by Amelia Price
Several minutes later her mobile phone went off, vibrating along the coffee table and making her jump. She reached for it and exhaled as she saw it was Sebastian.
“Please tell me you need some help with the plot for your next Dalton novel,” he said as soon as she answered. A small grin flitted across her face, “I haven't got an unsolved case. I need something to do.”
“Hi, Sebastian.”
“Hmmm, you don't sound good. You said you were fine in your text earlier. What's wrong now?”
“I... uh... There was another letter. The police don't think it was Guy, as they still have him locked up. It just doesn't make any sense. I thought it was him when he came to the restaurant. I know I was followed, and there was that creepy black car, but...”
“It's obviously not him. Mycr – my brother and I were only discussing that last night.”
“You discussed it with Myron?”
“Yes, I was helping him with something. He was very concerned when he heard what had happened to you. Tried to hide it, of course, but that's my brother.”
“Right.” Amelia frowned. She had no idea what to think. Fear gripped at her stomach and tied it in knots, and Sebastian just talked and talked.
“Well, come on, then, tell me what plot you have so far,” Sebastian's voice broke through her thoughts once more.
“I'm sorry, Sebastian. I don't think I can concentrate right now. The police have said I should find someone to come stay or go somewhere else. They don't think it's safe for me to be alone. I don't... I don't know what to do.”
As soon as she said the words out loud, she felt tears sting the backs of her eyes. Oddly, she also felt better, as if saying the words aloud made the fear easier to manage.
“Come here then, dear. You know you're very welcome.”
“Would that be all right?” she asked in a small voice, feeling some of the weight lift off her.
“Of course. Get on the next train. It leaves Bath in twenty-two minutes. You'll have to hurry packing though.”
She smiled at the information. Sebastian always seemed to know the exact train times from everywhere to anywhere.
“I haven't unpacked yet.”
“Good. I'll see you in two hours and forty-three minutes, then. Your train will be ever so slightly delayed, but not by much.”
At this she laughed. It wouldn't surprise her for him to be right, but it didn't matter either way. She was going to London and she realised it felt a lot like going home.
Chapter 9
An exasperated sigh escaped Mycroft's lips as he pulled off his tie and grabbed one of the wigs from his disguise kit. Yet again, he found himself having to leave the house to do something himself.
Now that Amelia's face was all over the news, he couldn't assign one of his agents to keep an eye on her without them growing suspicious. That meant he had to do it himself, and Daniels had just informed him that she was not only staying with his brother in Baker Street but that she had decided to leave the house to go get food.
Mrs Wintern had felt concerned and told Daniels, who'd passed it on to him. Most irritatingly, Sherlock was inside the flat. If he was meant to be keeping her safe, he was doing a crap job of it.
Once Mycroft looked like a street cleaner, he had Daniels bring the car round. In the back, Daniels had already placed a see-through bin bag with bits and pieces of rubbish and a stick designed to grab litter without the user needing their hands.
He wouldn't need to do much of the job, just enough to get close to Amelia. It would give him a chance to keep an eye on her, and if the male who'd sent her threatening letters happened to be there as well, Mycroft knew he would notice.
After sending Amelia away and insisting Guy Thomas was no threat to her, he felt a small pang of guilt that the carer had pushed her through a window. Sherlock said she was fine, but he'd seen her medical records. With that much glass and the way she'd gone into it, it was only luck that resulted in the damage not being worse.
As soon as he'd found out about her state, he'd demanded the police records. Mr Thomas was pleading guilty, but saying he never meant her to go through the window. Just that tempers had flared. In his case, he'd just found out his mother had died. And Amelia had admitted to pushing him first because she felt threatened. Given that another letter had come through while Thomas was held in a cell, the police had decided to let him go with a verbal warning to leave Amelia alone.
Finally, Mycroft had asked for the letters. At first the chief of police had been awkward about handing evidence over to him, but they both knew having Mycroft on the case would solve it more swiftly.
The original letters had arrived by courier that morning. He'd already identified the ink and where it would have been bought from, as well as the month the stationery was purchased. Given that it was likely to be in the Bath area, there was already someone looking through the shop records of all the suppliers of the envelopes and matching those with names. If Mycroft could find even a little more information, they would figure out who the imbecile was.
Daniels pulled into a small alleyway so Mycroft could get out where no one would see him and turned the car off to wait for his boss to come back. In only a few seconds Mycroft adjusted his posture and manner of walking to look more like a poor and slightly grumpy cleaner, but a bit of a stoop, an odd mutter and a ruffle of his wig hair helped finish the transformation.
It only took him a minute to work his way up to the shop and spot Amelia. She was paying at the self-checkout near the window and focused solely on her task. He picked up a few cigarette ends as he kept an eye on her, trying not to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the smell.
Before stepping out of the shop she buttoned up her coat and took a good look at the street outside. The buttonholes were stiff and fought back against her deft fingers, another sign that it was new. The old one hadn't survived its encounter with the window glass.
He tried not to appear too obvious when her eyes came in his direction. It made him feel a little better that she was trying to be careful and see any potential threats, but it made her more likely to spot him. He wondered if he should have put more effort into the disguise, but hiding in plain sight was more Sherlock's sort of thing and he'd wanted to be quick.
Letting her walk ahead, Mycroft followed Amelia along the street towards Sherlock's flat. Every few hundred metres she took a good look around her, flicking her hair or pretending to look for a shop to cover her actions. When a guy almost bumped into her, coming out of a clothes shop, she bit back a scream and he saw the wild haze of panic in her eyes before she managed to contain it and move on.
As she turned the corner at the end of the road, he hurried to catch up. Mycroft didn't want her out of his sight for longer than necessary, even if no one else seemed to be following her.
It didn't take him long to get to the end of the road, but a few people gave him odd looks as he loped down the pavement. He knew they expected him to pick up litter, but it didn't matter if they were confused.
He paused at the end of the road to pick out his quarry from the crowds of people, but when he looked left to see where Amelia was, he realised she was gone.
A cough came from the doorway just behind him. Amelia stood, half in the shadows, a slight grin on her face. They stared at each other for a moment. He took in all the damage to her body. She'd removed the gauze patches and had an assortment of cuts and several stitches on her eyebrows. The shopping was also hanging from her left hand, despite her being right-handed.
“Hello, Myron,” she said, a hint of pleasure in her voice. “Not your usual attire.”
He gave her a fake smile as she eyed him up and down, and then came up closer so they could talk without being overheard. He was impressed. Not many people would have noticed him, even considering his lack of practice.
Once he was beside her, he turned to face the road so they were side by side, but not looking at each other. He then took her right hand and gently inspected the wound.
“Yes, but it will probably scar and in the meantime I can't write – not by hand, anyway.”
Mycroft let go of her and looked away. He wouldn't say sorry, even if he was glad she wasn't more hurt.
“My brother sent me a message to tell me that you were fine, but staying at Baker Street with him.”
“I suppose it depends on your definition of fine. I'll heal. But yes, I'm staying with Sebastian. He offered when he heard I'd had another letter and the police recommended I wasn't alone. They released Guy as well. He's gone missing since. No one knows where he is.”
“I'm aware.”
“Of course you are.” She shook her head and he picked up on her annoyance. It only served to flare up his.
“Given our arrangement, I'm surprised you didn't ask me to find you somewhere safe to go.”
“I did, don't you remember? About five hours before Guy shoved me through a window.”
Mycroft coughed as a woman walking by stared at them. It was evident she'd heard Amelia's outburst.
“I assumed our arrangement was over anyway,” Amelia managed to say in a calmer tone. He knew it was a question despite how it was phrased, and he knew she was providing him with a way to apologise. It was an easy way out of a situation he didn't feel comfortable in, and he found himself impressed with her skills for the second time in only a few minutes. He was starting to understand why Sherlock liked her. Somehow, she had a way of getting what she wanted.
“If you can refrain from turning up at my club unannounced in future, I think I can be magnanimous enough to allow our arrangement to continue.”
“Thank you for your most gracious leniency.” Every word she said oozed sarcasm and he found himself raising his eyebrows at her. A smirk flitted across her face. She was mocking him. He wasn't sure anyone had ever mocked him, except Sherlock.
“I'm still not happy you're staying at Baker Street,” Mycroft said, changing the subject.
“Why ever not?”
“My younger brother is more easily charmed, especially by someone of such intelligence. I would hate for him to think you have more of an interest in him than you do.” His words were met with laughter. He frowned at her lack of seriousness. As soon as she saw his face she stopped.
“Myron, your brother is in no danger from me. He knows where my interests lie and has even encouraged me in them. It's quite amusing, really.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure he wanted to know what she found entertaining. “This conversation is the first time you've expressed a sort of jealousy over my intentions. I didn't expect you to be worried I might prefer another to you.”
He hmmphd his distaste at the idea, but she didn't stop talking.
“There really is no need to worry, Myron. Sebastian is well aware of my feelings. I consider myself to be yours. Claiming me is entirely up to you.” She smiled up at him, but he avoided her gaze.
“Now. I should get this shopping back before the milk gets too warm and the ice-cream melts. Thank you for your concern, Myron. Have a good evening.”
Without so much as a backwards glance, Amelia wandered off, leaving him standing in a stranger's doorway. Despite the brush-off, he kept his under-cover act and followed her at a distance back to Baker Street. The whole way, she continued her obsessive checking, even though their eyes met a couple of times. He wasn't sure if he felt pleased she was being so careful and trying to observe the people around her, or annoyed that she wasn't leaving it to him.
It was evident that she knew he was there. When he stopped on the corner of Baker Street, she walked up to the flat door, smiled and mouthed a thank you in his direction, but she'd been checking for her stalker anyway.
He was just as wary as he headed back to his car, on the slight chance her stalker was clever enough to notice Mycroft and hang back, but he saw no one suspicious. The streets were filled with people as normal as London usually was.
Daniels knew better than to ask how the trip had gone when Mycroft got back into the car. A frown was fixed on his face until he sat down behind his desk and found his housekeeper had pre-empted his desire for tea. She'd even placed two of his favourite biscuits on a plate beside it.
While he munched, he put his awkward conversation with Amelia aside. It wouldn't take much longer to figure out who her stalker was, even though he hadn't shown up that afternoon. His analysis of the letters, combined with the research he had the police doing, would pinpoint the man in a couple of days.
In the meantime, he had a watch out on the Russian ruble coins. Apparently a whole cache of them had gone missing two years before. The Russians had hushed it up. Mycroft had noticed it at the time, but they'd resurfaced in a container in a US dock about six months later.
He'd forgotten about it and assumed they had been returned to Russia, but it had recently been brought to his attention that the crate had been put on a very interesting ship. The Lyubov Orlova was misplaced in February on its way from Newfoundland in Canada.
At the time, the Canadians had assured him it was deliberate. They wanted to monitor Ireland after some interesting remarks they'd made at a previous diplomatic meeting. A storm conveniently helped cover the Canadians' tracks, and the newspapers focused on the rats aboard rather than any possible cargo.
Knowing he had to find out what had happened to the ship, Mycroft put his best research agent onto the task. Wherever that ship had travelled after, it wasn't Ireland. He suspected it was deliberately sunk and then divers smuggled the contents out over the next few months. This operation had been in planning a long time and he'd interfered.
This time, he wouldn't miss any of the information. He read through everything he had, and then once more to make sure. Someone by the name of Delra, no gender specified, but given the nature of the operation, probably male, had hired a yacht. Rumours abounded that he wanted to look for sunken treasure, but after three weeks had turned up empty-handed. At least that was the rumour. He didn't believe one word of it.
Less than ten minutes later Mycroft had sent out enquiries for more information on the yacht, which ports it had docked at on its voyage and the description of Mr Delra.
He sat back, satisfied with the day's work. Amelia was a small hiccup, and he finally had enough information that he would get to the bottom of this strange alliance between the Russians and the Koreans.
To stretch his legs, Mycroft got up and wandered over to the bay window overlooking his garden. Darkness had set in and the sky was dark overhead but clear enough to see the North Star and a crescent moon on its way to becoming full.
The sound of an email arriving disturbed him from the rewarding view and brought him back to his desk. Hoping it was information from one of the many sources he was waiting on, he eagerly clicked on it. One sentence in, he frowned.
Mycroft,
It has come to my attention that you are looking into certain events involving the missing ship Lyubov Orlova. If you value your position within my government, you will desist immediately.
There was no email address in the sender field, but he knew who it was from. She'd emailed him before, and he didn't need the little, but perfectly drawn, crown in the signature to know it was an order he shouldn't disobey.
Chapter 10
Frustration filled Amelia as Sebastian lolloped over his armchair. He'd been playing the violin, badly, for over an hour. He needed a case and she needed to have at least ten minutes to herself.
The most exciting thing that had happened that day was a police conversation to let her know they'd found Guy. His brother had been hiding him to give the neurotic geek some time out of the limelight. One of the people in the police had leaked his name to a local paper, and he'd been hounded ever since attacking her. Something not even she wanted.
After everything that had happened, she felt sorry for him. He'd been caught up in events of a bigger nature than he was used to handling. If she'd not been receiving strange letters,
she suspected their last encounter would have ended differently. Now the poor guy had no job, no mother and a police record.
On the more positive side, there had been no more letters, and Myron had sent her a message to let her know no one else had followed her back to Baker Street the last time she'd left. But three days had passed since then and Sebastian Holmes appeared incapable of stocking his own fridge.
With a sigh she grabbed her coat and handbag.
“I'm going to the shop,” she said. Sebastian didn't stop his odd droning with the instrument. It definitely couldn't be called music. Although she didn't think he'd heard, she walked out of the flat anyway and hurried down the stairs. Mrs Wintern was out, so she took the front door key off the little hook on her way past.
The outside chill nipped at her fingers, making her shove them into the large pockets. She sighed and stepped down onto the pavement.
“Amelia!” an unfamiliar voice called from behind her. She turned and paused, not placing the guy's face at first. A moment later she twigged, but couldn't remember his name.
“Hi,” she said, “How are you?”
“You don't remember me, do you?” He took a step closer and she frowned.
“You were at my signing a few days ago.”
“Yes, but you don't remember my name, and I thought you and I had connected.”
Amelia's eyes went wide and a chill ran through her torso, numbing her insides, stopping her breathing and rooting her feet to the spot.
This was her letter sender.
“I think you and I should have a talk, don't you?” he strode towards her and grabbed her arm. A second later she felt something hard pressing into her side.
“Why don't we chat over coffee,” she replied, her mind finally kicking in. “There's a great place just up the road.”
Pretending she hadn't noticed the weapon he held against her, she tried to walk towards the café she'd thought of, but his grip on the top of her arm tightened until it was painful.
