After retrieving a sheet of paper, she had painstakingly copied each detail of the message then, after completing her shift, returned to her flat, lost in a world of contradictions.
Her mind shifted to Thomas. Thomas who had shown her such unexpected kindness. Thomas who still loved his son. The words he had spoken just before she had left him in London drummed through her mind without reprieve.
“No matter what Malcolm does, he is my son, and I will always love him. Disowning him was for his own good. I hope you know that.”
Leila sighed as she traced the last letter on the paper in her hand then kneaded her temples with the balls of her thumbs. Who truly was the victim in this war?
The papers claimed that, after four weeks of fighting, over thirty thousand German troops had been killed. While this thought disturbed, even angered her, Leila had to admit that her country had started this conflict. The Allied forces were fighting to defend their homes and protect their overseas interests. Were they not the ones to be pitied?
“Fifty-nine thousand.” A lump swelled in her throat. She glanced at the paper.
Gas will be used again. Haber will soon go to Eastern Front. Chlorine to be used against Russians. Be warned.
Underneath she had scrawled the words, “The mole in Berlin is a man close to Haber.” If the German High Command knew that the Allies were ready for a gas attack in Galatia they might alter or even abort Haber’s mission. But then—
Leila froze as a soft scratching sound reached her ears. Someone’s outside my door.
Instantly, she tossed a pillow over the note, flipped off the flashlight and rolled smoothly off the bed, landing lightly on her knees before the table. She quietly slid the drawer open, reached for her Luger and screwed on its silencer—Werner’s one gift to all his agents.
Leila closed the drawer, willing her heart to be still. Like a shadow, she felt her way through the room to the wall nearest the door... and waited. She cocked the pistol just as a soft click filled the room and the door swung tentatively open with a slow creak.
She stilled her breathing.
A shape shifted in the darkness, stepping into a small swath of moonlight that penetrated the closed blinds along her window. Leila’s eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of a man’s profile. In a smooth motion, he eased the door closed behind him.
He shifted forward, and she thrust herself away from the wall, pressing the gun hard against the back of his skull. “The next step you take will be your last.”
“Hello, Annabel. Or perhaps I should call you... Leila. It is good to see that you are quite vigilant.”
She blanched, not only because he knew her name but because he had spoken to her in German! She stepped back, keeping the gun trained on him and fumbled for the lamp near her bed.
Light flooded the room. A tall, blond-headed man dressed in the khaki uniform of a British trooper peered down at her with a smug smile plastered over his pasty features.
“Charles!” Recognition flooded her. This was the agent she had met that fateful night outside the bar.
“Yes, it’s me—”
“English.” The man was a fool to even whisper in German. And in London of all places! “If you’re overheard we’ll both be shot before dawn.”
“Of course.” He dipped his head. “I’ve been in the office too long.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Your husband was quite vocal the last time we met. He shouted it several times the last time we met... and kissed.” He squinted at the gun which was still pointed between his eyes. “Is that really necessary?”
Leila arched an eyebrow. “You break into my flat in the middle of the night and expect me to trust you?”
Shrugging, Charles dropped onto her bed and leaned against the headboard, squaring an ankle over his knee. “It was the only way I could speak with you.”
“About?”
“Orders from Berlin.”
“Which are?” Leila tightened her grip on the gun.
“The hunter wants you to assassinate Thomas Steele.”
Silence swelled in the room, a silence broken only by the sound of her pulse hammering in her ears.
“What?”
His words made no sense. She knew who the hunter was but why would Werner want Thomas dead?
“You... are to kill Thomas Steele.” Charles’s voice lost its charm. He thrust himself off the bed, looming over her and, with a wary grimace, Leila backed away. He was a well-muscled man whose build reminded her eerily of her late husband.
“W-why?” She lowered the gun, disoriented. An image of the oversized dress Thomas’s maid had purchased flew through her mind. It was followed by a memory of his invitation to stay. Thomas had put her welfare above his own reputation. Kill him? The very thought made her sick.
“Why?” Charles sniffed. “Strange question for a loyal spy to ask.”
“You doubt me?” Leila jutted her chin, nostrils flaring.
Charles did not answer. “Do you accept your mission?”
She hesitated, and Charles pounced on her indecision. “You question your orders?” He moved toward her, face flushed, hands bunching into hammers at his sides.
“N-no.” Leila retreated again, aware that she had spoken more forcefully than she had intended. “But... this is rather sudden. My orders were to infiltrate the home, which I have done.”
“And now your orders have changed. You are to assassinate him. For the good of the Fatherland.”
Leila’s eyes slammed shut. At the beginning of her mission, she wouldn’t have hesitated. But now...
Malcolm. If she carried out Werner’s orders, no reconciliation would be possible. His last memory of his father would be a bitter parting. And if he somehow learned that she was responsible?
A shudder swept through her. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?” Her eyes flew open.
“Either you have grown hard of hearing, Leila, or your feelings for your husband’s family have clouded your judgment. In either case, your usefulness to the Fatherland has expired.”
Her blood turned to ice. “What do you mean?”
Scowling, Charles stormed over to her bed and pulled back the pillow, exposing the decoded message. “Ah... I thought I saw you hide something.”
“Leave that.” Her voice was shrill.
“Why?” Charles picked up her translation and scanned it. “Is there something here you don’t want me to know? Something... you don’t want Department 3B to know?”
Panic ripped through her. Charles would report the contents of the message to Werner. Once Werner gained that knowledge, London’s one source close to Haber would be compromised. He would be as good as dead.
“The mole is a man close to Haber.” Charles’s eyebrows hiked together. “This is excellent work. Werner will be pleased with this, at least.”
He glanced up at her then shoved the note into his pocket. “You were, of course, going to send us this information tonight.”
“Of course.” Leila blinked several times, forcing a smile onto her face.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’re accusing me of lying?” She forced herself to breathe evenly.
Charles stalked closer, arm thrust forward. “Surrender your weapon, Annabel. You will come with me to Berlin and answer Herr Werner’s questions in person.” He paused and leered at her, then loosened the top buttons of his uniform. “But the night is young and there is no need to hurry.”
Leila shrank back, jerking the weapon up again. “You’re mad, Charles!”
“The gun.” His voice was terse. Dangerous. “Now!” Before she could move, he grabbed her wrist and twisted it to one side.
In an instant, the years melted away. She no longer stood in a stuffy apartment in London but on the balcony of her apartment in Indonesia, her back against the low railing. A sick feeling of helplessness coiled like a snake in her stomach as she glanced over her shoulder only to see th
e dizzying drop below. There was nowhere left to run.
It was her husband who clamped thick fingers on her wrist, the rancid stench of stale beer on his hot breath assaulting her nostrils.
“No!” She writhed in his grasp. “Y-you’re dead. I-I left you for dead!”
“Dead?” His eyes, red and bleary, squelched together as he leered at her. “You’ll never be rid of me.”
Leila wrenched free and the burst of pain that followed snapped her back to the moment. It was Charles, not her husband, who glared at her. She glared back, chest heaving. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You disobey orders?” He stormed toward her, only pulling up short when she whipped the gun forward and pointed it at his chest.
“Back off!”
“Werner himself has sent me.” Charles thrust his hands into his large pockets and took a few cautious steps backward, eyes glued on the gun. “If you are loyal, you have nothing to fear.”
“Nothing except you.” She licked her lips, struggling to regain control of her jagged emotions. “I have not betrayed my country.” Not yet, anyway.
“Then why do you hesitate?”
“I—” What can I say? To explain that she loved Malcolm would be tantamount to treason. To admit that assassinating Thomas was impossible was equally unthinkable. Leila glanced down, and in that moment, Charles jerked a pistol from his pocket and threw himself to one side.
Leila acted on instinct.
Pft! Pft!
The thin waft of smoke that curled from her gun’s muzzle, cleared to reveal a prostrate Charles, slumped against the wall with two neat holes in his chest.
Panting, Leila stared at him in breathless horror, pulse hammering in her temples. She rushed over and pulled the weapon from his slack hand. “God, what have I done?”
His vacant eyes stared up at her and a thin stream of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. She pressed her fingers against the side of his throat, seeking a pulse, but could find none.
Charles was dead.
Traitor. The gun in her hand clattered to the ground and Leila scooted away from the body on all fours, every muscle quivering. You’re cursed, Leila. Cursed. She mouthed her grandmother’s oft-repeated words, agreeing for the first time in her life. “I’m cursed.”
Charles was an agent of Germany’s most redoubtable espionage force. When he did not return, Werner would suspect foul play. He would turn over every stone looking for her and would not rest until she was face to face with a German firing squad.
Think Leila. Sucking in a deep breath, she wiped her hands on her lap, unable to tear her eyes away from the body. Treason. By killing one of her own, she had turned her back on her own country. No one would believe the truth. No one would accept that Charles’s aggression had revived a deep scar from her past. No one would understand that she had reacted without thinking. That she had feared that this man, like her husband, wanted to murder her in cold blood.
Leila frowned as she shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. As she did so, her glance fell again on the silenced gun that she had taken from his hand. Charles had meant to kill her. Even if she had gone with him to Berlin, the suspicion of disloyalty would inevitably have meant her death. Werner would never trust a spy who could be treasonous. What was it Charles had said?
“Your usefulness to the Fatherland has expired.” Her voice was flat. Accepting. A useless spy was a dead spy.
Leila pushed herself upright. In a sense, killing Charles had eased the conflict in her soul. His death had severed the strongest ties that bound her to the Fatherland. There would be no more nights spent in sleepless worry about whether Malcolm was lying stiff on the ground because of what she had done. If he died, she would grieve, but at least her conscience had a chance to survive the conflict.
She grabbed a small suitcase and stuffed it with a few belongings as a plan began to crystalize in her mind. The silencer had prevented her neighbors from hearing the gunshots, but she could no longer stay here. It would be the first place Werner would send his agents once he learned that Charles was dead. She would have to live on the run, staying one step ahead of Werner... until the end.
As a spy, she intentionally didn’t have many clothes. In the event of a hurried departure, she needed to always be ready to move. Leila rammed her bare feet into her boots, snatched up her bag and glanced about the room. The only thing out of place was the corpse which sprawled in the corner. Moving the body was not an option so she left Charles where he lay. The landlord would find the body within a day or two but by then she would have disappeared. Locking the door from the inside, she threw the keys to the flat onto the bed.
Leila licked her lips once more, opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. That room contained her old life. She was about to shut the door on her past. She swallowed and, with a sigh, pulled hard on the handle.
“So much for that.”
Leila took long-legged strides toward the main road where she might still catch a cab. Killing Charles left only one path open, one road on which she could safely walk. Only one man could offer the sanctuary she needed but obtaining his protection would be impossible without a full confession.
Her lips flattened as she stepped further into the darkness. She could hear Orma’s voice slithering through the night air like a phantom. It’s the bad blood, child. You’ll never escape it.
She swallowed. Orma had been right. All her efforts to flee the family curse had only entangled her in a net from which there was no escape. So, she would accept the truth that she had foolishly thought she could escape. She had betrayed her country once and now, she had no choice but to do so again.
Tossing her head, Leila squared her shoulders and marched forward, ignoring the pain that ripped through her heart. She was a Durand, after all. Betrayal was in her blood.
Chapter 21
Northshire, Great Britain. April 1915
“Do you want to get off at the top of the hill?”
Leila did not answer. Her eyes were focused on the distant spires of Northshire Estate.
“Are you deaf?” The cabbie leaned over and bellowed in her ear.
“I-I’m sorry, what?”
He rolled his eyes. “I thaid, do you want me to let you off here again?”
“Yes. Yes. Thank you.” She laid her hand on the door handle.
“Ith broad daylight.” His forehead crinkled as he slanted her a suspicious glance. “No children thleeping now. A little thrange if you ask me.”
Instead of answering, Leila fiddled with her purse and handed him his fare. What were the odds that she would be saddled with the same crabby old codger that had driven her to Northshire for a second time? Then again, it had taken hours to even find a cab. In this time of war, he was probably the only one around.
She braced herself, remembering her last experience, and slammed her shoulder into the door then darted to the back of the car to retrieve her suitcase.
“You’re thaying for a long time?” The cabbie craned his neck over his shoulder.
“My friend is sick.” The lie slipped smoothly off her tongue. “That’s why I don’t want you driving me up to the house. It could be cholera.”
The cabbie blanched. “Cholera! Why didn’t you thay that before? Off with you! Off!”
He slammed his feet against the gas pedal and, with a screech of tires and a spray of gravel, he swung the groaning car around and sputtered off downhill.
With a sigh, Leila turned to face the distant castle. The last time she had crested this hill, moonlight had given an almost magical quality to the entire valley. Now, foreboding clouds loomed ominously over the horizon, blotting out the weak light of the sun. A stiff breeze whipped her coat tight against her thin body, blowing tendrils of blond hair into her eyes. Somewhere in the distance, a peal of thunder broke the stillness of the afternoon air. A storm was coming to the valley. She was bringing it to Northshire’s very gates.
Leila’s stomach clenched. What wo
uld Thomas do when he learned she was a German spy? By rights, he should hand her over to his government. If so, she would be tried and executed. The spy hysteria that swept the nation had not eased.
But she had no alternative. She had no money to flee the country and it was only a matter of time before Werner discovered what she had done.
She shuddered more from the thought of the hunter on her trail than from the blowing wind. Once Jaëger began his chase, there would be no safe hiding place. Her eyes lifted again to the spires of Northshire.
Thomas alone might be powerful enough to smuggle her out of the country. He had the wealth, influence, and the connections to see that it was done discretely. Her only hope of salvation lay in him but first she would have to admit her guilt.
But will he want to help me? Why should he? Helping her could be misconstrued as aiding the enemy, a crime that carried deadly consequences.
Run! Every fiber of her being, every facet of her mind rebelled at what she contemplated. But there was nowhere to run. She was a victim of circumstances, caught in an inescapable trap. Death lurked outside of Northshire’s gates and judgment waited within. Thomas could either save her or condemn her at his whim.
A clap of thunder ripped through the heavens, echoing the pounding in her chest. Lightening forked overhead, blazing white against the darkening sky.
Leila gripped her suitcase in a sweaty palm and took her first step on the long road that led to the castle. Cold drops of rain, thick and heavy, spattered her face and rolled down her collar. The storm was here.
THOMAS STARED INTO the flames that flickered within the hearth of his study, elbows propped on the armrests of a chocolate-colored leather-backed chair and his fingers splayed against his smooth chin. Outside, the heavens hurled ropes of rain against the large, open windows.
He started as the voice of thunder rolled across the gloomy sky then rose and made his way to the window. For several moments he stared out across the rain-soaked acreage that made up his great estate, lost in silent reverie.
Malcolm was out there. Somewhere, on the battlegrounds of France, no doubt drenched in the same rain that fell on Northshire, his son was learning what it meant to be a man. His mother would have been beside herself with worry if she were still alive.
In the Shadow of Your Wings Page 20
