“This place is safe, or you wouldn’t leave me here. And we are safe—no Suslov followed us. Your work is over, the job’s done. You’re still on leave anyway, aren’t you?”
“I am not dragging you into any more danger, Karen.”
“So you think that if you are a marked man for the next two or three days, you ought to keep far away from me? That’s crazy, completely mad.”
“Crazy?” He was angry.
“You alone in the apartment, ready to face Suslov and let your Beretta shorten two days to two minutes—was that the idea, Peter? But how can anyone face a bomb hurled through a window?”
That stopped further argument cold. “Pretty far out,” he said. “Where did you pick up such wild notions?”
“In Rome.” She shivered. Dusk had fallen, and with it the dew. “Let’s go in. At least, have dinner with me. If you must leave, then I leave, too.” She looked up at him. He had taken off his jacket, draped it around her bare shoulders. “I mean that.”
Yes, she meant it. He gave up. Not entirely against his own judgment, either. For the first time this evening, he was admitting he was exhausted, in no shape to travel or stay alert. It might not be a bomb hurled through his window—that was unlikely. But it could be a fire started in a ground-floor bookstore, and Mrs. Abel above it, deeply asleep. “You’re a powerful arguer,” he said as they reached the car. He hesitated, still debating with himself.
“Only when I’m desperate.” She looked back at the deep shadows spreading over the stretch of grass, at the blackened outlines of trees that sheltered the pond. It all began there, she thought. “I really believed Vasek’s story.” She could smile at herself now. “The eager little reporter, so earnest about it all.”
Bristow’s eyes had followed her glance. “And beautiful,” he said. “I didn’t know whether to look at you or listen. But I did both.”
“And started all your troubles. Including me.”
“That’s one I want to keep with me for the rest of my life.” He lifted his bag out of the back seat.
She laughed and held out her hand. He grasped it firmly. Together, they mounted the steps and entered the house.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Helen MacInnes, whom the Sunday Express called ‘the Queen of spy writers’, was the author of many distinguished suspense novels.
Born in Scotland, she studied at the University of Glasgow and University College, London, then went to Oxford after her marriage to Gilbert Highet, the eminent critic and educator. In 1937 the Highets went to New York, and except during her husband’s war service, Helen MacInnes lived there ever since.
Since her first novel Above Suspicion was published in 1941 to immediate success, all her novels have been bestsellers; The Salzburg Connection was also a major film.
Helen MacInnes died in September 1985.
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS
HELEN MacINNES
A series of slick espionage thrillers from The New York Times bestselling “Queen of Spy Writers.”
Pray for a Brave Heart
Above Suspicion
Assignment in Brittany
North From Rome
Decision at Delphi
The Venetian Affair
The Salzburg Connection
Message from Málaga
While We Still Live
The Double Image
Neither Five Nor Three
Horizon
Snare of the Hunter
Agent in Place
Prelude to Terror (August 2013)
The Hidden Target (September 2013)
I and My True Love (October 2013)
Cloak of Darkness (November 2013)
Rest and Be Thankful (December 2013)
Friends and Lovers (January 2014)
Home is the Hunter (February 2014)
PRAISE FOR HELEN MacINNES
“The queen of spy writers.” Sunday Express
“Definitely in the top class.” Daily Mail
“The hallmarks of a MacInnes novel of suspense are as individual and as clearly stamped as a Hitchcock thriller.” The New York Times
“A sophisticated thriller. The story builds up to an exciting climax.” Times Literary Supplement
“Absorbing, vivid, often genuinely terrifying.” Observer
“She can hang her cloak and dagger right up there with Eric Ambler and Graham Greene.” Newsweek
“An atmosphere that is ready to explode with tension... a wonderfully readable book.” The New Yorker
TITANBOOKS.COM
Ride a Pale Horse Page 36