by Heather Gray
"How were you told to meet Phineas? Did it come from Tobias or Jackal?"
"No. The directions for the meet were written down and handed to me in the committee meeting. I was told to commit the information to memory then burn the paper, which I did before I ever walked out the door."
Isabel worried her lower lip even as she sat up straight and prepared to tell him why she'd been exiled to America.
"Phineas Kitteridge is the agent I killed."
Chapter Thirty
Owen's shocked intake of breath filled the room.
Isabel didn't wait for him to speak. His words would change nothing. She sat motionless on her crate, clenched her hands in her lap, and began.
"After my time in the Queen's court, Tobias thought it best to put me in a team." Her voice quavered, and she steeled herself against the painful memories.
"We became a family of sorts. Granted, I think they all saw me as a bothersome younger sister, but we worked well together. Each of us had our own strengths and weaknesses, but as a team we became unstoppable. Above all, we looked out for each other. We took care of one another. Our captain was Phineas Kitteridge."
Owen kept still, his arms crossed and his eyes watchful. Tension radiated from him. The muscles in his neck were corded with it. Despite the strain in his stance, she saw trust in his eyes, and it became too much to bear. The memories washed over her one after another.
****
Tobias said the team had a traitor. But he hadn't gone to Phineas. He'd gone to Isabel. Why? Why did he want her to investigate? Shouldn't he suspect her, too?
Her last meeting with Tobias ate at Isabel. In the month since, she'd found no evidence of a traitor. Sure, their last couple of assignments hadn't gone quite as planned, but they'd come out unscathed, and they'd more or less gotten what they'd needed. She would have wondered but not given it too much thought if Tobias hadn't planted that niggling doubt in her mind.
The team was together, decompressing after a perilous mission that had come close to costing Red his life, and Red was rightfully angry. Livid might be a better word.
"Why did you wait so long? You knew my hiding place had been compromised, but you said nothing!" Red raged at Phineas.
Phineas kept a stoic expression. "It wasn't intentional. Come on. You know me. If it was possible, I would have been there."
"Explain where you were, then." This from Star.
"Queen needed extraction." Phineas' voice was reasonable.
"I don't believe you. I had my eyes on Queen the whole time. She was fine, and you never went near her." Robert's voice was dead calm, and Queen knew trouble was coming.
Robert drew his pistol and pointed it at Phineas. The rest of the team stood by in shock.
"Calm down, Robert. We're angry about the mission, but that's no reason to…"
Red's words were cut off as Phineas fired his own weapon, shooting Robert in the throat. All their eyes had been trained on Robert. None of them had seen Phineas pull a weapon. He had his second gun at the ready, too. Star and Red drew their pistols, but Phineas dropped Star before a shot could be fired. Then he flung his knife at Red. Red got a shot off, but Phineas' lightning quick movements — something they'd always been thankful for on the team — worked against them. Red winged Phineas but not before the knife sank into his chest.
Queen had her gun at the ready. The horror of seeing her newfound family splintered and her dearest friends slaughtered before her eyes made her hands clumsy. She pointed the weapon at Phineas.
"Come on, Queen. Join me. You and I would be unstoppable."
"Phineas. Why? How long? How could you kill them? They're your friends."
He shook his head and clucked his tongue. "You're darling, you know that? You were the easiest to fool. So willing to trust. So eager for people to like you. So desperate to rebuild a family. You don't think I know Tobias asked you to find the traitor? Yet here we are, and you had no idea until now that I was the one you were looking for. I'll bet you couldn't fathom the idea that someone in your so-called family could be so cold-blooded."
"You'll never get away with this." Queen's voice shook.
"Oh, poor, dear little Queen. I already have. You won't be able to shoot me. You're too busy hoping this is all one big mistake."
He had maneuvered closer to Red. Phineas shifted his hand, and Queen caught sight of the knife. She couldn't allow him to put a final end to Red, but he stood so close to her wounded friend. What if her quaking hands caused the bullet to stray? What if she hit Red instead? She had to try. It was her only hope of saving him. So she fired.
Phineas crumpled to the ground, half sprawled across Red. He hadn't tried to escape the shot because he'd not believed her capable of firing at him.
Queen scurried over to each of her fallen comrades, but it was too late. They were gone. Then she grabbed Phineas under the arms and dragged his body off Red's. It was too late for Phineas, too. She was a better shot than she'd thought.
Red watched her. His breathing was rapid and filled with the sound of liquid. "It's all right, girl. This isn't your fault."
Of course it was her fault. She had been tasked with finding the traitor, and she'd failed. Three people died because she was too trusting.
"Queen, look at me." Red flexed his fingers, and she took his hand, clutching it between her own. His eyes bored into hers. "Phineas did this. Not you. No guilt." Then his eyes slipped closed, and she screamed.
Her screams continued to fill the room seconds later when Tobias burst in, weapon drawn, a flood of agents behind him. Tobias yanked her forcibly away from Red and shoved her aside. She could make no sense of the urgent voices, the demands, the yells.
Queen had no idea how much time had passed, but Tobias picked her up and carried her from the carnage-filled room. The smell of blood chased them, permeating the air as they went, and she realized she wore it. Her dress was soaked in the blood of her team. It must have happened while she'd checked them for life. An exercise in futility if ever there'd been one.
Tobias laid her down, and people hovered. She closed her eyes and wished for death.
A hard shake snapped her eyes open. Darkness had fallen. Someone had removed the bloody dress from her. She lay on a couch in Tobias' office in nothing but her chemise with a heavy blanket over her. "Leave me be."
"He's calling for you."
"I want to die."
"I can't let you, Queen."
"I have nothing left to give. Leave me be."
"Red needs you."
That got her attention. She focused on the face in front of her. "Jackal?"
"Aye, girl, it's me. Red is calling for you. You've got to get dressed and go to him. He's going to injure himself further if you don't hurry."
"He died."
Jackal's voice was urgent. "Badly wounded, not dead, and he needs you. He's yelling at the nurse and trying to get out of bed to come find you. Please. If you value his life, get dressed and let me take you to him."
Adrenaline pulsed through Queen's veins, and she threw the blanket off.
Jackal quickly turned his back. "A dress is draped over the end of the settee."
It had to be a terrible dream. She would wake to find herself still in that room with her team all dead, but a part of her soul refused to give up. Buried deep down within, a piece of her still clung to hope. Queen followed Jackal out the door and raced after him as he hurried down hallways and corridors she'd never seen before. The War Department must have had an entire underground labyrinth at its disposal.
As they got closer, she heard the ruckus. Red was yelling loud enough to make the blue want to leap from the sky and hide itself.
Jackal threw the door open, and she ran through. His face as red as his hair, fighting against the restraints that held both his arms and legs to the bed and scaring every nurse in sight, Red bellowed. "Let me out of here! She's going to think I'm dead! Get me Queen!"
****
Isabel shook her head to clear
the vivid scenes from her mind. "I stayed with him, helped nurse him back to health. Tobias sent me to America, and Red went with me. We've been together ever since."
A nap sounded heavenly. The retelling of her tale had left her drained.
Owen's voice conveyed both horror and comfort. "And you checked all the other bodies? You're certain they were dead?"
"Yes. But then, I thought Red was dead, too. I'm not sure my judgment can be trusted."
"Describe Phineas to me."
"Tall, slender, blond hair, patrician nose, big hands. He had musician's hands. His long fingers would easily span an octave on the pianoforte."
"It sounds like him." Owen grunted deep in his throat before adding, "We can't be certain till you come face to face with him. You'll be prepared. What about Red? You said you've been with him ever since?"
Isabel took a deep breath. She hadn't meant to say that part. "Can you pretend I didn't say that?"
Owen gave her a hard look, as if trying to pluck the thoughts from her head. "Are you protecting him or yourself?"
"I've already lost too many people. Please."
Owen nodded and took a step forward, holding out his hand to help her up. "Consider it forgotten, but he was right. You weren't at fault."
"Aye, I was. If I'd been better at my job, Star and Robert would still be with us. My clouded view of my team cost people their lives. I shan't ever make that mistake again."
"Did Tobias ever explain why he sent you away?"
They were about to step out of the shed. Isabel swung back to face Owen. He ought to hear the rest of that story. "The minister decided I was a liability and put an execute-on-sight order out on me. Tobias sent me to America to keep me alive. I didn't know until our recent trip to London. He never told me. All these years I blamed Tobias for exiling me, but in truth, he kept me alive."
Owen squeezed her hand. "The Bible talks about these places called cities of refuge. Have you ever read about them?"
She shook her head.
"Sometimes a man might take another's life in defense of his own life. The dead man's family would seek retribution. So God ordained these cities of refuge — places where people could go to be safe if they'd killed to protect themselves. As long as they stayed inside the walls of the city, no one was permitted to raise a hand against them."
Owen reached out and ran a finger along the line of Isabel's jaw. A shiver coursed through her as she fought the urge to turn her head and kiss his hand.
"Perhaps America was your place of refuge. You did no wrong. You may have killed Phineas, but you did so to protect Red and defend yourself. Now maybe it's safe enough to step outside the city's gates, to embrace the rest of the world again."
Isabel could have stared into Owen's eyes all night. In them she saw all the strength she'd lacked, all the wisdom she wished she'd had years ago, and all the compassion she'd tried to quash from her own heart because she'd seen it as a weakness. She couldn't find the words to say any of the things she felt, or to express the thoughts tramping through her mind. Instead, she spun back to the door and opened it, stepping into the night. "I'll see you morning after next at the Hotel Belafort."
****
Isabel arrived home and stepped through the front door of the cottage she shared with Maggie and Red.
They both waited for her, and as soon as she walked in the door, Red asked, "What did you learn?"
"Whatever is wrong, Queenie? Here, sit down." Maggie, of course, saw the fragility she sought to hide even from her closest companions.
Isabel sat on the floor, leaving the chair for Maggie. "Red, I need you to scout the Hotel Belafort. There's a man staying under the name Phineas Kitteridge."
The name wasn't familiar to Maggie, but Red's eyes narrowed to tiny slits.
"Don't take action. I need to know if the man using the name is the same man who once used it."
Without a word, Red reached for his coat and disappeared through the door.
The sound of wood splintering as it slammed closed behind him filled the small room.
Chapter Thirty-One
Two Days Later
Isabel dressed the part of a lady. In a dove grey gown of French silk with velvet accents the color of midnight, she was both elegant and entirely forgetful, just the way Owen suspected she wanted it.
She disembarked from the hackney in front of the Hotel Belafort and examined the tall edifice. He sat inside the coffee room by the front window and watched her. He'd come ahead of time to keep an eye on the comings and goings at the hotel. Until they got to the bottom of these matters, he didn't want Isabel alone with Phineas Kitteridge — whoever he was.
The hotel door opened before Isabel reached it. She was Giselda Fairweather now, and she ignored the liveried man holding the door. With a step both delicate and purposeful, she made her way into the hotel's foyer. Hers was not the role of someone who sought answers. Miss Fairweather would wait until someone came to her. Owen marveled at the way she wore her haughtiness. No one watching her would ever doubt she'd been raised to believe she was superior to everyone around her.
She didn't have to wait long. Within minutes, the gentleman from the front desk approached, his posture bowed rather like someone approaching royalty. "What can I do for you today, my lady?"
"I am to meet Phineas Kitteridge. I'll expect tea while I wait." She handed him her pelisse, then she angled away, giving the man a view of her back as she made her way to the parlor Owen had told her about. Her dress whispered becomingly about her as she moved, and Owen fought the urge to picture the form beneath.
Isabel moved to the opposite side of the table, allowing her to face the door. Owen still had a partial view of her — enough to know she sat on the edge of her chair, back ramrod straight, and eyes narrowed disapprovingly as a serving girl brought her a tea tray.
"Would you like me to pour for you, m'lady?"
"I think not." Isabel kept her answer short and her voice disdainful. "Has Mr. Kitteridge been informed of my presence?"
Owen could see the way the serving girl's hands shook. The girl probably felt she was facing an executioner. "We sent word, m'lady, but I'm afraid he refuses to come until he knows who waits for him."
Isabel offered a barely concealed smirk, a well-calculated move. The girl would wonder if the lady's displeasure was aimed at her or Mr. Kitteridge. Pulling her lips back in a subtle sneer, Isabel told the girl, "You may tell him Miss Fairweather awaits him."
The girl half-bowed and half-curtsied as she backed out of the room. "Of course, m'lady, and I'm so sorry for the trouble."
She scurried along the floor, her shoes making a quick clack-a-ta-clack-a-ta sound as she approached the waiting front desk manager. Owen's dislike for the man grew. He'd made the poor girl face the lady rather than ask who she might be himself.
Owen bit the inside of his cheek to stop the smile that wanted to spread. Isabel was perfection. If she were too kind, people would remember her. If she screamed out a harridan's tantrum, they would remember her. Quiet, calm, and disdainful — she would blend in with every other haughty person to have come through their doors. No one would be able to recall her at all.
Phineas Kitteridge made his way down the grand staircase, his movements as graceful as the last time Owen had seen him. He would be a success of great magnitude in the ballrooms of London. Every debutante would want to dance with him. Phineas carried himself as a man who would never step on a girl's toes. Instead, he would glide her around the dance floor with such grace that, no matter how clumsy she may be in real life, in his arms she would appear so elegant men would line up with offers of marriage.
Owen shook the mental image. If he imagined Phineas dancing with the women of the ton it wouldn't be a huge leap to picture him dancing with Isabel. Besides the jealousy evoked by that particular thought, there was the small problem of Phineas being a dead traitor, which quickly transformed Owen's mental imaginings into a nightmare.
He shifted his eyes to I
sabel. From where he sat, Owen saw a portion of her face. Leaning forward in his chair gave him a better view. He wanted to watch her eyes when Phineas walked into the salon. Isabel's reaction would tell him a lot about who this man was — or wasn't.
As Phineas reached the bottom of the stairs and moved toward the salon, Owen half-rose from his seat. The urge to intercept the man and protect Isabel was strong, but he needed to let this play out. The same name did not always mean the same man. But still… after what Isabel had told him… Owen's muscles tightened in preparation. He left his table and moved as unobtrusively as possible into the foyer.
He might have been able to see Isabel's reaction from where he'd been seated, but it wasn't close enough to suit him. What if she needed him? Owen swallowed as he realized he was more anxious about this meeting than their planned mission on the ship. His palms itched in anticipation, and sweat trickled down his back.
Then it happened. Phineas stepped into the salon, and Isabel kept a studious look on her face. Her brow wrinkled, but she showed no fear. Her eyes didn't widen, her nostrils didn't flare, and the hand holding her teacup didn't offer even the most miniscule of clenches. Either she was a much better actress than Owen realized, or this was most definitely not the dead Phineas.
Owen slipped into the room, assuming his role. "I'm so sorry to be late, Miss Fairweather. I got delayed at the bank seeing to those accounts you asked me to look into."
Isabel's chin rose by a degree. "I assume everything is resolved."
"Of course. May I introduce Mr. Phineas Kitteridge? He'll be accompanying us to the ship today."
Phineas played his role and brought Isabel's hand to his mouth, brushing his lips ever so lightly across her gloved knuckles. "It's a pleasure to meet such an exquisite creature as yourself, Miss Fairweather."
Isabel dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Do either of you gentlemen wish to partake of tea, or shall we be off?"
