by Mari Carr
After a few hours of pleasant conversation, the effects of the Scotch they’d consumed had lulled them both into a peaceful slumber, neither of them rousing until the plane touched down at Logan Airport.
Hugo stopped on the first landing of the grand staircase, the two of them stepping aside as a teacher led a group of primary school children through a tour. “We’re here as a courtesy, according to the fleet admiral. We’re to state our business, ask permission, then hope they agree to let us search for Alicia Rutherford. Given the current political climate, my strategy is to offer as little information as possible as to why we’re looking for this person, and to acknowledge that this is a favor, and we are guests.”
Lancelot nodded. “You do the talking. I’ll read the room.”
“Read the room?” Hugo was a fluent English speaker—he’d been tutored in the language since the time he was six, which gave him proficiency those who’d learned their second or third languages as adults usually couldn’t achieve. Still, he didn’t know all colloquial expressions and idioms, and Lancelot’s accent was unusual, and not at all like that of the Oxford-educated tutor who’d taught Hugo.
“You can tell a lot about people simply by watching their body language as they interact with others. While you secure their permission, I’m going to try to figure out if we can go about our investigation without having to look over our shoulders the entire time we’re here.”
“You believe you can acquire a sense of security or threat simply by watching?”
Lancelot nodded.
“A fascinating skill. I shall talk, you observe.”
Hugo continued climbing the stairs to the mezzanine. The Grand Master and her consultants planned to meet with them in a reserved conference room. Or at least that was the information England’s vice admiral, Lorelei Madden, had relayed to him.
Once they reached the small conference room, they paused, glancing at each other, communicating without words. Both of them understood the importance of this meeting. If they couldn’t secure the Grand Master’s approval of the investigation—hunt was probably a more accurate word—they would have to reevaluate the situation. Returning home without Alicia Rutherford was not an option in Hugo’s mind.
While he’d never met Juliette Adams, Hugo already preferred dealing with her anger or disapproval as opposed to admitting failure to the fleet admiral. Eric Ericsson was also known as the Viking. Though he’d only recently assumed leadership of the Masters’ Admiralty, stories about the Viking had circulated for years, and had included everything from sheep herding to berserker rages. Hugo had no interest in discovering if any of the scarier stories had validity firsthand.
Lancelot was the first to enter the room, and Hugo observed as the knight quickly scanned the area, his eyes taking in everything in the small, bookcase-lined meeting room in a moment. In deference to their audience, the longsword a knight typically wore had been left in Europe, traded out for a Bowie knife strapped to his ankle.
Lancelot glanced back at Hugo and gave him a subtle nod.
Hugo walked in, smiling genially at the three people seated behind the long table. A slight blonde woman—no doubt Juliette, the Grand Master—and two men stood as they entered. From their positions at the table, they’d set up the meeting as if they were two opposing forces meeting across the treaty table.
Eric had warned Hugo that the last meeting between the Trinity Masters and the Masters’ Admiralty had been tense, as injuries inflicted by each side had come to light. It appeared neither the Trinity Masters nor the Masters’ Admiralty had been innocent of wrongdoing, and old feelings died hard.
Juliette extended her hand. “Dr. Marchand. I’m Juliette Adams. And these are my advisors, Sebastian Stewart and Franco Garcia Santiago.”
Hugo shook her hand, gesturing to his companion. “It’s very nice to meet you, Grand Master. This is Lancelot Knight.”
Hugo saw Franco’s eyes light up with interest. “Lancelot,” he murmured. “Interesting choice.”
Lancelot tilted his head curiously, and for a moment, Hugo thought he might break his silence. Instead, he merely nodded, then crossed his arms in a way that revealed his thick, muscular biceps.
Juliette studied Lancelot as well. She assessed him coldly, as a general did a soldier, but then one eyebrow notched up slightly—there was some wholly feminine appreciation for his companion mixed in. In truth, gender had nothing to do with it. Lancelot was the most attractive man Hugo had ever seen, and Hugo was straight. Well, mostly. He didn’t believe in labels like that.
“And you are a professor,” Franco said. “In Paris.”
Hugo nodded. “Political science.”
Franco planted his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Can you get me access to the catacombs? Not a tour. Private access.”
“Perhaps I could do this,” Hugo said, slightly confused.
Sebastian held Juliette’s chair, and she took a seat.
“Then you can have whatever you want, as long as I get access to the catacombs. Oh, and a library pass to the Humanist Library of Sélestat,” Franco declared.
“C’est vrai?” Hugo blurted. He and Lancelot hadn’t even sat down yet. This was going to be far easier than he thought.
Juliette grabbed the back of Franco’s pants and yanked him down.
“No, Dr. Marchand. Please excuse my advisor.” She gestured for them to take a seat. Hugo, Sebastian, and Franco claimed chairs—Franco looking disgruntled. Lancelot did not sit.
Hugo glanced over his shoulder at the hulking man and subtly raised one eyebrow. Denying the Grand Master’s offer to take a seat was rude at best, a sign of noncooperation at worst. The two of them engaged in a wordless disagreement, but in the end, Lancelot pulled out a chair and joined them at the table.
Obviously, as a knight, he preferred to stand guard, but Hugo studied the art of politics, human nature, and the moral purposes of political association. In this instance, he felt it was best to appear conciliatory rather than confrontational. Merely arriving with a knight was enough of a statement, proclaiming we’re asking for help, but we are not weak. It wasn’t necessary to drive that point down the throats of the Americans with Lancelot looming over the table like some auburn-haired Thor.
“Your admiral Arthur has told me very little about your business here, Dr. Marchand,” Juliette said. “I hope you intend to be more forthcoming.”
Arthur was the admiral of England, and not Hugo’s admiral at all, but that was a piece of information he would not share. “Of course. First of all, I want to thank you for taking the time to meet with me. My associate and I would like permission to seek out a woman who murdered a member of our society. She fled justice by coming to America, and we believe she is, by birth, an American.”
“Murder?” Sebastian said, speaking for the first time. “That’s a very serious charge. I suppose you have proof?”
Hugo nodded. “Witnesses to the crime.”
“Who is this American?” Juliette asked.
“Alicia Rutherford.”
Juliette glanced at Franco, who shrugged, apparently less interested in a murder than his chance to get into the Paris catacombs. “Not one of ours.”
“Who is she accused of killing?” Sebastian asked.
Hugo considered Juliette’s advisors. They were diametrically juxtaposed, Sebastian questioning everything while Franco was accepting and even nonchalant.
“A man who was highly ranked within our organization. We believe they were lovers.” That was not exactly a lie, but it was an understatement. Alicia Rutherford had killed Derrick Frederick, a member of the Spartan Guard, the elite members who lived with and protected the fleet admiral. He’d been killed in an S&M club, electrocuted to death by a collar Alicia had placed around his neck.
“Lovers?” Juliette’s brows lowered. “The Masters’ Admiralty sent you here to find a woman to deal with a lovers’ spat?”
“As I said, he was highly placed within our society. It is vital th
at we find her both for the sake of justice, and because we fear she may have sensitive information about our organization.”
Sebastian and Juliette glanced at one another. Franco leaned forward once more. “What kind of information? Historical maps? Old documents?”
Lancelot and Hugo both stared at the other man. Hugo had to fight back a smile. Franco would have fit right in with his fellow librarians. In fact, Franco was starting to remind him a little bit of Josephine O’Connor, a linguist with no filter.
“No, no, no. We are more concerned with simple things, such as the security protocols of our organization, member names, and similar.”
Sebastian crossed his arms, the pose one that told Hugo he was starting to close down.
Hugo smiled genially. “I hope you understand that there are limits to what I can share with you.”
“I hope you understand that you’re still asking for our permission to conduct this investigation,” Sebastian said coldly.
“I am well aware of this, and we would never dream of taking action on your continent without your permission.” That was a full lie. Hugo and Lancelot had to find Alicia, no matter what it took.
Sebastian looked like he would say more, but Juliette put her hand on his arm.
There was a moment of silence, and then the Grand Master spoke. “You have my permission.”
“Thank you, Grand Master.”
“With a few conditions,” she continued.
“Good, yes. Catacombs access.” Franco grinned.
“I told you not to bring him,” Sebastian murmured so low to Juliette that Hugo barely heard.
Juliette’s eye twitched. “First of all, you will not interfere with the Trinity Masters in any way, so I want a daily accounting of everyone you interview.”
She nodded at Sebastian, who handed Hugo a card with an email address.
“You are here to find this Alicia, not to gather information about my society or my members. This means that once you leave the Boston Public Library, you do not return to it. You do not approach or speak to any of our members.”
“Understood.” Hugo did understand. He simply couldn’t agree. While Alicia had no ties to the Trinity Masters personally, there was one contact Hugo had been sent to question who definitely crossed into the gray area as far as association with the secret society was concerned. With any luck, Hugo wouldn’t be forced to tug on that thread. “From our preliminary investigation, we will be going to Charleston, South Carolina. This will not be a problem?”
Juliette smiled. “No. As a matter of fact, we can provide you with accommodations in Charleston. There’s a property owned by one of our members that’s used for society business.”
“We would prefer to secure our own lodging.” It was the first time Lancelot had spoken, and Hugo was curious about why the offer of a safe house was a sticking point for the knight.
“Oh, but I insist,” Juliette said with a sharp smile.
“I think we can all agree the Grand Master has made a very generous offer,” Sebastian said, his tone proving he didn’t agree with Juliette’s decision to allow them to stay in the country and search for Alicia.
Hugo looked at Lancelot and subtly shook his head. “We are grateful for your hospitality.”
Lancelot was six foot five and built like a freight train, but when annoyed, he seemed even larger. It was clear the Grand Master intended to keep an eye on them while they were here. While staying in one of the Trinity Masters’ houses wasn’t ideal, it seemed like a minor inconvenience at best.
Hugo and Lancelot started to rise, but Juliette wasn’t finished.
“If we discover you’ve lied about your motives or reasons for being here, it will be considered an act of war.”
“War?” Hugo shook his head. “A very strong word. While I assure you we have a single task—”
“War,” Juliette repeated. “I want to trust you, but I don’t.” She rose, staring down at Hugo. “Do not give me a reason to regret my actions today, Dr. Marchand.”
With all the dignity and power of a French queen, she swept from the room, Sebastian at her side. Franco mouthed “catacombs” before following them out.
Hugo waited a moment to see if they’d return, then swiveled in his chair to look at Lancelot. “That went more smoothly than anticipated.”
It was hyperbole, meant to lighten the mood. The knight who’d entered the room, serving as a testament to the might and power of their organization, sighed, then gave him a ghost of a grin. “Nothing gets the blood pumping like threats of war. Always a good start.”
“Ah, my friend, they are a start.” Hugo rose. “And now, to Charleston?”
Lancelot led the way out of the conference room. “I’m driving.”
Chapter Three
They’d rented a BMW X3 at Logan Airport. After leaving the Boston Public Library, Charlie—no, Lancelot, he needed to think of himself as Lancelot during this op—claimed the driver’s seat while Hugo plugged their destination—the Trinity Masters’ property—into the onboard GPS. They had nearly a thousand miles ahead of them. It was late afternoon and tacking a sixteen-hour drive onto the already long day that had started at the crack of dawn in London was more than either of them were up for. They agreed to put a few hours behind them before finding a hotel off the highway to rest for the night. They would finish the journey tomorrow.
“It’s a bloody big country, isn’t it?” Lancelot observed as he considered the drive. They’d eschewed the idea of flying because they wanted time to discuss the investigation in private.
Of course, travel in England was less daunting, considering a person could travel from top to bottom in less time than it was going to take them to get to South Carolina.
“Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer for me to drive? I am accustomed to driving on the right side after all.” It was the second time Hugo had made the offer.
“No, thanks,” Lancelot said. “I like a challenge.”
Hugo looked nervous. “I’ll take the next turn.”
Lancelot chuckled, enjoying the other man’s discomfiture. “We’ll see.”
While they’d stowed their luggage in the back of the vehicle, Hugo had tucked his briefcase behind his seat. Once they hit I90, Hugo twisted around to pull it onto his lap, withdrawing a manila folder.
“This is all the intel we’ve managed to gather on Alicia Rutherford.” Hugo flipped the file open. “Sadly, this information is based on her life prior to Derrick’s murder. Since then, there’s been no trace of her.”
“It seems unlikely she’d return to her home. She must know there are people looking for her.” Lancelot had foolishly made the same observation to the vice admiral, Lorelei, and gotten an earful for his efforts, starting with, “You may not be a true knight, but even so, when I give you an order, you follow it,” and ending with, “If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.”
As a security officer, he answered to England’s security minister, Lennon Giles. However, the fleet admiral had asked Lorelei to supply him with a cover story as far as his role as a knight. Mercifully, Hugo was part of the territory of France, and unfamiliar with exactly who the knights of England were. It had been unlikely the Frenchman would realize Lancelot Knight had only recently—yesterday—come into service.
Hugo sighed. “We will not, of course, walk into Alicia’s home and find her on the couch, watching television. However, if she fled England unexpectedly, perhaps she returned home, and in her rush to leave again, was unable to dismantle all records. Or perhaps she never returned home at all, in which case she didn’t have a chance to hide or destroy any sensitive information.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her,” Lancelot said. “I hope she puts up a fight.”
Hugo gave him a sideways glance. “Alicia is to be brought back to the Isle of Man for questioning.”
“Nothing says she can’t be a little busted up, mate. Her husband killed my former admiral, and given her actions in that BDSM club,
it’s safe to say his cause was hers. I want a pound of flesh.”
Hugo shook his head. “That will have to come after the fleet admiral is finished with her.”
Lancelot scoffed. “If the Viking does the questioning there won’t be anything left once he’s done. Best to get my blows in first.”
Hugo didn’t bother to disagree. They both knew that was true. What Hugo didn’t know, and would never know, was that Lancelot would probably be the one doing the questioning.
Lancelot changed lanes as Hugo started flipping through the pages in the folder. “We’ve a long drive. We might as well put the time to good use. Give me details.”
Hugo started reading directly from the dossier provided. “Alicia Angelica Moore Rutherford. Born in the American state of Vermont. An only child. Both parents are deceased. She taught at Exeter Academy, a private school in Charleston, South Carolina, for eighteen years. She married Griffin Rutherford, who was considerably younger than her, ten years ago. No details about how or where they met. Griffin was a member of the United States military, in particular a sniper in the U.S. Army. They were both believed to be members of a BDSM club near Columbia, where there is a military base.”
“Sex club. You ever been to one of those, Hugo?”
Hugo smiled. “I have no need. Frenchmen are naturally the best lovers in the world. You?”
Lancelot snorted, but grinned. “A gentleman never spanks and tells.”
Hugo laughed.
Initially, Lancelot had some reservations about this assignment, due in no small part to the fact that his partner was a civilian. A professor, for fuck’s sake. But he wasn’t stupid enough to question the fleet admiral’s orders—even if that order had been a “request.”
When Lorelei called him to finalize the details of his cover, she’d asked him to choose a knight name. It was tradition for those who became knights to take on the last name “Knight” or equivalent. In France, their last names became Chevalier.
