SHELBY SIGHED HEAVILY as they piled back into Lark’s car. “I don’t think that was very useful.”
“It feels like we’re missing a vital piece of the puzzle here,” Trevor agreed.
“I’m starving. Let’s stop for lunch.” Not waiting for a response, Lark pulled off the road and parked in front of an Italian restaurant. They piled out.
Though it was barely half past noon, several patrons sat at the bar, drinking and watching the television mounted between the rows and rows of wine bottles. Despite the white linens on the tables and the lights mounted under the lip of the bar, the place managed to look gloomy. Shelby skipped the tables and led the way to three bar seats close to the TV.
“I’ve never been away from CNN for this long,” she said. “I’m going through withdrawals, not knowing what’s going on in the world.”
BBC One played an old episode of EastEnders. Lark leaned over the bar and called to the barman. “Oy. Do you carry CNN?”
“I can change it to BBC News if you like, luv. But that’s all I’ve got.”
“Yes, please,” Shelby said.
The barman switched channels, ignoring the protest from a portly man at the far end. “Whatcha have, then?”
“Menus, please. I’m starving. And a Coke.”
“I’ll have a cuppa. Thanks, mate.”
Shelby rested her elbows on the bar. “Just a club soda, please.”
“Lovely. I’ll be back straightaway with some menus.”
After they’d perused the menus and ordered, Shelby settled back to catch up on the news. The United States had targeted an al-Qaeda leader with an airstrike in Libya. An Israeli army jeep had struck and killed a Palestinian in the West Bank. The Sudanese president had fled to avoid an arrest warrant for alleged war crimes.
“Oh, my God!” She straightened, gripping the edge of the bar with tight fingers. “There’s been another bombing.”
All three stared up at the television. The reporter had a suitably grim expression as he relayed the story. This time, the Jewish Heritage Museum had come under attack. One person had been killed in the blast, and four others had been injured. The Philosophy of Bedlam claimed responsibility.
“Now they’ve committed murder,” Trevor said. “This ups the stakes dramatically.”
“Crawley tried to kill Floyd,” Shelby pointed out. “They’ve proven they’re capable of murder.”
“Yes. And I have to see if I can salvage this thing.”
Both women stared at him.
“You can’t go back,” Shelby pointed out finally. “You attacked Nathan and Fay and then ran. They won’t accept you as one of them.”
“They might if I tell them we used to be lovers, and I wanted to get you to safety. It’s the truth anyway.”
“And if you’re wrong? They’ll kill you.”
Trevor shrugged. “I’ve been in tighter spots.”
Shelby resisted the urge to hit him. How could he talk about risking his life so easily?
As the cameras trained on the police and investigators at the museum, Trevor leaned forward, scrutinizing the pictures on the screen.
“There,” he said, pointing. “Do you see that man? In the blue windbreaker?”
Shelby picked him out just as the picture changed, showing the scene from above as a helicopter hovered.
“I saw him, yes. Who is he?”
“He’s an operator.”
“A what?” Lark asked.
“SpecOps. Special Operations. Like the SAS or Special Boat Service. The American version are the SEALs.”
“Yeah, I got it at SpecOps,” Lark said drily. “I play Call of Duty.”
That got a brief smile, but Trevor was so focused, Shelby wasn’t sure he’d actually heard Lark.
“He’s most likely Mossad. Israeli special operations.”
“Do you know him?” Shelby didn’t understand.
“No. But we need to talk to him.”
“You think he’s Mossad because it’s a Jewish museum?” Lark asked.
“Yes.”
“All right. But how can he help us?” Shelby knew she looked as clueless as she felt.
“The Philosophy of Bedlam might have left a clue. He might have seen something that makes sense to him, but that law enforcement missed. Maybe there’s nothing. But finding out nothing doing something is better than sitting on my arse doing nothing.”
He dropped forty pounds onto the bar and got up, radiating impatience as Lark tried to gulp down the rest of her Coke. The barman approached, balancing three plates of food.
“Sorry, mate,” Trevor said. “We have to run. Free lunch for you and your mates, yeah?”
The barman shrugged and pocketed the money. “Cheers.”
Lark grumbled as they piled back into her car. “This is fun and all, but all I got to eat was some little pieces of bread. Got to keep my strength up.”
“Tonight I’ll treat you to a steak dinner,” Trevor promised.
“Excellent.” Lark pulled out her smartphone and handed it back to Shelby. “Danby, take us to the Jewish Heritage Museum.”
Shelby couldn’t help but laugh as she looked up the address and entered it into the maps feature. On a whim, she scrolled into the phone’s settings and changed the default female voice to a male, British one.
“Ask him again.” She pressed the button to activate the microphone.
“The Jewish Heritage Museum, please, Danby,” Lark repeated obediently.
“Getting directions to Jewish Heritage Museum,” the male voice replied.
Lark clapped her hands. “Total awesomeness!”
“Put your hands on the wheel!” Shelby all but shouted.
Trevor started to laugh. After a moment, she joined in, content despite their circumstances.
After a few moments, she sobered. “So far we’ve found nothing that’s going to exonerate me.”
“You?” asked Trevor. “Just you?”
Shelby shrugged. “All you have to do is go back to your unit. MI-5 will make you disappear.”
Lark turned sideways in her seat to look at Trevor. “You’re MI-5?”
“Watch the road!” Shelby squeaked. Lark swerved back into her lane just in time to miss an oncoming car.
Lunch hour traffic snarled the streets and Lark was forced to slow to a crawl, cursing the whole time. Shelby shared an amused glance with Trevor. Truthfully, she felt relieved. She found driving with Lark a terrifying experience.
Trevor kept flicking glances into the passenger-side mirror.
“What is it?” she finally asked.
“We’re being followed,” he said. “No, don’t look. Lark, take the next right.”
She did so. “Where? I don’t see anything.”
“It’s a gray Fiat. Don’t look for him. Trust me, he’s back there.”
The Fiat accelerated so abruptly that Shelby saw it. “Oh, my God! They’re going to ram us!”
“Lark, step on the gas. Now!” Trevor drew the Beretta. Shelby put a hand to her throat. Lark squeaked, hands tight on the wheel.
The Fiat roared up beside them. Fay was driving, with Nathan in the passenger seat levering a shotgun out the window.
“Duck,” Trevor bellowed.
They bent as far down as they could. The shotgun blast hit the side of the car. Without hesitation, Trevor climbed into the back seat, behind Lark. He pressed the button to lower the window. Nothing happened. “Open the goddamned window.”
“It doesn’t work,” Lark wailed. “I’ve been meaning to get it fixed.”
Trevor solved the problem by using the butt of the semiautomatic to smash the window, shielding his face against the glass.
An opening appeared in the crush of cars, and Lark stomped on the gas pedal, jumping into the spot and putting several cars between themselves and the Bedlamites.
“What do I do?” Lark shrieked. Cars around them were pulling off the road, wanting to be as far away from the running gun battle as they could.
“Turn left. Now!”
Lark obeyed, jumping through a red light and nearly getting broadsided. The Fiat followed them, Fay laying on the horn to make the cars slow enough for her to bull her way through. She came up on their bumper fast, ramming them hard. Shelby screamed as the impact threw her forward. The car slewed. Lark wrested it back under control.
Nathan drove into oncoming traffic and pulled the steering wheel hard to the left, slamming the Fiat into their car. Lark lost control, spinning into the sidewalk and slamming sideways into a parking meter. The car came to a shuddering stop. Shelby panted wildly, hand pressed to her chest.
“Out,” Trevor commanded. “On the passenger side. Move!”
Shelby dove for the door and shoved it open, turning to help Lark over the console. “Where do we go?”
“We’re close to Leicester Square. Head that way.” Trevor pointed.
Shelby turned back to the Fiat. Fay was struggling to open her door, which had caved in during the crash.
Nathan had the shotgun up to his shoulder, pointed straight at her.
WITHOUT THINKING, TREVOR threw himself sideways, shoving both women to the ground, covering them with his body as the shotgun blast split the air. Pedestrians began to run, screaming, in all directions.
He leapt to his feet, ignoring the fire that burned in his thigh. His legs worked; that was all that mattered. He pulled Shelby up, still between the gunman and himself. “Go!”
She and Lark took off running, dodging around cars and pedestrians, heading toward Leicester Square. Fay finally got her door open, and she and Nathan pursued them. If Trevor could get them into the pedestrian-only area, into a store or office building, he could gain the upper hand. As it was, they had to move, and fast. He sprinted after the women, catching up in three strides.
They passed a Burger King, racing past a telephone box and a street artist showing off caricatures. To their front left was a grassy area. It would leave them out in the open, but lessen the risk of pedestrians being caught in the crossfire.
“Into the park. Zigzag as you run,” he said. Both women were panting. “Straight past the statue. Head toward the theater.”
He checked over his shoulder. Nathan and Fay had hidden their weapons, but were pursuing at a brisk pace.
Buildings rose on both sides of them. The one to the right was under renovations. If he could hide the women, he could use the building as high ground. Realizing that neither of the women would be able to scale the barrier, he jettisoned the idea.
They burst into the street and turned right, passing a line of parked motorcycles. Nathan and Fay had abandoned any attempt at caution and were in full pursuit.
“Turn left into the alley,” he said.
They did as he instructed, but then stopped. Shelby held her side, and Lark gulped in great mouthfuls of air.
“Keep moving.” He pushed them farther into the alley, turning to guard their backs while they trotted to the other end, then followed. He passed a rolling delivery door, closed and locked. Strings of lights decorated the upper walls. A trash bin, too small to hide behind. This wasn’t going to work. Neither woman had any escape-and-evade skills. He needed to reevaluate.
Fay appeared at the front of the alley, saw them, and opened fire. Trevor grabbed Shelby’s hand and pulled her behind him, facing the hail of bullets as they exited the alleyway. It was damnably difficult to hit a moving target while moving, but he wasn’t taking any chances with Shelby’s life.
Lark, already out on the street, looked around. “Where to now?” she panted.
“New strategy,” he said. “Let’s find a crowded spot. I don’t think they’d fire into a crowd. Too many cameras. They’ve exposed themselves too much already.”
There was a convention center a few blocks away, if he recalled correctly. He led them at a steady lope. It wouldn’t be long before Nathan or Fay reached the end of the alley and saw them.
“Can you run any faster?” he asked, trotting backward as he swept the area with a steely gaze.
They tried, he had to give them credit. He took them across two streets and into another alley, but then, hallelujah, the convention center appeared before them. He led them straight into the crowds outside.
“Crowds equal invisibility,” he said. “Just walk normally. Don’t look back. Don’t look around. Just blend.”
He led them on a meandering path toward a concave building, under the front dome, and joined the queue waiting to enter. A large group in front of them stopped to argue with the person checking tickets; Trevor eased the women around them and into the building.
The lobby was as crowded as he’d hoped. Huge support columns would give them additional cover. The rows of vendor tables with vibrant displays would help conceal them. He led the women past a resting area with benches, where groups chatted as they relaxed. A food court had been set up off to the left. They joined the milling throngs waiting in various lines. The tables were packed. People had resorted to eating standing up.
“Queue up,” he said. “Face away from the front doors.”
He scanned the area. He didn’t even dare hope they’d made it inside unobserved. Nothing so far. When he was satisfied, he herded Shelby and Lark to the equally clogged escalators. They reached the top. He had them stand back against the wall whilst he stood at the railing and watched.
From his vantage point, he could see just how congested the place was. He was taking a calculated risk that Fay and Nathan wouldn’t open up and fire into the crowds. That would bring the police, and questions they wouldn’t want to answer.
It seemed to be some sort of gamer’s convention. Lots of flashing lights and colorful posters, and even people in costumes he couldn’t begin to identify. All the better.
“Do you see them?” Shelby had crept to his side. At least she had the good sense to stand behind him, away from the rail.
“Not yet.”
“Do you think they know where we went?”
He turned slightly to look at her. Her eyes were too wide and her breathing was uneven, but her gaze was steady. “No way to know, really. But there’s virtually no way they could spot us. There must be thirty thousand people here.”
“So we succeeded.”
He wasn’t willing to go that far, but she seemed to need reassurance, so he nodded. “We’ll find a less obvious way out.”
They faded back to the wall. With her purple hair, Lark fit in well here. Even Shelby with her blonde pixie cut and revealing dress looked normal in this crowd. It was Trevor, in his suit and tie, who stood out.
Lark came to the same conclusion, running a critical eye over him. “So much for your disguise. Get rid of the jacket.”
He slipped out of the expensive Burberry coat.
“Are you wearing an undershirt?”
“Erm, yes, actually.” Where was she going with this?
“Lose the shirt, too.”
He stripped off his shirt and tie. Lark tugged at his undershirt. He gently removed her hands and pulled it free from his pants. She flipped the tie back over his head and arranged it into some sort of complicated knot. When she was done, she stood back, hands on her hips, looking him over critically.
“Well, you still look like a dweeb, but it’s better than Uptight Suit was. What do we do now, Hunky Guy?”
The truth was, he didn’t know. “We’re in a bit of a pickle. None of us have valid identification, and I’m down to about twenty pounds in my wallet. It’s not enough to disappear.”
Lark frowned. “I didn’t think to grab my purse when the car wrecked.”
Shelby bit her lip. “We should go to the police. Get this whole mess straightened out.”
“You should do that,” he agreed immediately. “You and Lark both. Ask for protective custody.”
Lark blew out an annoyed breath. “And miss this? No way. So what I’m hearing is that we need money? Is that right?”
“In a nutshell.” Maybe Danby would front him some funds.
“ ’Kay. I can handle that part.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’m sure I haven’t lost my touch.”
Trevor just looked at her. Surely, she was not suggesting pickpocketing?
“Hey,” she said airily, “you’re not the only juvenile delinquent here.”
“That’s a brave proposal. But might we consider some other options?”
Lark snorted. “I’ve lived here long enough to know that what you’re really saying is that I’ve got a screw loose and you hate my idea. Fine. Give me a better one.”
Unfortunately, he couldn’t. Their options were too limited. “The police—” he started lamely.
“Will arrest Shelby. And Max is a pretty powerful guy. Do you really think he doesn’t have at least some of England’s finest in his pocket?”
Shelby put the nail in it. “Pretend you’re on a mission somewhere, and you don’t have the resources you need. Are you really going to tell me you wouldn’t do whatever it took? I’m not thrilled with the idea, either. But what choice do we have?”
Lark laced her hands together and reversed them, cracking her knuckles. “Excellent. I’ll be back.”
Before he could stop her, she’d vanished into the crowd. He couldn’t even follow her purple hair, because too many conference attendees also had colorfully dyed hair, both men and women. He sighed. “If she gets caught . . .”
“She seemed pretty confident.” Now that it was done, Shelby sounded troubled. “What do we do in the meantime?”
“We wait.”
“HOW DID THEY find us?” Shelby asked.
Trevor continued scanning the crowd. “Facial recognition, I’d guess. Jukes will have tied into the traffic camera system. He probably got a hit on me, since they have that double-damned Facebook pic.”
“Even worse, now they know about Lark.” Had she dragged her friend into danger?
“I’m sorry. I’ll get you two out of this, I promise.”
“We’re not leaving you to fend by yourself,” Shelby said, for what seemed like the thousandth time. “We can—”
What was staining his pants leg? And dripping onto the floor?
“Good God, Trevor. You’re bleeding! Were you shot?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” she practically shrieked. “How can it be nothing?”
He finally turned to look at her. “Keep your voice down. I’ll tend to it in a bit.”
Don’t freak out, she told herself. Clearly, he could still function so maybe it wasn’t that bad. On the other hand, he’d proven himself to be stubborn when he got an idea into his head, and his sole goal at the moment was to protect Lark and her.
“We need to find one of those family bathrooms, so I can see how bad it is.”
Trevor’s grip on the rail tightened. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”
Shelby felt like screaming. “You are a stubborn, hardheaded . . . stubborn man! It won’t help us if you pass out from blood loss.”
Before she could say anything else, Lark materialized next to them. She slipped her hand into Trevor’s. When she disengaged, Trevor turned his back to the balcony at large and counted the bills.
“Just under five hundred quid,” he said. “You did great. Time to stop.”
Lark hummed happily. “Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch. I returned the wallets, just so you know. Now what?”
Trevor pocketed the money. “Now we take the fight to them. Now we stop running, and become the hunters. Max wants me dead. I’ve seen his face. I can connect him to the Philosophy of Bedlam. Be damned that I can’t prove anything. He can’t take the chance. If I publicize what I know, his reputation will suffer, and apparently that’s everything to him.”
Shelby knew Trevor’s next words were going to be to put Lark and her someplace else until he resolved the matter. “He’s trying to kill us, too. He’s probably assuming you’ve told us about him.”
He shook his head decisively. “You’re not the targets here. You’re just collateral damage.”
“Terrific,” Lark groused. “Most fun I’ve had all year, and someone’s trying to kill me because of it. I guess I should be scared, huh?”
Shelby felt a smile tugging at her lips. Lark sounded anything but scared.
“We have to go. I need to make contact with that Mossad agent.”
“So we need to find a back way out of here,” Lark said. “Happens I might know of one.”
Shelby smiled at the younger woman. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
They followed Lark down the stairs and into another wing of the building. Long lines of patient people waited to get into a lecture hall. The line wrapped around the area twice. They eased their way through, ignoring the mutterings of those who thought they were trying to cut into the line. Shelby murmured apologies.
At the other end, Lark directed them into the back areas of the conference center. They entered a storage area packed with pallets of water and coffee, sodas and teas. A walk-in refrigerator stored who-knew-what. At the other end, a fire door warned that opening it would set off an alarm.
Trevor studied the door for a few minutes, then took a Leatherman multi-tool from his front pocket. He followed the line of the door and probed it carefully with what looked like a wire cutter. In moments, he pushed open the door. No alarm sounded. He stepped outside, looking around for long minutes before he allowed them out. They ended up in a delivery alley. Two men pushing dollies were unloading even more pallets of water from a truck. They didn’t even spare so much as a glance at the three.
“I’ll get us a car,” Lark said. “Want a Jaguar? Oh, sorry, that was thoughtless of me. How about a Ford instead?”
Trevor just shook his head. “I’ll get us a car. You two wait here.”
As they waited, Shelby wrapped her arm over Lark’s shoulders and hugged her. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.”
“Ha! I jumped in with both feet, remember? You’d’ve sucked if you didn’t go to my apartment. And brought Hunky Guy, too, so I could meet him. He’s fairly awesome.”
He was, wasn’t he? Shelby’s thoughts returned to her earlier epiphany. She led a lonely life. Sure, she had friends. She went to functions and the occasional party. But who did she really have in her life to share things with? Trevor had made it clear he wanted more with her. Wanted to see what developed between them. Maybe, just maybe, they could make it work.
A nondescript white Camry pulled into the alley. Trevor pushed open the passenger door.
“Get in.”
He’d removed his tie and wrapped it around his thigh, above the blood soaking his pants. She cast him a worried look. They couldn’t take him to a hospital. The doctors there would report a gunshot wound to the police. Did they have a choice, though?
“How bad is it?”
“It’s fine for now.”
She just shook her head. “Stubborn man.”
It took them more than an hour to get to their destination. The Metropolitan Police had cordoned off the area using blue-and-white police tape and strategically placed vehicles. Even exiting the car and trying on foot, they couldn’t get close. Worse, the Mossad agent was nowhere to be seen. Trevor bit off a curse.
“He’ll be at the Israeli Embassy,” Shelby said. “He’s certain to work out of it in some sort of capacity. Whatever his cover is. Or maybe the Mossad are different and don’t have covers.”
“No, you’re right,” Trevor admitted. “I don’t know where it is off the top of my head. We’ll need to stop somewhere.”
“Easy peasy.” Lark sat up straighter in the back seat. She pulled out her smartphone and brought up a browser window. “It’s at the western edge of London, beyond Hyde Park. On Exeter Street off the B217.”
The stolen car was equipped with a GPS. Shelby tapped in the address while Trevor drove. He was careful to stay with traffic, she saw. Nothing to draw attention to them.
Trevor had to drive around the block three times before they found parking. The spot sat about half a block from the embassy. There was nothing to distinguish this building from any other, except for an Israeli flag and a small guardhouse by the front gate. A low fence surrounded the structure.
“Plenty of surveillance,” Trevor said. “You can bet no one goes in without being vetted.”
Shelby reached for the door handle. “Do we just go in?”
Trevor grabbed her hand. “No. We wait for him.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake? We could just go in and ask for him.”
“Too much surveillance, as I said. One look at me and they’ll call Scotland Yard, then it’s game over. For you, too. Your face is up there right next to mine.”
“Oh.” She settled back into the seat.
“I’m hungry,” Lark announced.