by Kate Breslin
Vilar paused with the money in hand. “There is no ten o’clock train, Lieutenant.”
Colin stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“The train for Barcelona . . . it leaves at nine o’clock each morning. The next one does not depart until this afternoon.”
So Petit had lied. Colin didn’t know why he should be surprised. “Get me the taxi. I’m going to the station anyway.”
Ten minutes later, Colin arrived at the terminal to discover the innkeeper was correct—the train left at nine, not at ten as Petit had led him and Johanna to believe. The timetables were clearly posted on the wall next to the ticket office, so the American could hardly claim a mistake.
Colin was also devastated to confirm that a couple fitting Johanna and Petit’s description had boarded the early train.
Guilt and despair pummeled him all the way back to the inn. Johanna had left him. Colin had overstepped the boundaries of gentlemanly behavior, and with Jewel’s sister, no less.
But why had Petit tainted his coffee? If the man had been at the hotel last night, had Johanna met up with him when she returned from the beach?
Despite Colin’s distrust of Petit, Johanna seemed to think him helpful. Ha! But . . . what if she had expressed to him her desire to get away from Colin?
He wouldn’t put it past the crazy American to drug him in order to ensure their escape.
Colin was in a foul mood by the time he returned to the hotel. Upon reaching the stairs leading to his room, he abandoned the idea and instead headed for the quay and the sandy shores of the Mediterranean.
On the beach, he stared out at the water sparkling beneath the morning sun. Over and over his mind taunted him with the memory of last night’s kiss and of holding Johanna in his arms. Then rose an image of her traumatized face when she pushed him away and stumbled off, clearly wishing to be far from his company.
He trekked north along the shore’s edge, as though he could distance himself from his thoughts. Vaguely he noted the incoming tide, the rhythmic waves rushing toward him, but only after a splash of seawater doused his boots did he pause and look down.
Last evening those waves had interrupted their kiss.
Again images crowded his mind: the two of them huddled together, their kiss warm and tender, quickly turning into desire. Not thinking, only feeling as Johanna’s fervor matched his own . . .
Colin compared the precious memory with her reaction afterward, and his pulse sped. She had responded to him, most eagerly in fact. Could her distress have been due more to embarrassment than to anger, as though she had also wrestled with her conscience?
His hope flared. Perhaps it was her guilt and not an aversion to him that prompted her to go with Petit. It made sense; the woman they had both betrayed with that wondrous, forbidden kiss was Johanna’s own sister.
But would Johanna simply leave him here without so much as a note?
She wouldn’t. Thinking back to her impassioned speech of last night, Colin realized it wasn’t the first time Johanna had spoken her mind to him, nor was she a woman to cower off without a word, especially after dragging him all the way here from Britain to help her.
She would have offered him something: a word, a letter. So why hadn’t she?
Uneasiness settled over him as he resumed his walk along the beach. Petit had lied about the train, and he’d tainted Colin’s drink—twice. He was also a suspect in the incident with the diary back in Toulouse. The man was not to be trusted.
A sudden thought struck Colin, and his pulse accelerated. What if Petit’s motives had nothing to do with the current situation between Colin and Johanna?
Perhaps Petit never intended for Colin to accompany them south.
The disturbing thought quickly gave way to another, and his gut tightened. Was Johanna in any kind of trouble? Colin knew next to nothing about the American, other than what the man had told him. Petit hadn’t even been willing to show his passport.
Colin’s alarm hovered on the edge of fear as he paused near the pier and glanced at his watch. The train for Barcelona wouldn’t depart for hours. Even if he traveled south, how would he find either of them in such a metropolis?
He stared unseeing toward the fishing boats offshore, his mind working. There must be something he could do.
Lacourt. He would send the Frenchman a telegram.
With his new call to action, Colin turned to walk back toward the quay. Already he’d traveled some distance. He intended to inform the Frenchman about Johanna, and since Lacourt and Petit were friends, or at least acquaintances, perhaps find out how to contact the American in Barcelona.
Nearing the quay, Colin was still planning his strategy when he spied a man approaching from the opposite direction of the beach. The stranger wore dark clothes and walked with his head down, so Colin could see only his hat—the same one worn by the man who had collided with him at Le Bibent in Toulouse.
Colin narrowed his gaze. Was he being followed?
As if reading his thoughts, the stranger glanced up at him, and then rushed at a half run toward the quay. Colin took up the chase as both men struggled against the loose sand to reach the concrete seafront.
Back on hard ground, the stranger took off at a run. Colin did the same, and as he closed the distance between them, he again sensed the man in front of him was Captain Weatherford. Colin had only met the captain twice in London, but this man’s height, the breadth of his shoulders, even his loping gait seemed familiar.
His quarry turned left at the corner of Passeig de la Sardana. Colin followed in time to see the man move past Vilar’s hotel toward the next block. The stranger paused, darting another look at him before making a hard right onto Carrer de la Unió.
Colin arrived at the corner and caught sight of the mysterious man disappearing down an alleyway beyond the street. He continued pursuit, grateful for the strength he’d regained during the months working with his uncle on the farm.
Eyes on his target, Colin sprinted through the maze of narrow streets, passing colorful laundry strung from second-story windows and wide-eyed children pausing in their game of hopscotch to watch the two men rush by.
After running past a small café, Colin turned onto another side street and halted in front of a shop where an old woman sat outside mending fishnets. Chest heaving, he scanned the line of storefronts and flats but saw only the woman. He’d lost his quarry.
Exhausted, he lowered his head and retraced his steps to the hotel.
He spotted the innkeeper at the desk. “Have you got paper?”
Senyor Vilar produced several sheets from beneath the desk. He also handed Colin his change and a receipt for the rooms. “Are you planning to leave on the afternoon train to Barcelona, Lieutenant?”
“I’m not certain.” He hesitated. “I need to send a telegram. It will depend on how quickly I receive a response.”
Upstairs, Colin crafted his message to Lacourt using the same encryption as Hastings, knowing the agents at the château in Vernon could decipher the code. Next he wrote to Jack Benningham in London, advising of his delay in returning to Britain. Before ending the telegram, he added the cryptic note, Believe to have found your best man.
Colin paused over the words. While he’d sensed the man in the hat was Marcus Weatherford, he still couldn’t fathom why the captain would run from him like some criminal. Surely he would have recognized Colin and remembered his injury.
In the end, he left the words intact. There was more that Colin didn’t understand about this trip than anything that made sense.
After Senyor Vilar directed him to the local post office, Colin dispatched both messages, then took his lunch at a small café near the establishment. Seated outside on the terrace, he continued to survey the streets for the man in the felt hat.
The afternoon wore on, and Colin’s apprehension over Johanna’s departure with Petit increased. He hovered near the post office, checking back a few times in the hope of receiving Lacourt’s reply.
That night as he lay in bed, Colin thought about Jewel and his all-too brief conversation with her before their hasty departure from Toulouse. Then he considered Petit’s trickery and Johanna’s abrupt leave-taking.
Was this mission truly God’s purpose for him . . . or was Colin merely trying to appease his guilt for leaving behind the woman who had once saved him? Jewel didn’t seem to want him anymore, and Johanna had left without even a word. Was she safe with Petit and glad to be rid of Colin . . . or was she in danger?
Weary from the day’s chase and overcome by his unanswered questions, Colin rolled over and closed his eyes. His last waking thought was to pray that Lacourt would shed some light on his bleak situation.
CHAPTER
21
BARCELONA, SPAIN, APRIL 18
Jo sat fuming beside the open window in her room at Barcelona’s Coloma Hotel as she waited for Petit’s return. She’d told him she wanted to go with him to meet the afternoon train from Portbou, but he’d claimed a meeting with his superiors and insisted he would retrieve Colin afterward and bring him back to the hotel.
She continued scanning the promenade below. The sun’s afternoon rays filtered through the green leaves of the plane trees lining either side of La Rambla, the city’s busiest boardwalk, while women in dark skirts and bright blouses sold fresh blooms of red carnations, purple heather, and pink lantana from their carts. Jo saw street artists seated with their easels, paints, and charcoal creating scenes of the famous Barcelona landmarks, or sketching the likeness of any tourist willing to sit for a portrait.
On the other side of the street, several black-jacketed waiters dashed back and forth serving the crowded terraces outside their cafés. Jo breathed in the delicious aromas of Catalan cuisine, and her stomach growled. Where was Petit?
Unable to sit any longer, she rose from her seat and walked to the nightstand beside her bed, where a brass clock revealed the time as just minutes after four in the afternoon.
Beside the clock stood a slim candlestick telephone. Jo picked it up and lifted the receiver, waiting a few seconds before a male voice came on the line. “Front desk. How may I assist you?”
Jo was grateful the hotel staff spoke French. “This is Madame Mabry in room 320. Can you tell me if the afternoon train from Portbou is running late?”
There was a pause before the clerk came back on the line. “The train arrived on schedule over an hour ago, madame. May I help with anything else?”
“No . . . thank you.” She frowned as she hung up the telephone. Why hadn’t Petit returned? Was Colin with him . . . or had he decided to stay in Portbou a while longer?
A worry she’d been nursing all day rushed forward. What if Colin was dangerously ill . . . and she’d left him there?
The guilt and longing that robbed her of sleep had continued to haunt her throughout most of the day. Not only did she feel bad for running off and leaving Colin, but Jo knew he and her sister must arrange for a time to talk.
Jo was still fretting over him when a knock sounded at her door.
Relief washed over her. Finally they had arrived. “A moment, if you please!”
She cast a quick glance toward the en suite bath the luxury hotel afforded, grateful to have a room in which to hide her pigeon. Giving her cheeks a pinch, Jo tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear as she strode for the door.
Pausing, she took a deep breath before she opened it—and was startled to see a woman in black standing on the other side.
“Johanna?”
Jo nodded, unable to find her voice.
The woman’s soft French accent floated to her from behind the dark veil. “I am Jewel. May I come in?”
“Jewel.” Stunned, Jo’s head moved up and down woodenly as she stepped aside and allowed her sister to enter. Graceful, like a beautiful wraith in black, she glided inside to stand in the middle of the room.
When Jo and Petit arrived in the city, they had intended to follow Kepler and her sister from the train station. However, with so many people disembarking and others waiting to get on the trains, they’d lost the pair in the crowd.
Now, as Jo stood staring at the slender woman garbed in mourning, she noted Jewel’s height, a little taller than herself. The matching silver ring Colin had mentioned glinted on a chain around her neck.
Mesmerized, she closed the door and finally managed to speak. “I . . . cannot believe you are really here. I’ve waited so long.”
“I have just learned about you, but I am . . . oh, I am feeling beyond joy at this moment!” Emotion filled her voice. “Colin said you knew nothing about me until you found my diary at Havrincourt. Is that so?”
Jo nodded, her gaze once again dropping to the silver ring dangling from the chain. Her chest tightened with emotion. It had been such a long time since she’d had a family. Tears suddenly blurred her eyes, and she cleared her throat. “May I see you?”
“Of course, please forgive me. I think perhaps I have been in mourning too long.” She reached with gloved hands to remove the black veil.
Seeing the golden-blond hair so much like her own and the warmth in her sister’s powder blue eyes broke the floodgates of Jo’s emotion. She crumpled into tears. “Sister.”
Jewel started to cry as well, and she reached with outstretched arms as Jo rushed into her embrace.
“I am so happy to meet you at last.” Jo’s choked whisper came out muffled against her sister’s shoulder.
“And you, ma chère.” Her sister’s voice trembled. “When Colin t-told me about you, I was so overcome. . . .”
They held each other a long moment, gently rocking back and forth until Jo pulled away and wiped at her eyes. She observed her sister’s tear-streaked face. Her nose was a bit more curved than she’d imagined, and the rounded face, much like Colin had described. Jewel seemed to glow with health. “You are beautiful.”
Her sister smiled through her tears. “And so are you, Johanna.”
Jo smiled, her excitement and curiosity overriding her emotion. “Please, come and sit down! I want to know everything. How did you find me?”
Jewel’s lovely features creased with uncertainty. “I cannot stay long, Johanna. I managed to slip away from Monsieur Outis only long enough to see you.”
“Is he holding you against your will?”
“Sometimes it feels that way.” Jewel flashed a weary smile before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I saw you at the train station with the tall man, that porter from the hotel in Toulouse. When I noticed your pretty golden hair . . . well, I had a feeling you were Johanna.”
“You saw me? Mr. Petit and I tried to find you but lost you among all those passengers.”
“Leave it to chance!” Jewel laughed. “In fact, chance was again in my favor when we checked into the same hotel. I happened to see your signature in the register as Madame Colin Mabry and knew my hunch had been correct. You are my sister, Johanna.” Smiling, her face took on a look of bemusement. “But where is Colin? And why are you here with that hotel porter?”
Jo didn’t think she should divulge Petit’s real purpose, even to Jewel. “Colin and I followed you after you left Toulouse. We’d intended to continue south together from Portbou this morning, but he felt unwell and told me to go on ahead. Mr. Petit was kind enough to offer me escort. He’s en route to Barcelona on holiday.”
“Ah, I see. Well, I am glad you made the decision to follow us.”
Jo nodded, making an effort to smile. She hated having to tell the small lie to her sister, but a fabrication seemed safer than the truth at the moment. “So . . . where is Monsieur Outis?”
“Right now he is having his lunch across the street on the terrace. It seemed the perfect time to meet you.” She paused. “How well did you
know our father? Colin said you met him only once?”
“Yes, when I was about three. He came to our village in Ireland, and I thought he had the most incredible eyes.” Jo’s smile widened. “I remember he smelled of tobacco.”
Jewel’s eyes gleamed as she nodded. “Father often sat and smoked in the evenings beside the garden behind our farmhouse in Havrincourt. I enjoyed the smell of his pipe, too.”
“Please tell me more about him.”
Jewel extended a hand. “Why don’t you sit down as well?”
Jo pulled the padded chair over from the vanity and sat across from her, and Jewel looked at Jo’s folded hands. “I see you wear the same ring.” She lifted hers from the chain.
Jo held up her hand. “Papa gave it to me when he visited.”
Jewel examined both silver bands. “It looks as if there should be a middle ring that fits between the two, yes?” She flashed an impish smile. “Perhaps we have another secret sister?”
“I have no idea.” Jo grinned before her humor faded, and she leaned toward Jewel. “What I do know is that I’ve waited years to see our papa once more, and I am thrilled to finally meet you.” She reached for Jewel’s hand. “I also know that Monsieur Outis is really Captain Kepler.”
Jewel gave her a guarded look and started to pull away.
“Please, ’tis all right.” Jo held her fingers. “I read in your diary that he promised to take you to our father, and . . . I would like very much to go with you.”
Jewel relaxed her hand, new warmth filling her expression. “I cannot imagine leaving you behind.”
Touched by her sister’s words and elated at the prospect of being included, Jo released a ragged sigh. “Colin said Kepler has not yet told you where he is. Is it because of the danger? Is Papa being held in a prison?” She shook her head. “I don’t care. When you leave, I’m coming with you.”
