HE’D DONE IT again. He’d abandoned her. Left her high and dry. He’d lied about waiting for her. He wasn’t answering his cell phone. He must have decided he would do better on his own.
What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t go home. She needed to talk to the police, but how would she explain her disappearance from the museum without implicating Trevor? Yet if she didn’t, they would assume she was one of them, and her status would change from Person of Interest to Wanted Felon.
For now, she’d go to Lark’s flat. It was only about seven blocks from here. Needing the fresh air and exercise, she hefted the gym bag to her shoulder and started walking.
So what had Trevor decided to do? Go after Eric and the other anarchists alone? As well as he’d been trained, even he couldn’t take on five of them alone.
Walking along the sparsely populated roadways left Shelby feeling exposed. What if someone followed her? What if Crawley found her? Without Trevor to protect her, she didn’t stand a chance against the insanity swimming behind Crawley’s eyes. Wishing now that she’d kept her Beretta, she quickened her step.
Lark lived in a brown brick building fronted by flat faux columns. Vertical windows leading to a tiny balcony were inset between each column. From the sheer number of windows, Shelby guessed the flats were small. The sign over the front door announced the building to be Gorse House. She pushed through into a plain, functional white hallway. Communal postal boxes lined the right wall. The lift, doors already open, beckoned on the left. Shelby darted inside, almost bowling over an elderly lady using a walker.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry. Here, let me hold the door for you.”
The lady nodded her thanks and made her creeping way to a letterbox. Shelby pressed the button for the eighth floor, not relaxing until she found Lark’s front door and closed it behind her.
Lark had installed a deadbolt to supplement the simple lock on the door. Shelby shot it home, then set the gym bag onto the floor. It made an unusual clatter.
It hadn’t been her computer making the noise. Curious, she knelt and zipped it open, moving her clothes aside. Two revolvers and three semiautomatic pistols gleamed up at her. Where had they come from?
She racked her brains. Okay, one of the thugs from the alley near the museum had threatened them with one of the revolvers. Trevor had taken it. The other revolver he’d lifted from Nathan outside of her flat. Liam had threatened her with a gun; Trevor must have taken it. But the others? Where had they come from? For now, she closed the bag and left it by the front door, turning to inspect her surroundings.
Much like the woman herself, Lark’s flat was full of life and color. The door opened into the living room, full of overstuffed chairs with bright pillows, abstract art, and lots of knickknacks. Magazines and several books littered the coffee table. Shelby peeked into the single bedroom. Lark’s bed was unmade, and clothes were strewn all over the bed and floor. The door on the other side of the hall turned out to be the bathroom. Makeup crowded every surface. Nylons hung from the shower rod. The curtain, pulled back, showed SpongeBob and Patrick frolicking underwater.
Hoping the kitchen wasn’t as messy as the rest of the house, she went through the door. Dishes filled the sink, and foodstuffs littered the countertops. Apparently when Lark shopped, she didn’t bother to put the groceries away. Shelby opened the refrigerator, afraid of what she might find. A jar of pickles, mayonnaise, and a plastic container full of grapes that had probably gone bad a month ago.
“Good grief,” she muttered. Lark was a flamboyant character, but a terrible housekeeper.
She jerked as someone knocked on the door, heart thumping. Had the Bedlamites somehow found her? No, that was silly. It was probably a neighbor.
This time, whoever it was pounded on the door. “Shelby!”
She recognized his voice. She ran to the door and almost yanked it open. “Trevor!”
He came inside fast, closing and locking the door behind him. He looked her over from head to foot, then surprised her by pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly.
“All right?” he asked.
She nodded against his chest. “I’m fine.”
His scent enveloped her. God, he smelled good. She’d missed that. She’d missed a lot of things about him; but above all, she regretted having missed the opportunity to develop a real relationship with him. It was too late. He no longer had feelings for her. That meant it wouldn’t have worked out between them anyway, didn’t it?
If he felt nothing for her, why did he hold her like he’d been worried? As though he cared?
Don’t read anything into it. She let herself just enjoy the feel of him, disappointed when he released her and stepped back.
“Nothing untoward happened in the Pret a Manger?” he asked.
She swallowed, also stepping back. “No. Lark’s going to help us. How did you find me, anyway?”
He gave the shadow of his usual grin. “I followed you.”
She raised her eyes to his. “You were there?”
“I got back as you were leaving. I wanted to be certain no one else paid you any mind.”
“I told you I trusted Lark.”
“That’s not why I did it.” His look was somber. “Your face is plastered all over the news broadcasts, right next to mine. The cops launched a manhunt for the Bedlamites, but they’re particularly looking for you and me. I didn’t want us to be seen together, not with the coppers so close.”
“They didn’t find you, though, right? You did your SAS ninja thing?”
He chuckled, though it sounded forced to her. “I might have run into one or two.”
She sucked in a breath. “You . . . didn’t hurt them?”
Trevor gave her a disappointed glance and walked into the living room. “You’ve got a high opinion of me, obviously. No, I didn’t hurt them.”
“I-I’m sorry I asked. Of course you wouldn’t if you didn’t have to.”
He seemed to have already put the matter from his mind as he looked around. “Good god. Did a circus explode in here?”
Shelby laughed, a surprised burst of sound. “You’ll understand when you meet her. Lark is . . . unique.”
Trevor checked the rest of the flat, much like Shelby had done. “That’s one way of putting it. Slob is another.”
She followed him into the kitchen. “She’s offered to let us stay here for a while.”
“That’s good of her. You still trust her after talking with her?” He looked around the kitchen, hands on his hips. “I’m speechless.”
She nodded emphatically. “Yes. I’ve trusted her in the past with sensitive information, and she’s never let me down.”
He picked up a box of cereal and looked at the back. “Good.”
She cleared her throat. “The refrigerator is empty. Are you hungry?”
He continued to pace, picking things up and setting them down again. “Not particularly, but you should eat.”
“I’m not hungry, either.” Truthfully, her stomach ached, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.
Trevor stopped and they looked at one another. The silence was awkward. Shelby solved the problem by walking into the living room and sitting in a rose-patterned plush chair, pushing aside a pair of rainbow throw pillows.
Trevor followed her and claimed another seat, stretching his long legs in front of him and lacing his hands behind his head. “Well, I owe her one.”
“She’ll collect, believe me. So what happens now?”
Trevor rolled his head toward her. “Now I call in to my superiors. In a minute.”
He clearly had something he wanted to say. She gestured for him to keep going.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this. You need to clear your name. You need to go to the police. Explain what happened. They’ll put you into protective custody.”
Shelby narrowed a glare at him. “And how am I supposed to explain my disappearance from the museum? No matter what, I’m now a suspect.”
“You can say I took you against your will.”
“Which will make it look even worse. How would I have escaped?”
“I let you go?”
Shelby shook her head. “They’ll have questions I can’t answer. And if I go into protective custody, I have no chance of getting those answers. Until we find the brains behind the brawn, you and I are joined at the hip, buster.”
“Buster?” He quirked a small smile.
“Yeah. I can help, Trevor.”
He gave a slow nod. “All right. Joined at the hip.”
For now. She read it in his face.
Someone knocked at the door. Trevor transformed before her eyes in a single instant from relaxed man to SAS warrior. He drew the Beretta and stalked to the door, placing himself to one side of it and peering out the hole. He looked back at her with raised eyebrows, unlocked the door and opened it wide. Lark walked in.
“You can’t be anyone other than Hadley Larkspur,” he said. The Beretta vanished.
She looked him over, admiration in her eyes. “And you’re Hunky Guy. Nice to meet you.”
Trevor stuck out his hand, and they shook.
“But call me Hadley again, and we’re going to have a problem.”
Trevor grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
Lark groaned. “Jesus. That’s even worse.” She came over to Shelby, bent down, and gave her a hug. “You find the place okay?”
“Yeah, no problem. Thank you again for—”
“Shut up, or I’ll dope-slap you.” Lark set her laptop case on the coffee table, making room by shoving some books out of the way. A magazine slid to the floor. “You know I’m only doing this for the exclusive.”
That wasn’t true, but she let it slide. Lark marched to her own drummer and obeyed her own logic, but if there was one thing Shelby had learned, it was that she was fiercely loyal to her friends.
“And you’ll get it,” Trevor said. “Thank you for your help. And for your discretion.”
Lark laughed, a musical flowery sound that had Trevor smiling at her. Shelby felt a clench in her gut. “Discretion is my middle name. Actually, it’s Nia, but if you call me that, we’re going to have a problem.”
Trevor inclined his head solemnly. “Lark it is, then.”
She took her computer to the kitchen table. Shelby followed her. “Are you sure we’re not going to cramp your style?”
Lark booted up the laptop. “Nah. I’m between boyfriends. Hunky Guy, want to see the Facebook post that nailed you?”
Trevor came to peer over her shoulder. “Actually, if you could just call me Trevor . . . ?”
“Trevor it is, then.” She grinned as she mimicked his own words. Bringing up a web browser, she typed in a few commands. Trevor’s picture popped up. He read the caption and winced.
“Lovely.”
Lark’s eyes twinkled. “Not flattered, huh? I don’t know. She’s kind of pretty.”
“She’s jailbait.” His brows wrinkled as he examined Chastity69’s photo. “I’m a Muppet if she’s even sixteen.”
“A . . . Muppet?”
“Gullible. A simpleton.”
“That’s a new one. I like it.”
Shelby stomach rumbled, loud enough for the others to hear. “Sorry.”
Lark slapped her forehead. “Duh. It’s almost seven. Who’s up for Chinese?”
“Definitely.”
“Brilliant.”
While Lark phoned in their order, Shelby sidled closer to Trevor. “You want to tell me what really happened out there this afternoon? You seem to have acquired several more guns. Did you take them from the police officers?”
“No. I merely disabled them temporarily. But”—he paused.—“The two Bedlamites who held you in the hotel room had an observer outside.”
“What does that mean? A lookout?”
“A sniper.”
Her jaw dropped as she stared at him, dumbfounded. “A sniper shot at you?”
He shrugged. “Strictly an amateur. But it did give us another semiautomatic.”
How could he sound so calm about this? When the two Bedlamites had forced their way into her hotel room, she’d been so scared her knees literally knocked together. She’d never been happier to hear Trevor’s voice. A second later, she’d been face-to-face with a bloody corpse, his eyes open and staring at nothing.
“So this is just another Sunday for you?” She tried to modulate her tone, but knew it came out strident.
Trevor put his hands on her shoulders. “Shelby, look at me. I’m a highly trained special operator. I’ve served in the SAS for twelve years. I know what I’m doing.”
“Shh!” She flapped both hands downward. “She’ll hear you!”
He sighed, running a hand across the back of his neck. “I need to check in. They’ll be wondering why I haven’t.”
“Check in with who?” Lark appeared beside them, her bright bird-eyes curious.
Trevor peered down at her. “What happened to your clothes?”
Shelby did a double take. When she’d met Lark at the coffee shop, she’d been wearing a tank top layered with a purple plaid flannel shirt and cropped leather jacket over skinny jeans and ankle boots. Paired with a long necklace and bangles, Lark had looked like the poster child for hipster dress. Now, however, she wore low-riding frayed denim short shorts and a cropped top that showed off her midriff. Her feet were bare.
“Those were my work clothes. These are my home clothes. You don’t like them?” she asked, with an impish grin.
“They look . . . comfortable.”
“Comfortable, eh?” Lark laughed. “So what exactly is your story, Hunky Guy?”
“Just a man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Lark paused to consider him. “Not ready to trust me. Okay, I get it. So I’ll tell you about me. Fair’s fair.”
Shelby’s brows shot into her hairline. The Lark she knew was unbelievably closemouthed about her background. Shelby had gleaned what she knew over months of interaction with her. She waited, breath held, to see what the other woman would say.
“I’m twenty-three. Born and raised in Massachusetts, the most liberal state in the Union, to two unbelievably narrow-minded parents.” She shrugged. “Whatevs. When I finish this semester here in London, I go back to Duke for my last semester of grad school. I can make computers sing and dance. I can program in eight languages. But the most fun I’ve had in years is digging up dirt . . . I mean, doing background research on the exposés Cerberus does.”
Trevor settled his hips back against the kitchen counter. “You want to be a reporter?”
“For a while, sure. Maybe. I just want to do it to say I’ve done it, you know? I guess once I’ve done something, I don’t want to keep on doing it. What’s the point?”
“What about your studies? What do you see yourself doing after university?”
Lark lifted her shoulders and turned her palms up. “Still figuring that part out.”
A knock sounded at the door.
“That was fast,” Trevor said.
“They’re literally right next to this building,” Lark said. “I order from them all the time.”
Trevor went to the front door and looked through the peephole. “Delivery man. Shelby and I will wait in the kitchen.” He drew his wallet and extended several bills to her.
Lark didn’t protest, taking the money with a grin. “Felons pay all incidentals.”
In moments, she returned with several large bags, which she took into the living room and set on the coffee table. “Dinner is served.”
They loaded their plates. Lark took the seat next to Trevor on the sofa. They watched a news segment on the aftermath of the museum standoff. Several of the former hostages gave interviews. All sent their prayers that Shelby Gibson would also be released unharmed.
“I’m glad they let the hostages go,” Shelby said.
Trevor agreed. “I know you think I made the wrong choice, saving you above the other hostages. But I know Eric, and believed he wouldn’t take unneeded baggage any farther than he had to. It’s bad enough now that they’ll be able to do a police sketch of him. He wouldn’t want anyone privy to his plans.”
“Your superiors clearly know who they are, since they sent you in because you knew their leader. Why can’t they just go arrest them?” Shelby knew better than to name the MI-5/SAS task force with Lark in earshot.
“First they have to find them. I gave them the hideout’s location, but when they got there, the PoB had gone.”
“Well, I sure don’t want to ever see them again.”
He smiled. “You handled yourself very well in the museum. I got the impression you were more annoyed than frightened.”
“I guess so. I should have been scared, but you were there. I knew you would find a way to diffuse the situation. I’m sorry you blew your cover, though.”
“Not entirely sure I have. I can always say I was carried away by lust. That’s what you wanted them to think, right? When you tore your dress?”
Lark looked up from her lo mein. “You did what?”
“I felt there needed to be a reason Trevor took me into the office. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Shelby’s face reddened. “I guess it was stupid.”
“Not at all,” Trevor corrected. “Better me than that lunatic Crawley.”
Lark speared some chicken into her mouth, talking around the edges. “That took guts. So did trusting me. So thanks for that.”
Trevor looked at her. “Thank you for not turning us in.”
“And miss all this excitement? No fucking way.”