THE FRONT LAWN was chaos. A military Humvee hunkered near the door, six or seven soldiers penning Max in nearby. News vans and police cars crammed the car park and the grass. The crush of reporters made movement almost impossible. Microphones and cameras thrust as close as the police allowed. Questions flew at Max from every direction.
“Have you been funding Bedlamite terrorists?”
“Are you responsible for the museum bombings?”
“What were you looking for in this museum?”
“How do explain your presence here today?”
The soldiers opened ranks to allow the police inside their perimeter. Max stared straight ahead while the cops cuffed him. “I have no comment.”
“You do not have to say anything,” a police officer barked, trying to be heard above the clamor. “However, it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned—” The rest of it was lost as the reporters noticed Shelby and the others surged forward.
“Officer,” Simon called, “please take this woman into custody. She’s a member of the Philosophy of Bedlam.”
Fay glowered as she was handcuffed.
“Clear a path,” someone roared. The police pushed the reporters back far enough to let them wrestle Max and Fay through to a patrol car. Shelby darted behind them, trying to find a head of purple hair in the crowd.
“Shelby!”
Lark stood near the turret, holding her laptop up with one hand and waving with the other. Half a dozen cameras had trained their lenses on her computer screen. Shelby started in that direction. Trevor and Simon eased ahead of her, somehow clearing a path simply with their presence. When she reached Lark, she threw her arms around the younger woman and hugged her hard.
“Hey, watch the laptop,” Lark squeaked, hugging her back. “These guys didn’t get the chance to see the footage.”
“We did it,” Shelby said in wonder, looking around at the activity.
Trevor cleared his throat pointedly. “Would one of you care to explain all this?” He waved a hand around him. Simon propped his hands on his hips, eyeing Lark like she was some sort of dangerous wildebeest.
Shelby and Lark grinned like a couple of truant teenagers.
“What did you do?” he asked again.
“Body-worn spy camera,” Shelby said, showing him the inch-long black box she still held. “Two hundred seventy-nine pounds at Maplin’s.”
“Hooked into my laptop through Wi-Fi. I recorded the feed onto my hard drive. Got every word. God, Shel, I was so scared for you. That man . . . he burned . . .”
Shelby shut her eyes, but it didn’t help. She was going to be haunted by that image for a long time to come.
“We called a bunch of television and radio stations on the drive up here,” she explained, since Trevor and Simon still looked confused. “High-profile philanthropist secretly an anarchist. Story of the century, blah-blah-blah. I’m not sure they believed me, but I guess they didn’t want to chance missing out.”
She looked at the chaos, then looked at Lark. They high-fived.
“Extremely well done, ladies.”
Trevor sounded sincere, but Shelby knew him too well. “But we were stupid to put ourselves in danger?”
“Well,” he started, but then just shook his head. “Never scare me like that again.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
A tall, spare figure in an Army uniform pushed his way to Trevor, who snapped to attention. The man’s receding hairline did nothing to soften his authority. Shelby dealt with enough senior military officers to recognize the three diamonds topped by a crown as a brigadier general.
“Trev, my good man,” he said. “I’m pleased you were able to resolve things here satisfactorily.”
The magnitude of the understatement astonished her.
Trevor gave a sharp nod. “Brigadier, may I present Shelby Gibson and Hadley Larkspur, both of whom were critical in bringing Max Whitcomb and the Philosophy of Bedlam to justice. Ladies, Brigadier Lord Patrick Danby.”
The brigadier inclined his head as he offered his hand. Shelby liked the strength of his grip, but this man hadn’t helped Trevor when he needed it.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said coolly. Lark also looked less than enthusiastic.
“I regret you got caught up in all this,” the brigadier said. “But I must say that MI-5 is grateful for your assistance.”
“We were happy to help Trevor,” Shelby said.
The brigadier turned to him. “We executed the warrants to search Whitcomb’s business and home, as you requested. We can discuss what we found on Monday, and you can back-brief me on this evening’s activities.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Meanwhile, you have injuries that need tending.” The brigadier looked around, found what he wanted, and snapped his fingers.
One of the cops approached. “Yes, sir?”
“We need medical care. An ambulance, right away.”
“Yes, sir.” The cop grabbed his shoulder mike and spoke into it. “Right down this way, sir, if you please.”
The brigadier lifted a casual hand, already turning away to help restore order. “First thing Monday morning, then, Trev.”
Trevor kept his arm around her all the way to the ambulance, and hovered by her side as the paramedic cleaned her knife wound and put a bandage over it.
“You’ll need transport to the hospital for stitches,” the paramedic said. “But it should heal up nice and clean. Now you, young man.” She pointed to the space next to Shelby on the tailgate of the ambulance. “Hop up. Let me take a look at those cuts.”
Trevor looked like he was about to give his “I’m indestructible” speech, so Shelby patted the empty spot next to her. “I’d feel better if I could see that you’re okay,” she said.
He came at once to sit next to her, twining their fingers together. He didn’t seem to notice the paramedic treating his chest wound or the many cuts. He simply held her hand, looking out at nothing.
“Hey,” she finally said, bumping him with her shoulder. “What is it?”
He finally met her eyes. “I’ve never been so scared in my life,” he said, voice so low she had to strain to hear it. “The magistrate issued the search warrants. Why did you feel you had to do all this?”
He gestured around them. The excitement had died down when the police had driven Max away. Now only a few reporters and police mop-up crews remained. An ambulance pulled up directly in front of the manor house. Two paramedics wheeled a stretcher out, its occupant covered by a tarp. She shivered, her hand tightening in his.
“Because of who Max is. He’s fooled the public for years. He supports charities and builds schools. People use words like humanitarian and philanthropist around him.”
“All right. Go on.” Trevor squeezed her fingers encouragingly. She took a breath, thinking how she could explain it.
“I work with both American and foreign politicians like him sometimes. You know they have an agenda you’re not privy to. You walk a razor-wire trying to puzzle out the real plan,” she said. “Sometimes they get caught doing something unethical, or even illegal. In my experience, they’re either reelected because word never reaches the people, or they simply find a new home in a special interest group or PAC or government think tank.”
“And they’re never held accountable,” Trevor said.
She nodded. “Because the public doesn’t know. I wanted the public to know this time. I wanted justice for all the people he’s hurt.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes. The paramedic finished with his cuts and abrasions, and looked at his knee.
“It’s swollen,” she said. “I’ll have to cut your trousers.”
Trevor waved her off. “It’s fine.”
Shelby laughed at him. “Big strong he-man scared of scissors?”
He pretended to glare, but stretched out his leg so the paramedic could cut the material open. Shelby sucked in a breath when she saw it.
“My God, Trevor, it’s the size of a grapefruit!”
“Eh. Maybe a baseball.” A grin tugged at his mouth.
The paramedic put an icepack on the knee. “You’ll be off to hospital as well, young man, to get that knee X-rayed. You two lovebirds will want to ride together, I’m guessing?” Her eyes twinkled.
“Yes,” Trevor said firmly. “Together.”
Her heart in her eyes, Shelby reached up, turning his face to her. He grinned, running a thumb over her cheek. “Trevor.”
“Mm-hmm?” He was looking at her lips now.
“Do you know that I’m mad about you?”
Light flared in his eyes, a delight and possessiveness that thrilled her. “I said I’d do better next time.”
“Well, get going, mister,” she whispered.
His eyes brightened. “I’m completely mad about you,” he said.
And then kissed her senseless.