The Scotland Yard Exchange Series

by Stephanie Queen

  “Damn.” Chauncey knew that meant the leak was out of the London office.

  “I know what you mean. Looks like you’ll be taking a longer trip. Keep me posted.”

  “Only to the extent necessary.” He would have ended the call but he stopped and said, “Thanks for everything.” Then he ended the call. He squeezed the phone in his hand, willing himself not to toss it. That call to his father had now become a shade more difficult.

  No matter how much his father might inevitably question him, he knew what he was doing. The old man finally picked up. Chauncey pictured Sir Miller in his mind’s eye as the robust officer of his youth. His adrenaline spiked.

  “Yes.” No question in the old man’s voice even though he had no idea who was on the line; there was confidence that it was only someone preapproved who had this confidential number.

  “Father. Listen, don’t speak.” Bold words indeed. He took a breath and the old man was silent, although Chauncey heard the slight intake of breath. “I’m in the States and I’ll be returning to London day after tomorrow on Flight 4589 arriving at noon. Arrange to have someone meet me. The usual code one precautions in place.” He hesitated a beat. “Watch your back.” Then he paused to wait for the response, signaling that the man could now speak to acknowledge, but not question, the instructions.

  “Acknowledged. My back is not the one in question, however.” The line was disconnected.

  Chauncey took a deep breath and realized the man was concerned even if his expression of such was as backhanded as one could possibly make it. His father knew about the trouble. Chauncey wondered if he knew he was being set up to catch the traitor. Probably. His father may have slowed in every other way possible, but his mind remained quick as ever. For once the knowledge was a comfort.

  The airport on Martha’s Vineyard was surprisingly sophisticated. Their taxi pulled up to the front door of the terminal building and they got out. Chauncey held onto Pixie as she flitted ahead and turned them away from the building toward the runway and the planes waiting nearby. Joe was easy to spot in his aviator glasses, lounging against the side of a twin engine Bonanza. The man’s change to T-shirt and jeans did nothing to hide his law enforcement persona. Chauncey took Joe off his mental list of potential future recruits.

  He walked to Joe, thanking his stars that they had perfect flying weather. Good break number one. He decided not to mention it to Pixie. She stepped ahead of him and gave Joe a hug by way of greeting. He nodded at Joe, who nodded back after disengaging himself from Pixie.

  “The governor is no longer in the loop,” Joe said.

  “I don’t want to cause trouble for you.” Chauncey’s conscience made an inconvenient appearance.

  “No worries. It’s the nature of the business and no one would understand this better than PJD—Governor Douglas.”

  “Are we ready to fly?”

  “All she needs is passengers. And runway clearance. Perfect day for flying.”

  “Any word on Azzam’s whereabouts?” Chauncey wanted to talk business before they flew. The plane would be too noisy.

  Joe checked his surroundings. He was good. Chauncey knew, but no one else would have noticed—not even Pixie. Then he said, “Could you two look any more conspicuous? Let’s get in the plane and talk before I fire her up.”

  They climbed into the comfortable six-passenger plane. Chauncey sat in the copilot seat and Pixie sat behind them. Joe pulled the door closed with a thump, then turned to him.

  “No word from the FBI on Azzam’s movement. They suspect he left to go back to London from Nova Scotia. Their intel from the Canadians—the CMP—says so. They questioned the cell members they’d taken in.” Joe paused, took a quick glance back at Pixie lounging back and watching planes take off out the small window, then continued in a quiet voice. “Azzam is very high up in his organization.”

  Chauncey nodded, confirming Joe’s suspicion. He didn’t react to the new caution and admiration in the man’s voice.

  “Let’s get us to Logan so we can catch our flight to London, shall we? Looks like Azzam will be there waiting for us—but if all goes according to the plan, he’ll be a day late.”

  “And a dollar short,” Pixie said from the back seat.

  Damn. The woman listened to everything, for better or worse.

  Chapter 9

  London

  They’d arrived a day ahead of schedule according to the information Chauncey leaked to his father, but that didn’t stop him from acting like everyone was looking for him. She thought he was over the top, and even though Sophia had been no expert last week, this week she felt she had a better handle on this undercover spy game.

  The two cities were supposed to be alike, but London was nothing like Boston as far as she was concerned. At least that was her first, maybe premature impression as Chauncey dragged her around Heathrow’s international terminal. He watched and hung out and checked every men’s room and even had her check the ladies’ rooms and tell him all about them. Geesh.

  They finally walked toward the exit, passing by the baggage area, Chauncey looking the place over in that offhand way he had as the sun set. She missed her chance for any sightseeing between the airport and wherever they were staying.

  “Where are we staying? I’d like to see London while we’re here.”

  “I’d planned to check us into a motel near the airport. Not top drawer, but beds and a shower.” He looked down at her with a cross between a scowl and apprehension. “Don’t complain.”

  She stopped short. “I didn’t say a thing. And you’re lucky at that after being up all night on that flight.”

  “But you were thinking of it.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?” She refused to give him credit for reading her mind. “So tell me you thought better of your plan to stay in a dump.” A girl could hope. She rolled her shoulders and attempted to loosen the boa-like knot in her neck muscles

  “We’re only going a short distance, but we can’t take a cab. Don’t want anyone to notice us.”

  “Of course not. You might consider taking off your sunglasses in that case, since it’s almost dusk.”

  “I hear the unspoken ‘because you wasted all our time running around the airport for hours.’”

  She only sighed as they trudged through the doors into the open air. Not fresh air, but it was outside at last.

  He turned after getting two steps ahead of her and said, “Keep up now.” As if she were a child. She now officially felt like his kid sister again and slapped back the frustration of their close-but-no-cigar night together. She sighed. It was as if he turned into a different man since they’d left that inn on Martha’s Vineyard. A double-decker was parked at the curb with lights flashing and he motioned her to follow him on. He paid their fare and found her a seat while he stood with one bag over his shoulder and another parked at his feet. She carried one small bag and her purse. That was as much as he’d allowed and he frowned that it wasn’t a backpack.

  He bent toward her and spoke in a pronounced accent, “Only two stops, my Pixie, then we’re alone for the night.”

  The words made her shiver and she looked up into his eyes. Maybe he was a mind reader after all. She gave him her best sultry stare of encouragement. And tried not to think of what waited for them in the morning.

  He’d had to drag her with him through the airport. There was no way he’d leave her behind. She couldn’t be trusted to stay put and he couldn’t bear to be worried about her when she was out of his sight in any event. These were the platitudes he ran through his mind to justify having her at his side. This was an inexcusable breach of every code of conduct that he’d ever held himself to. The knowledge had him especially on edge as he would be meeting with his father soon.

  “I can’t wait to meet your father. Is he anything like you?”

  “You’re not meeting my father.” He snapped out the words automatically, startled that she’d practically read his mind. Observing her uncharacteristic crestfallen l
ook, even if only for a moment, he added, “I mean we need to be cautious, after all, and keep you under wraps as much as possible.”

  “Sure.” She looked away out the window. “That’s a beautiful hotel. Please tell me we’re staying at that place.”

  At that moment, the double-decker lurched to a stop and he turned to the door. “Yes. That’s where we’re staying.” He cursed himself for his weakness. Why had he given in to this compulsion to please her? He hadn’t thought through the consequences of whether it would be safe. He only knew he had enough money to pay cash and it would be for only one night. Surely it would be an unlikely target for Azzam?

  She glanced up at him with a wordless look of surprised wonder before the skepticism returned. He grabbed her hand and they rushed off the bus. They stopped and stood a few yards from the entrance. She looked ridiculous, but she kept a straight face. The makeshift disguises were the best he could manage. Her hair was black and the Magic Marker “tattoos” on her bare arms were rudimentary. But the fake nose stud almost caused him to laugh—on the inside—almost every time he glanced her way.

  “I hope you’re right about this trap. I hope the villain shows up.”

  He didn’t bother to stifle his urge to chuckle at her. “You should stop referring to him as a ‘villain’. It makes him seem too much like a cartoon character.” And there’s likely to be more than one villain showing up. But he kept that knowledge to himself.

  “You do realize that’s precisely why I’ve labeled him a ‘villain’ don’t you? I prefer to think of him as a cartoon character and this is pretend-land where any minute we’ll be at our happy ending with the bad buys in jail.” She turned away.

  His guts knotted and tightened the way they always did when he caught her trying to be brave while she was really vulnerable underneath the front. He pulled her into his side and hugged her to him with one arm and put a hand to her face, caressing her cheek with the other.

  “I promise it won’t be much longer until our happy ending.” He didn’t even know what he meant by that. It sounded a lot like a proposal in his own mind. He held his breath, but she was apparently speechless.

  “Let’s go in, shall we? I’ll do all the talking. We’re with a rock band and the airlines lost our luggage.” He held her hand and led her through the imposing doors of the Radisson Edwardian Hotel.

  She laughed. The sound popped bubbles in his throat and his chest tightened. The sensation of crashing down a roller coaster seemed tame compared to the trip his insides took with this woman at his side walking into a night to remember. That’s what they were headed for and he’d guarantee it.

  Though the man at the desk gave him a wary look when he said “cash,” he produced bills large enough to quell the clerk’s nerves. The cash calmed him—along with the fact that Chauncey and Pixie were clearly not Arabs. Chauncey took their key cards and saluted the man at the desk, flashing his hand adorned with rings on four of his five fingers, all precious gem look-alikes, but one with special attributes—a mini recorder/camera. Another held a dose of powerful drugs in case he wanted to discreetly knock someone out. He wouldn’t likely have any use for these props on this mission, but he was warned he needed to return with all the toys he left with. Since David said he’d gotten them from the Yard’s toy man, he took the directions seriously.

  Now all he needed was a gun. He’d need to make a call for that. They rode up in the elevator. Her eyes were big. His stomach was empty. “How about if we have a bite to eat in a special spot downstairs? I think you’ll enjoy it. Maybe I can get you tipsy and take advantage of you.”

  “We’ll see who gets who tipsy, won’t we?” Her bravado never let up, even when she was scared and exhausted like now. Her adrenaline kept her up, but he knew it wouldn’t last.

  He laughed as the elevator doors opened and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her down the hall to her room, breathing in her heady scent. All woman, spicy, tangy woman. He could hardly wait for a taste.

  She walked in the room and wandered around it like she was looking for something.

  “Why don’t you talk to your father? Is he the only family you have? What happened to you two?” She plopped down on her bed. “You should be happier about your life. It’s the high adventure life of criminal hunting that men like you crave all the time, isn’t it?”

  “High adventure?” He wanted to hear more of her revealing inquisition.

  “Sure. We all want it at some level. You have it in spades.”

  It occurred to him that he was it—he was her call to high adventure. He wasn’t about to answer her questions at first, but it didn’t seem fair.

  “Adventure isn’t everything. I miss the warmth that my mother brought to our family. I wish I had siblings. I wish I had someone waiting for me at home.” He wished he had Pixie waiting for him at home—except he didn’t feel at home anywhere anymore. He felt adrift, but this must be his course. It was the life he’d chosen.

  “You mean someone at home like your father had. If your father had a successful career and a loving wife then why can’t you?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to do to a son what my father did to me.”

  “What’s that? What did he do to you that was so bad anyway? He ignored you? Ha. Big deal.” She looked down and then softened her voice. “Besides, you’re not your father.”

  “How do you know? You haven’t met him yet. He’s very cool.” He didn’t say “especially since my mother died,” but added, “I was raised by a law enforcement official to be a law enforcement official. I entered the service after university and was recruited by the SAS—Special Air Services. I trained and served with them for several years and then joined the Yard.”

  “I figured as much. You know more nifty hand-to-hand combat moves than I have fingers. So I don’t get it—sounds like it worked out for you so far. Every bad-guy-shooting hero deserves to get the girl, right?”

  He laughed. “I get plenty of girls, don’t you worry.” He watched her face fall before she tightened her jaw. He’d said the wrong thing again.

  “I wasn’t worried about you not having women throwing themselves at you, believe me,” she whispered. His heart accelerated and flashes reminiscent of his teenage hormone years pumped through his system.

  “Do you want me or don’t you?” He grated out the words.

  She turned her eyes up slowly and leaned back, now all cool and trying to pretend she hadn’t had that vulnerable moment of admission a second before. He waited her out.

  “I want you. We could have a high adventure together. That’s more than lots of people have.”

  “That’s what you want then? High adventure? Because that’s all I have to give. I’m committed to playing out my role as a ‘bad-guy-shooting hero’ for better or worse.”

  “I know. A classic married-to-the-job kind of guy.”

  “No. The job is the guy. What you see is what you get.”

  “In spite of the longing?”

  That shut him up. And the depth of pit-of-the-stomach pain that rolled through him—that acid, gnawing longing that never went away—reared on him now like it never had before. He straightened his spine against it, clenching his jaw. If she could do it, he could.

  “Yes. I’m tougher than I look.”

  “That tough, eh?” She laughed.

  He hissed out a breath and let himself release the tension with a laugh, casting off all but the here and now. It had been a while since he’d allowed himself to dwell on what he was missing. That was a mistake.

  Ten minutes later, he led her into the Polo Bar, one of his father’s favorite places to show out-of-towners with sparse time a bit of British flavor. He thought this occasion suited. That, and he imagined Pixie sitting on one of these horse saddle bar stools. He anticipated a combination of heat and humor. As usual.

  She stopped on the threshold, looked around and then up at him. “Are you kidding? I didn’t peg you for the polo set. Do you
live on an estate and ride horses and hunt too?”

  “I’m a city boy and confine all my hunting to capturing the bad guys. But you knew that.” He curved a smile and extended a hand toward the bar with its shiny leather stools.

  She raised her brows. Then she smiled. “I’m game if you are.”

  He watched as she spread her legs rather wider than the short skirt allowed in an attempt to mount the saddle stool. He struggled to stifle his laugh. She snapped her head up and glared at him. Then she clamped her legs together and boosted herself up to sit sidesaddle in a very neat move. He clapped his hands.

  “Bravo, my Pixie. Excellent move, although disappointing. You’re defeating the entire purpose of my coming to this particular bar in the first place.” He mounted the stool in his own smooth move, his worn jeans stretching across his thighs. She eyed him with a gleam of envy.

  “This is my father’s favorite bar to bring out-of-towners as their first stop in London.”

  “Your father’s favorite? What about you? I think I’m starting to get anxious about meeting your father. Because I will meet him.”

  He laughed. “You anxious?”

  “Yes. Because you’re anxious.”

  “Nonsense.” He spoke abruptly enough to give away his anxiety and chided himself. He caught the bartender’s attention. “Two scotches, Ledaig if you have it.”

  The bartender nodded and twitched one corner of his moustache-covered mouth.

  “Presumptuous, aren’t you?” Pixie said.

  “As always. Besides, when in London…”

  “Okay. I resign myself to enjoying being completely under your thumb and under your control for the night. I am now your puppet—all yours to do what you will.” She snatched up the drink as soon as the bartender put it in front of her and lifted the glass to toast him.

  “I rather like the idea of you as my plaything to toy with however I wish.” He smirked.

  “That’s not….Oh never mind. Whatever you say rules. At least for tonight.” She raised her glass high and spoke in a ringing voice. “Let’s toast to it—to you being at long last in charge of me and I won’t complain.”