The Librarian and the Spy

by Susan Mann

  “Why are you following us?” James’s growl was feral and frightening.

  “I’m not,” came the strangled reply.

  “Yes, you are. When we stopped, you stopped. Why are you following us?”

  When he didn’t answer, James rammed his knee into the guy’s gut. He gagged and coughed.

  “This is your last chance. Why are you following us?”

  “I was at the Bird and Baby and saw you with an old book. I reckoned I’d nick it from you and sell it for a few quid. That’s all.”

  “I don’t like it when people lie to me, mate.” James shoved the muzzle of the Sig against the man’s cheek. “Try again.”

  Quinn heard a click when James cocked the pistol’s hammer back. “I’ve got all night,” he said, adding more pressure to the man’s throat. The guy clutched wildly at James as he fought for breath. “You, on the other hand, have got thirty seconds.”

  Unintelligible noises came from the stalker.

  “You’re going to tell me the truth this time?” He eased up at the nod. “Talk.”

  The guy sucked in a rasping lungful of air before croaking, “You’re barking.”

  “And you’re dead.”

  The finality of James’s words did it. “It was my uncle,” he blurted. “He rang me and said he’d pay me to follow that professor lady around.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  James lowered his shoulder and rammed it into the stalker’s chest. “Why?”

  He expelled a weak groan. “I don’t know. I swear.”

  Quinn believed him. James must have, too, since he dropped the question and asked, “When did he call you?”

  “This past Sunday.”

  “What exactly did he tell you to do?”

  “Follow the bird around. If she met up with anyone, I was to follow them to wherever they went and report back to him.”

  “Why you?”

  “I do odd jobs for him sometimes. My mum’s always on him to help me pick up a few quid.”

  “What’s his name? Your uncle.”

  Silence.

  “What’s his name?”

  After another bout of choking, he said, “Maltman. Hamish Maltman.”

  “Who does he work for?”

  “I dunno. Some bloke by the name of Fitzgerald, Fitzroy. Something like that.”

  Quinn felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Did you tell him you saw us?” The fury in James’s voice had turned to panic.

  Silence.

  James grabbed a fistful of the stalker’s jacket, jerked him away from the wall, and slammed him against it. “Does he know about us?”

  “Yeah.” Despite the abuse he was taking, Quinn could hear the sneer in his voice. “I sent him a few snaps of the both of you from my phone.” He turned his head and spat on the pavement. “You’re a lucky bastard. That blonde you were snogging back there. She’s a looker. I wouldn’t mind taking a turn—”

  James smashed him in the face with a fist. The guy crumpled to the sidewalk.

  Quinn bolted from her hiding place and sprinted over to James. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He decocked his pistol and returned it to its holster. “We gotta secure this punk and get out of here.” He glanced up and down the street, weighing their options.

  She looked down at their stalker. He was a skinny kid with light brown hair that looked like it had been cut with a weed whacker. She guessed he wasn’t more than twenty.

  “I think you busted his nose,” she said. Quinn had the feeling the bend in it hadn’t been there a minute before.

  “Yeah, well, he’s lucky that’s all I busted.” James knelt down and rifled through the pockets of the kid’s jeans. He left the ring of keys but took the flick knife and dropped it in his coat pocket. James hauled him over onto his stomach, took his wallet from his back pocket, and checked his ID. “Ethan Burns, London.”

  In his other pocket was an Oyster card, a train ticket, and his phone. “He took the train from Paddington this morning and got here around nine. That part of his story checks out.” James stuffed the ticket and card back in his pocket and clicked on the phone. It was locked. After shoving it back into Ethan’s pocket, he jerked his head toward the courtyard and asked, “Can you help me drag him over there?”

  “Yeah. He doesn’t look very heavy.” She knelt on the other side of Ethan and followed James’s lead by hunching over, draping a limp arm around her neck, and gripping his wrist. When James counted to three, they stood. She was right. The kid was a flyweight.

  Ethan’s chin hung to his chest and his feet dragged behind him as they lugged him down the sidewalk. The black wrought-iron gate into the courtyard was locked, so they dumped him in the dark corner where the fence was secured to a short pillar.

  James opened his briefcase and took from it a pair of disposable zip-tie handcuffs. He stuck Ethan’s hands through the fence on either side of one of the metal posts and tightened the cuffs around his wrists. Ethan wasn’t going anywhere.

  Before standing, James took the small pistol from his ankle holster, pointed it at Ethan’s thigh, and pulled the trigger. A tranquilizer dart stuck up from his leg. “We don’t want him waking up and making noise before his ride comes.” He grabbed the briefcase and jumped to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  As they walked at a near jog away from Ethan, James took his phone from his pocket, stabbed at the screen with his thumb, and placed a call. “Homefront, this is Buffalo Bill,” he said, and rattled off a string of letters and numbers. “I have a guest who needs an escort to our resort. I’d like him to have the full spa package. Pickup location is the front gate of the Ashmolean Museum. Also need feeds scrubbed from that intersection and a covert protection detail for Dr. Gemma Dudley. Annie Oakley and I are on our way back to the ranch. Full report to follow.” After a brief pause, he said, “Roger that. Out.”

  He looked over at Quinn. “We need to catch that train. Are you up for double time?”

  “Always. Just don’t make me chant any cadences.”

  “Next time,” he said as they set off.

  It felt good to move and not think, to concentrate on her breathing and the sound of their boots on the sidewalk. Soon enough, her head would be flooded with questions and attempts to sort through the implications of everything that had happened that evening. Until then, she’d run.

  A few minutes later, they arrived at the train station, warm and panting from exertion. They walked straight onto the nearly empty platform to wait. James’s gaze flicked from face to face to door to bench to shadow, never resting on anything for more than a few seconds.

  Quinn found herself noticing every movement and every sound, too. What if Fitzhugh had sent men to intercept them? The idea of a shootout at the Oxford station made her a bit woozy.

  Fortunately, they only had to wait a few minutes before their train arrived. They boarded the last carriage. James led them past the compartment’s only other occupants—a couple of amorous teenagers—to the very back row of seats. That way, no one could come up on them from behind. Quinn took the window seat and James sat on the aisle.

  When the train pulled away from the station, James relaxed, but only slightly. She knew he would remain extravigilant until they were safely back in their hotel room.

  “Do we need to move to a different hotel?” she asked.

  “At this point, that’s not necessary. Fitzhugh will recognize me as someone who stole from him. He knows I—we—are in England now, but he can’t possibly know where we’re staying. And no one else is trailing us now.”

  “Are you sure? One of Fitzhugh’s men would be better at it than that little snot Ethan.”

  He bristled. “I know when someone is shadowing me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” She closed her eyes and rubbed her hands over her face, fighting to maintain her composure. Her throat tightened and she could barely speak when she whispered, “Never mind.”


  His head bowed and he heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and gently drew her close. “I shouldn’t have taken that personally. Of course you’re concerned that we’re still being followed.”

  She shifted, turning a little to nestle into his embrace. “It’s okay. It’s been a really long day.”

  “It has.”

  Neither seemed interested in discussing manuscripts or Latin or Crusaders. There would be plenty of time for that when they returned to London. Instead, they rode in comfortable silence. The movement of the train and the steady rise and fall of James’s chest calmed her.

  Quinn’s mind wandered until it tripped over something she’d heard him say earlier. “James?”

  “Hmm?”

  She turned her head and looked up at him. “Why are you Buffalo Bill?”

  His crooked smile nearly did her in. When she realized her lips were only a couple of inches from his jaw and all she could think of was kissing him, she forced herself to face forward again.

  “I graduated from the University of Colorado in Boulder,” he said.

  “That’s where you’re from? Colorado?”

  He nodded. “A Denver suburb.”

  Quinn sat forward and twisted to look at him. “Wait a second. The waitress when we went to dinner in Santa Monica. Molly. She really did recognize you, didn’t she? She said something about Colorado.”

  With an embarrassed grimace, he answered, “Yeah. I think she was in one of my classes at CU.”

  “That’s pretty funny that she knew you after all.” She settled against him again. “Buffalo Bill. Please continue.”

  “Right.” He shifted so that her shoulders were solidly resting against his chest. “CU’s mascot is the Buffaloes. Some genius at the agency thought it would be hilarious to call me Buffalo.”

  “Not Ralphie?”

  “Of course you would know the name of the actual buffalo that runs across the football field,” he said, chuckling. “And yes, Ralphie was floated. I got them to compromise and call me Buffalo Bill. It helped I could claim there’s a Buffalo Bill museum not too far from where I grew up.”

  “I think buffaloes are pretty majestic, although technically they’re bison.”

  “Of course you know that, too. Also, they’re shaggy and smell bad.”

  “Yeah, there’s that. I guess I’m Annie Oakley because she was in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show?”

  “Mmm-hmm, but it’s mostly because I bragged about your gun-handling skills in a report, and word got around fast.”

  She looked up at him again. “People at the agency know about me?” Of course Aldous Meyers, James’s superior, knew about her, as did the brass that had approved of her accompanying James to England. It was weird to think that she’d shown up on anyone else’s radar.

  “They do.”

  “But you’ve never even seen me fire a weapon. I might be a terrible shot.”

  He snorted. “You may not be able to do all the trick shots Annie Oakley did, but you’re still the daughter of a Marine, a Marine who taught you how to shoot.”

  “True.” Mollified, she faced forward again.

  An easy quiet fell over them. Now that the adrenaline was gone, she felt like a wrung-out dish towel. She stared trancelike out the window at the darkness.

  “Quinn?”

  “Hmm?”

  “We need to talk about what happened earlier.”

  “You’ll have to be a little more specific than that.”

  He sighed. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. I mean when we stopped and I kissed you.”

  “Ah.”

  “Maybe I should have handled it differently. It’s just that I knew I’d only get one chance to make a first impression and I wanted to make a good one.”

  Heat crawled up her neck and spread across her cheeks. “Yeah, um, you definitely did that. Made a good first impression, I mean.”

  “That’s good to know. And in case you were wondering, so did you.”

  Now her entire head flamed hot. She wondered if he noticed the crimson scalp under her blond hair. “I’m glad.”

  “But as amazing as it was, the thing is—”

  “We need to put the brakes on. We’re deep into this op and need to stay focused.” Not to mention the temptation of engaging in a hot and heavy make-out session in a hotel room.

  “Yeah. Are you okay with stepping back to where we were three hours ago?”

  “Sure, as long as you and me sitting like this is okay.”

  “This is definitely okay.” After a moment, he said, “Who knows? If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll be followed again soon.”

  She giggled. “Fingers crossed.” She fiddled with a button of her overcoat and said, “It’s too bad you’re sure we don’t have someone tailing us right now.”

  He rumbled a low growl and his arm squeezed her tight. “You know, now that you mention it, I’m not so sure after all. I think those teenagers a few rows up turned around and looked at us a minute ago.”

  She was pretty sure they had never once even come up for air. That wouldn’t stop her from playing along, though. “They do look pretty dangerous.”

  His lips grazed her ear when he whispered, “We need to take evasive action in the face of this credible threat.”

  Every inch of her body tingled. “Who am I to argue with a professional?” She twisted, slipped her hand behind his neck, and pressed her lips to his. Their first kiss had been unexpected and confusing and powerful. The deliberate, slow burn of this kiss was equally thrilling.

  The urge to intensify it swelled. She angled her head and deepened the kiss.

  The arms cinched around her rolled her body into his.

  His mouth slid from hers and left a trail of kisses along her jawbone to her ear. He kissed the sensitive spot behind her earlobe and smiled against her skin when she softly purred.

  She was so engulfed by James she didn’t notice when the train stopped at the next station.

  The doors slid open and at the first sound of boisterous laughter, James tensed and lifted his head. She looked up and watched the four twentysomething men who boarded flop into seats three rows ahead.

  James shot Quinn an apologetic smile. “Duty calls.” His eyes darted between her to the new passengers.

  “I understand.”

  He made no move to release her from his embrace and she had no intention of pulling away. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  An unexpected sense of peace fell over her. Perhaps it came from the knowledge they were safe, if only for a little while, isolated on a train rolling across the dark English countryside. Perhaps it was the security of knowing a highly skilled CIA operative watched over her. Perhaps it was knowing the man she cared for deeply felt the same way about her. Whatever the reason, she embraced the momentary tranquility, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The train jerked to a stop. Quinn woke, lifted her head, and groaned.

  James rubbed her back. “Come on, sunshine. We’re at Paddington. Time to go.”

  She yawned and rubbed her eyes. She grabbed her bag, exited into the aisle behind James, and stumbled along toward the open doors.

  They strode away from the train and toward the escalators to the Underground. James went into full spy mode again, his body tense and his gaze continuously sweeping the area as they walked. Quinn found herself doing the same, scanning the station, taking mental snapshots of the faces they encountered and noting the different escape routes available in any given area.

  Once they were speeding along in the Tube, Quinn finally spoke. “Level with me, James.”

  He glanced at her, eyebrows lowered.

  “Did I snore?”

  He smiled. “Nah, although you were breathing pretty loud.”

  “Kill me now,” she groaned and dropped her head back against the window with a clunk.
/>   “Don’t worry. I enjoyed being your pillow.”

  “I have to admit getting a nap in was nice,” she answered. “So we start on the manuscript as soon as we get back to the hotel?”

  “Not exactly. After I write up a quick report and check to make sure our friend Ethan got a ride to the resort, I’m going to work on the manuscript. You’re going to bed.”

  “What?” Her head snapped toward his. “That’s crap.”

  “It’s not crap,” he replied evenly. “It’s been an incredibly long day and you need to get some sleep.”

  “Yeah, and I will. Eventually. But right now, we need to figure out what’s going on with that manuscript and it needs to happen sooner rather than later.”

  “Right. That’s what I’m going to do.” He was clearly baffled as to why she was so animated.

  “So am I.” She ground her teeth. “I’m not eight, James. I’m a grown woman. I take care of myself—have been for years now. I don’t need you to tell me when to go to bed.”

  He stared up at the ceiling and blew out a breath in exasperation. “I understand that. I’m just looking out for you.”

  “I know. And I’m telling you that’s my job, not yours.” The edge in her tone was sharp.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and practically drilled a hole in the floor where he pinned his glare.

  The announcement came over the loudspeaker informing them they were approaching Earl’s Court.

  The second the doors slid open, Quinn stomped out of the car and charged full steam ahead toward the stairs and the way out. James loped up next to her and gripped her by the elbow. She stiffened, but allowed him to bring her to a stop. When they started to walk at a normal pace, he said, “You’re right. I was out of line telling you what to do and I’m sorry. I’ll try not to do it again. But I won’t stop looking out for your physical safety.”

  Her stomach dropped. She glanced up at him, his face strained and his eyes darting about. In her irritation, she’d blindly stormed off, completely unaware of her surroundings. Chagrined, she replied with a soft, “Okay. I’m sorry, too. I wake up grumpy from naps.”