist sympathies, but not all his business ties to the Soviets, after the Iron Curtain fell.” Gavin grimaced. “Not to mention, once he found a way to make more money off of capitalism than espionage.”

  “He still lives in England?” I asked, as I scooped up my fallen sunglasses.

  “And has accumulated a tidy fortune in a few not-so-tidy ways.” Gavin fiddled with something near the helm. “Hold on, I’m going to stop and drop anchor while I explain this.”

  He sprinted out to the stern, where he worked something obviously connected to the anchor. Once he completed that task, he returned, telling me that we could now talk without worrying about the boat. “Of course, I’ll keep an eye out so we don’t drift too far, but it looks pretty calm out there right now,” he ad
ded, as he crossed to the captain’s chair.

  “There are a few other boats, but not near us,” I said, after a swift glance out across the water.

  “I think I can manage not to run up on any of them,” Gavin said dryly, before clearing his throat. “Now, let me try to explain the situation. But I must warn you—it’s convoluted and might be a little hard to follow.”

  “I think I can manage,” I said, earning a swift smile.

  “All right, where to begin …” Gavin gripped the back of the captain’s chair. “I imagine Ellen told you about Leo’s connection to Paul Peters?”

  “She said he was Paul’s protégé.”

  “Very true, at least at that time. But once he was recalled to England, he cut ties with Peters. I suspect Leo was angry with his former mentor for forcing him to leave.”

  “Do you think Leo truly cared for Ophelia?”

  “At the time, yes. However, he soon moved on.” Gavin met my inquiring gaze with a roll of his eyes. “He somehow managed to marry an heiress, which kick-started his financial rise. He believed in expediency and personal gain more deeply than love, it seems.”

  “If he stopped spying for Russia, why is he on your agency’s radar now?”

  “Because once you’re on it, you’re on it for life. And because he’s still engaged in business transactions with several major Russian companies. Also”—Gavin released his grip and flexed his fingers—“because his name came up amid some disturbing chatter.”

  “Something involving Ophelia, I take it.”

  “We didn’t know who the woman was at first.” Gavin circled around the chair and sat down, swiveling it to face me. “You see, Leo, or I should say Leonard, has become a person of influence in Britain. Not fame—he never sought that, for what I think are obvious reasons. But he’s mingled with the movers and shakers for many years. Long enough to make the kind of connections that might lead to something more than wealth. Something like a knighthood.”

  I tapped my chin with one finger. “The possibility of which would evaporate if anyone learned of his earlier indiscretions?”

  “Exactly. MI6, along with the U.S. intelligence communities, also wanted to make sure his current connection to Russian interests was strictly based on business, and not something more.”

  “But why didn’t they expose him earlier? They knew who he was, and what he was up to when he worked with Paul Peters.”

  “True, but he never really did anything important enough to risk burning British, or even American, double agents, which could’ve happened if we’d outed him.” Gavin leaned forward and clasped his knees with both hands. “Leo Evans was a low-level spy-in-training. He never actually achieved the rank where he was entrusted to do anything more than help Peters. Also, as I’m sure Ellen has told you, we didn’t want to expose Peters. He was more useful to us as someone to whom the U.S. could feed disinformation, courtesy of your great-aunt.”

  “I see. Not to mention, Leo’s now wealthy and well-connected, which means he has powerful friends.”

  “Right. He’s firmly established as Leonard Ellis-White, respectable businessman.” Gavin flashed me a sardonic smile. “Well, not entirely respectable, but powerful enough to maintain the façade. MI6 wouldn’t even bother, but they’ve noticed a disturbing trend in his business practices lately. A few too many contracts given to Russian companies. Throwing parties that bring together people British and U.S. intelligence would rather not see fraternizing.”

  “They’re afraid he might be up to some old tricks?”

  “Yes. Which is why they want to put a stop to his ability to wield influence.” Gavin’s smile was grim. “They could do that easily, if they could connect him to the former junior spy, Leo Evans, but that has turned out to be a difficult task.”

  “Unless someone can positively identify him,” I said thoughtfully. Meeting Gavin’s gaze, I widened my eyes. “Someone like Ophelia Sandburg.”

  “She’s the only person alive who can do so. Peters is dead, as is Isabella Harrington. Ellen Montgomery, despite working with Isabella, never actually met the guy.” Gavin swiveled his chair and checked the boat’s position before turning back to me. “It seems Ellis-White somehow learned of our interest in the former girlfriend of one Leo Evans and decided to eliminate this threat to his glorious future.”

  “You’re saying he planned to kill her?”

  “To have her killed. He wouldn’t do the deed himself, not now. But apparently he knows how to find and hire people willing to do it for him.”

  “Is that what you heard in the ‘chatter,’ as you call it?”

  Gavin nodded. “We learned of a murder-for-hire plot. We couldn’t go public with it, for obvious reasons, but no one at the agency wanted to see an innocent woman killed for the benefit of Mr. Leonard Ellis-White, Esquire.”

  “So you were sent here to bring her in and have her confirm that Evans and Ellis-White were the same person?”

  “No.” Gavin stood and paced the deck. “Honestly, I believe it’s best to keep her in the dark, for her own sake, as well as national security.” He stopped in front of me. “I was sent to Beaufort to watch over Ophelia and, if necessary, protect her from whatever harm might materialize. While some in my agency may want to tell her the truth, that was never my plan, and thankfully my superiors agreed. We have been trying to neutralize Ellis-White’s rise to power for some time, primarily because of his close ties to Russia. He seems far too interested in promoting that country’s business and political interests, and there’s some concern that he may be helping them in attempts to destabilize other nations. He’s been upping the ante lately, and consequently received a back-channel warning.” Gavin exhaled a gusty sigh. “Unfortunately, that tactic seems to have backfired.”

  “Because it drove him to hire someone to kill Ophelia, the only living witness who could link him to Leo Evans?”

  “Yes. We underestimated the lengths he would go to. Which is why I was sent here.”

  “As well as to snoop through my great-aunt’s things, it seems,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.

  Gavin cast me a rueful smile. “That was my idea. I thought since you’d found one coded journal, perhaps there were more. Something that would help us tie Ellis-White back to Leo Evans more definitively, without ever having to consider involving Ophelia, now or in the future. But unfortunately, I didn’t find anything.”

  “So while you’re here, watching over Ophelia, I assume others in your agency are working to find and arrest the assassin?” I asked, looking up at him.

  “Maybe not arrest. That isn’t really our thing,” Gavin said, with a humorless smile. “But you’re correct—I was waiting to hear that the danger had been eliminated.”

  I studied his calm face for a moment. “Or to take action if said danger appeared to be imminent?”

  “That was the plan.” Gavin ran his fingers through his curly hair. “Fortunately, I’ve been informed that the would-be killer is safely contained, and there’s no other on the horizon. Which is one reason I can now tell you this.”

  “Ophelia is safe?”

  “At the moment. We’re still endeavoring to directly tie Ellis-White to the murder-for-hire plot, which will not only effectively destroy his hopes for a knighthood, but will also ensure he doesn’t try anything like this again.”

  “You won’t arrest him?”

  “Like I said, that isn’t our thing, and we don’t want to bring in the British authorities if we can help it. No, it’s more of a secret pact, I suppose. If we let Leonard Ellis-White know we have damning evidence on him, he’ll be forced to toe the line.” Gavin frowned. “Honestly, the real hope is that he will quietly retire to his country estate and no longer participate in the affairs of big business or politics. My superiors believe they can force him to halt his interference if they hold the fact that he can be outed at any time as a former spy over his head. And, trust me, they’ll make sure he doesn’t try to harm Ophelia Sandburg again. Even a whisper of
him planning to do something like that and they will lock him up forever.”

  “I don’t know if I like that fact that he doesn’t have to pay for trying to have Ophelia killed,” I said.

  “Oh, he’ll pay. A word in the right ear and his hopes of advancing in British politics or society are dashed. He may not face prison, but he’ll be thoroughly ostracized.”

  “That still doesn’t seem fair.” I shifted on the cushioned bench seat. “Don’t you think he should pay more dearly for attempting an assassination?”

  “Do I think so? Yes. But my superiors have other plans for him. Information can be powerful leverage.”

  “They want to use him somehow.” I didn’t frame this as a question.

  “Undoubtedly. How and why, I’m not sure.” Gavin’s smile was grim. “Above my pay grade.”

  “I see. Well, I suppose as long as Ophelia is safe, I won’t worry about Leo Evans or whatever is name is now,” I said, sinking back against the wall.

  Gavin sat down on the bench beside me. “I’m leaving his sorry carcass for others to deal with. Personally, I was more concerned over the danger to Ophelia. It’s one reason I requested this assignment.”

  I side-eyed him. “You asked to be sent here?”

  “I did. As you’ve learned, my ties to the Leo Evans case go back a few years. And, although you may find it hard to believe, the idea of innocent civilians being harmed due to intelligence operations does concern many agents.”

  “Some, anyway,” I conceded, reading honesty in his eyes. “But if the would-be killer has been apprehended, won’t you be leaving town soon?”

  “Not yet. I’m waiting for word that Ellis-White has been informed of his new marching orders.”

  “Wait—does that mean you may still have to tell Ophelia the whole story in case you eventually have to ask her to identify him?” I shifted in my seat to face him more directly. “Because I think that could be quite devastating for her.”