“It looks as if your party has already checked out.”
“Perfect. Thanks so much for your help.”
Ending the call, Lindy set the phone on the desk and leaned back in the chair with a sigh. The lights from a nearby building shone through the sheers covering the windows in her suite, and she stared at the steady glow while focusing her thoughts on the puzzle at hand.
Joshua had flown into New York City on a commercial carrier via Newark Airport, which was an easy traveling distance to Manhattan. Would he fly out the same way he’d come, now that he knew she was on to him?
There were two schools of thought here. Joshua would either dodge her or trick her. If he went the dodging route, he’d likely leave the country in a wholly different manner than he’d arrived. Private airline, perhaps. Or maybe he’d scoot north to Canada and head out from there. If he tried to trick her, he might cover his tracks and head out from one of the three nearby airports.
Lindy considered all she knew about Joshua, bad-guy fixer and yummy kisser extraordinaire. She reconciled the profile with the man she’d met tonight, calculated how he might reason.
Dodge her or trick her?
“I still need…convincing,” he’d told her earlier, which brought Lindy back to the fact that she hadn’t had enough of a chance to prove herself to the man.
Joshua wasn’t convinced he had anything to dodge yet, which meant he would trick her.
Or try.
Reaching for her notebook, she logged on to the agency mainframe, split the display and made contact with Blythe.
An image appeared on half the screen, and as Lindy smiled at the woman who stared back with a deadpan expression, she wondered again what had prompted this agent’s alias. Blythe looked nothing like her traditional name might suggest, with cropped hair dyed to a shoe-polish black and silver piercings all over her pale face. She always struck Lindy as someone on the piss in one of London’s many underground clubs rather than the brilliant computer analyst who ran the systems for SIS.
“Hello, Blythe. You’re looking lovely as always,” Lindy said cheerily.
Blythe scowled but didn’t glance up from her keyboard. “Bugger off, Gardner, or jump to the punch line. I’m busy.”
“I need inside the reservation systems of all the carriers flying out of the three airports that service New York City.”
“Hope you’re not on a time crunch.”
“I am, in fact.”
That brought up Blythe’s gaze. “Need someone?”
What was it with everyone thinking she needed help tonight? “I’m good, thanks. I’ve got a lead on the target. Should be able to weed through the chaff with our subroutines.”
Blythe shrugged, banged out a series of keystrokes, and scrolling data suddenly appeared on the other half of Lindy’s display monitor. “Yell if you go balls-up.”
“Thanks.”
The image faded, and Lindy implemented a program to process the reservation information of males traveling with companions and families. Setting a six-hour departure parameter, she would create a list of possibilities by process of elimination.
She set no parameters for destination because she had no idea where Joshua would go. The man wanted to play hide-and-seek, and the world was a bloody big playground.
But it happened to be a playground Lindy knew well.
4
London, where wet weather turns the city into a misty maze of intimate squares and narrow streets where sexy surprises lurk around every corner.
INSIDE THE GALLERY of Stanforth Hall, Joshua toured the small room in the north turret to view the displayed brooch. The spray of diamonds and rubies in an intricate platinum setting had been designed sometime in the mid-eighteenth century for the lady of Stanforth Hall.
While Joshua didn’t much care for the piece’s design, he did appreciate the British sense of drama and style. Lady Kenwick, the current lady of Stanforth Hall and hostess of tonight’s soiree, made it a habit to display some trinket from the family coffers whenever opening her home to guests. The brooch sat on a satin-draped stand without the security of tempered glass to detract from the gems’ brilliance.
Trust—a gift to her guests.
Not that security wasn’t close at hand. Joshua couldn’t miss the plainclothes personnel posted at both gallery entrances. Trust was all well and good, he knew, and while Lady Kenwick might be a generous old dame undeniably proud of her heritage, she was no one’s fool.
But she was a gracious hostess. Her guest list included an impressive array of British aristocracy and elected members of the House of Commons. Her get-together to celebrate a favorable vote of a bill her nephew had championed through the House would surely garner interest in her nephew from both parties.
Dinner had been an elegant affair, and upon retiring to the gallery for entertainment, the conversation proved an oratorical battleground in the dignified fashion that only the Brits had ever managed to pull off, in Joshua’s opinion.
Now the night was wearing away. After paying his respects to the brooch, he continued from the turret alcove, venerating the long gallery along the way. The room was decorated in the original creams, pale greens and golds of the last architect to refurbish the interior back when the gallery had been a place for ladies to retire after dinner, leaving their men to conversation and port.
Painted ceiling medallions. Requisite family portraits. China, books, urns and statues. Wealth and heritage abounded, but instead of appreciation for period refinement, everything reminded Joshua of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service.
And one of their agents.
He’d chosen to start the chase in London for several reasons. First and foremost, he had business. While he’d been inside Stanforth Hall before, he needed tonight’s soiree to reconnoiter. Henri had his eye on a bronze sculpture of a Roman gladiator that Lady Kenwick permanently displayed behind museum-quality glass in a dining-room alcove.
The only privately owned San Gabriel left in existence. A piece worthy of Henri’s notice and, hence, Joshua’s.
He’d conducted a fairly thorough inspection of the premises before the meal. While dining, he’d inspected the protection around the sculpture. And as guests mingled, he’d located the surveillance cameras.
After some research on the private security company and routine of the house staff, Joshua would have the information he needed to make recommendations to Henri. Of course, after meeting Lindy, whether or not he’d get the chance to make recommendations became a question. Which led to the second reason he’d chosen London.
A perverse sense of pride.
He’d had a good twenty hours since leaving her looking delectable on a Manhattan street. Much of that time had been spent covering his tracks out of the U.S.
The rest had been spent researching Lindy.
It had taken far more time than expected to confirm she was even affiliated with MI6. Given Joshua’s resources, that lack of information had come as a surprise, which confirmed two things.
The first was that Lindy was as good at her job as she claimed. So good that MI6 had buried her identity completely.
The second was that his instinct about her had been dead on—this woman was Trouble with a capital T.
Since she’d been so forthcoming, she obviously knew her identity was well protected. Clearly she didn’t fear much from him. And from what he’d been able to unearth so far, she had no reason to.
After confirming her affiliation with MI6, his information flow had dried up. He didn’t know much about the woman except she spoke with an accent he’d pegged as Northern England. He also had a photo he’d taken with his cell phone while she’d been perpetrating her foie gras maneuver over the buffet table. Not much to work with.
Normally, digging up information on an invisible woman would have been a welcome challenge. But Lindy had compromised him, which had closed off his normal connections. Now he could only gather information from places Henri wouldn’t think to look—at le
ast until Joshua came up with a credible explanation about why he was researching an MI6 agent.
He hadn’t had time to come up with that explanation yet. Not with covering his tracks and keeping a step ahead of Lindy.
Joshua accepted a snifter of cognac from a passing waiter, sidestepped Larry Northrup who made a move to catch him in conversation, and wondered where Lindy was now.
What would she do when she couldn’t catch up with him?
He figured that after a few days of this game, he’d make contact, proving an important point to his lovely tail—that she’d seriously underestimated him.
Of course, what he’d do about her bogus deal and MI6’s interest afterward still remained a question, but he was buying himself time to come up with the answer.
To uncover her true identity.
Once he knew who Lindy really was, he’d have something to work with. She’d pursued him competently and had ruthlessly attempted to use their attraction to her benefit. The woman was a player, and without a doubt, there’d be something in her life he could twist into leverage.
Maybe he’d have her erase his MI6 file. Maybe not. Their chase would give him time to look at where he wanted to go next. Lindy’s arrival and his reaction to her had proven one thing loud and clear—his life hadn’t been serving up much of interest lately. But after nearly fifteen years spent earning the reputation and connections he now enjoyed, Joshua supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been a kid when he’d first starting playing this game.
He wasn’t a kid anymore, and though he couldn’t pinpoint when, somewhere along the line, jobs such as acquiring the White Star had become nothing more than interference when he’d rather have been at home taking delivery of his new boat.
Maybe he was just getting old.
There were damn sure enough younger men entering the game nowadays to remind him of how long he’d been around. And this new generation was looking to distinguish itself at any cost.
Joshua had crossed paths with enough of them to know how anyone would put a bullet in his brain without so much as blinking for a chance to step into his place in Henri’s empire.
Had he ever been so ruthless?
He didn’t dwell on the answer. The passage of time had anesthetized whatever morals he might have once possessed, which meant the only question he needed to answer now was about his future.
But before he could sink any further into his analysis, he heard Lady Kenwick’s voice from a distance.
“Lindy, dear,” she said. “It’s such a pleasure.”
Disbelieving, Joshua glanced around and saw her.
She stood just inside the gallery, hands clasped in Lady Kenwick’s. Her smile widened, a clearly satisfied smile as she peered over her hostess’s shoulder and winked.
The gut punch she delivered might have made him laugh—if there was anything funny about her showing up.
Somehow Lindy had managed to track him despite his evasive maneuvers, which meant the point Joshua had hoped to prove was moot. He’d been the one to underestimate his opponent.
And his reaction to her.
If Lindy Gardner had been subtle seduction last night, she was all about cool allure now.
Her look was distinctly British, the cream-and-gold gown fitting her slim curves to perfection. The pencil-thin skirt showcased long, long legs.
She’d swept her hair into an elegant twist, and he found himself admiring her classic bone structure—high cheekbones, angled chin, gracefully bared throat.
Bringing the snifter to his lips, he took an absent swallow, the smoky liquor going down hard as he tried to control the effects of a sudden adrenaline rush.
His pulse throbbed so hard in his ears that he didn’t hear Larry Northrup approach until the guy stood right beside him.
“Now there’s one I could fall arse over elbows for,” Larry said, waxing poetic. “Haven’t seen her about town, have you, Benedict? Any idea who she is?”
“Out of your league, Northrup. That much I know.”
Northrup sniffed, but Joshua didn’t give him a chance to reply before taking off toward Lindy and their hostess.
Before he got out of earshot, he heard Larry say, “You’re going to cop off with her? That’s poor sport. I saw her first.”
“You looked, Larry. I moved.”
Another disgruntled sniff, and Joshua was out of range, zeroing in on his target.
The lovely lady who shouldn’t be here.
Sucking down a last fortifying swallow, he deposited the snifter on a marble-topped credenza and moved in for the kill.
Lady Kenwick caught sight of him first and offered a welcoming smile. “Oh, Joshua. You must meet Lindy Gardner. She’s a friend of the prime minister, in town from Berwick-on-Tweed.”
Northumberland. He’d nailed the accent. It was something.
Joshua had always been fond of Lady Kenwick, a woman who by her own declaration didn’t mince words or stand for minced words from others but, fondness notwithstanding, the lady looked distinctly pug-like with her jowly features and thick stature when standing beside the exquisite Lindy.
He reached for Lindy’s hand, amazed by the awareness that practically crackled as they touched.
Joshua had almost convinced himself last night had been a fluke and their steamy kisses a product of his imagination, but apparently he and this lovely lady really were attracted to each other on a molecular level.
Bringing Lindy’s hand to his mouth, he couldn’t resist tasting her skin, inhaling the light scent of her perfume, reminiscent of gardenia. Her fingers were warm and smooth against his lips, and he found his heart racing, that adrenaline working a number on him that had nothing to do with MI6.
Meeting her gaze above their clasped hands, he found the color riding high in her cheeks. He suspected that this oh-so-cool agent wasn’t used to reacting against her will, and he was pleased by how she reacted to him.
He needed an edge.
“So what brings you to London, Lindy?” he asked.
“Business. I’m a freelance journalist working with the Historic Post Herald on a long-term assignment. I’m investigating a story that’s been unfolding into a modern-day treasure hunt.”
“Really?” Lady Kenwick exhaled the word. “Treasure here in London?”
Lindy nodded.
“Who’s hunting this treasure?” Joshua asked.
“It’s a bit of a race, actually,” Lindy said. “I can’t reveal the particulars, of course, but I can tell you an archeologist who’s funded by a collector of historically significant artifacts has been staying in London. There’s speculation that he wouldn’t be here unless he’d made a discovery of some importance, and if he finds the treasure, he’ll smuggle it out of the country and deliver it to the man who funds his work.”
Lady Kenwick gasped. “Aren’t there laws to prevent that from happening?”
“Laws only protect us if the authorities can enforce them. Without proper evidence…” She let her words trail off and gave a shrug that did amazing things to her cleavage.
Joshua forced his gaze up from the skin swelling over her fitted bodice and reminded himself that this woman was nothing more than a siren luring him to the rocks. “So that’s why you’re here, Lindy?”
Before Lindy had a chance to reply, Lady Kenwick said, “No wonder the prime minister is concerned. Why, our historic artifacts belong to the public. Having them snatched from beneath our noses would be…theft.”
“Agreed,” Lindy said. “That’s why the Historic Post Herald has sent me. We’re hoping to raise public awareness to deter others from believing they can just stroll into the U.K. and help themselves to our treasures.”
“Sending a message to the thieves?” he asked.
“Precisely.”
Her eyes sparkled, and Joshua knew exactly what Lindy was trying to do—provoke him. Entice him. And prove that while he might run, he couldn’t hide.
He wasn’t willing to concede that point yet, but h
e did caution himself not to underestimate this woman again. And as Lady Kenwick paid Lindy the honor of touring her around the gallery, he attached himself to them, enjoying the view of Lindy from behind while he considered how she might have followed him to Stanforth Hall.
Unless Henri himself was her informant, Lindy couldn’t have possibly known about his interest in the Roman Gladiator, which meant she’d followed his trail, when he’d made every effort to bury his movements.
“Joshua dear,” Lady Kenwick said. “You haven’t yet told me what you think of Alexandra’s portrait.”
Joshua glanced up perfunctorily at the full-sized portrait of a young girl decked out for her sixteenth birthday. “Your granddaughter is growing up to be as lovely as her mother.”
Lady Kenwick beamed as she reached out to pat his hand fondly. “I’ll tell Erica you said that.”
“Please let her know I was asking about her.”
“I shall, dear. I shall. But you should ring Erica sometime yourself. I know my daughter would love to hear from you.”
Joshua inclined his head, knowing Lindy listened with interest and feeling her gaze as a visceral connection that sliced the distance between them.
He wanted to excuse himself from Lady Kenwick’s solicitous attention and drag Lindy off for a private question-and-answer session, one that would most likely involve kissing the glossy sheen off her mouth just to knock the lady down a notch.
But he knew privacy wouldn’t be forthcoming any time soon. Lindy’s alleged connection to the prime minister warranted the special treatment. Lady Kenwick obviously wanted to impress as well as show off her new connection, so she regaled them with an abridged version of Stanforth Hall’s history.
The family home had a respectable background as far as British residences went, mainly for the central location in a park surrounded by the Thames and London’s suburbs.
Lady Kenwick began with the origins of the site. The Britons had dug stakes into the riverbed to stop Caesar and his legions from crossing. She continued through the Reformation, when old Henry chased away the inhabitants of the monastery that had been built several centuries before, and titled both building and land to the Earl of Kenwick.
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