a Touch of Revenge (Romantic Mystery - book 6): The Everly Gray Adventures

by L. j. Charles

  Leaves rustled.

  My senses sharpened. The crisp scent of early autumn seeped into my nose, and under it cherry tobacco. A pipe? Probably. Innocent? Probably. No one knew I was in Torquay, after all.

  Birdsong quieted.

  I slipped the Boker from its sheath on my forearm and palmed it. I’d learned the hard way it was more prudent to explain the presence of a weapon than to be caught without one. I stood, rolling to the balls of my feet, and then balanced my weight, slowly shifting to check the path behind me. Feigning interest in the object I’d supposedly picked up, I tilted my hand toward a weak shaft of sunlight and opened the Boker.

  Movement on the far side of the hedges. Furtive? A fresh rush of adrenaline hit me, and blood pounded in my ears.

  Two inhalations. The panic churning in my stomach pissed me off, so I swung into offensive mode. Long, even strides took me toward the back of the cottage. The scent of cherry tobacco intensified, and I honed in on the source, calculating the time it would take me to reach my target. Ten seconds, max.

  A hand landed on my shoulder. Squeezed.

  I spun, my knee halfway to the attacker’s groin.

  “You knee me and I’ll have to hurt you.” The brogue was heavier than usual, and his blue eyes sparkled with laughter. There was a polished tobacco pipe in his hand, and a single wisp of smoke trailed into the air.

  “Damn it, Pierce.” Surely he wasn’t… I spun to scan the area where I’d last sensed my target. No movement. No prickles. “I lost him.”

  “No, you didn’t. I’m right here. Doubled back on you. Let’s move, Belisama. Tour group coming this way.”

  I puffed out a sigh. “Fu…udderbudder.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Maddie. I’ve been trying out new words to replace the ones Annie would rather not hear coming from her daughter’s mouth. Flippydoodles and fudderbudder make the kidlet giggle, so they’re keepers.”

  Pierce grunted. He’d clearly won this round, but I soldiered on. “Annie texted me a photo of Fion Connor. I know it’s a long shot, but the woman who served my cream tea went squirrely and disappeared after I asked about her, and Annie said she owns the tea room in the Manor House. I thought maybe… You know how I am about there not being any coincidences.”

  He laid his arm across my shoulders, and propelled me along the path. “Yeah. And I’m with you on that, but timing and location play a part in successful covert work.”

  “I’m learning.” And then the reality of his presence crashed into me. I jerked from under his arm. “Where have you been? I’ve been sending messages, trying really hard to be patient. Unsuccessfully, but still—”

  “Eamon Grady.” Four blunt syllables that leached most of the brogue from his voice.

  Curiosity won over my natural inclinations—impatience and annoyance—when dealing with Pierce. “And?”

  “He’s in Ireland. We’ll get to that, but you’re onto something with Fion Connor, and we should probably work that angle before we leave England. Could be Hunt’s assignment was less about you and more about Loyria Gray’s formula.”

  Pride curled in my belly that I’d already started thinking the same thing. I was learning. I nudged him with my elbow. “I haven’t gotten into a single speck of trouble since I’ve been here.”

  Pierce’s left eyebrow hiked. “Your knee was damn close to my balls.”

  I fought an eye roll. Won. “Trained reaction. Annie and Whitney are excellent teachers. My plan was to see if it was someone connected to Connor, then tail him and keep sending you messages to get your butt here because I needed you. I learned my lesson about having backup.”

  His fingers grazed my cheek.

  The gentle touch slipped under my defenses and latched onto the fragile part of my heart, the part that hadn’t completely recovered from losing Mitch. My breath stuttered. “I don’t want to get myself killed, especially before I have all the answers I need, and before I’ve avenged what happened to Mitch and my parents.”

  A shadow crossed Pierce’s face. “Closure and revenge aren’t the same, Belisama.”

  Every one of my nerves bristled. Guess I wasn’t ready for a philosophical approach to the deaths of my family. “How about we wander around the main part of Cockington, maybe feed you lunch at the Manor Tea Room and see if we can spot Fion Connor?”

  Pierce’s lips twitched in an almost-smile. “How often have you been working with A.J.?”

  “Twice a week with Annie, and the same with Whitney Boulay. It’s been a crash course. They knew I wasn’t going to let it drop until I had answers and revenge, so they’ve been trying to get me up to speed. I’d like to think we’ve made progress.” There was just enough doubt in my voice to sound like I wanted Pierce’s approval, and that ticked me off.

  He grunted. “Makes you dangerous.”

  Confusion diluted my anger. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “You’ve had enough hand-to-hand to think you’re prepared for any shit that comes along, but you haven’t had any real-time experience. You’re a scary woman right now, Everly Gray.”

  I shrugged it off. “Scary isn’t all bad. I’ve been thinking about how to find Connor’s hidey-hole, and sent Annie an email earlier asking her to trace all of Mitch’s assignments back to their origin. She should be able to do that, no problem. If we find a point of origin for most, if not all of the emails, maybe we can pinpoint her location. It’s a better bet than hanging around the restaurant. That’d be noticeably suspicious.”

  “Did you try the phone book?”

  There were times when I just wanted to kick Tynan Pierce in the shins. Granted, those moments were usually motivated by my acute embarrassment, but still. Did he always have to be so pragmatic? “Um, no. I haven’t used a phone book in ages. Do they still make them?”

  His grin was so full of bad boy laughter I had to do something. Physical combat was out of the question, so I went for next best thing—curled my hand around his neck, stretched to tiptoes, and planted a kiss over that adorable grin. And then I stepped back to survey my handiwork. Worked like a charm. Grin gone. But darned if there wasn’t an empty spot in my chest at the loss.

  Pierce must have read the change in my mood, because he rescued the moment with a playful tug on a lock of my hair. “Ah…flippydoodles, wasn’t it? Let’s hit the information desk at the village entrance for a phone book, and then eat. I need food.”

  It was the first time I’d ever heard Pierce say he required something as mundane as food. Like a normal person. It bordered on scary, and I slipped a peek at him. I should have noticed how gray his cheeks were long before this. Confidence in my observation skills plummeted, mixed with concern for this man who’d always been bigger than life, and it left me completely tongue-tied. I nodded, slipped my hand into his, and squeezed.

  He rubbed his thumb over my wrist with a gentle stroke. We were okay. And he’d be more okay after I fed him. Considering the double dose of scones and jam I’d recently consumed, it’d be best if I avoided food for the next week, so I planned to skip eating and spend my energy bringing Pierce up to speed. Meat, potatoes, any man-food the Tea Room had to offer, should turn that gray tinge into his usual warm olive coloring.

  Also, a distraction might help. “You know the phone book isn’t going to help us locate the place I’m looking for. Finding her official estate has to be ridiculously easy, since she seems to leave a lasting impression. It’s the place she doesn’t want us to find I’m interested in.”

  “Gotcha.” Pierce held the Tea Room door open and motioned me through. “But we need to start someplace, and the obvious is—”

  “Obvious?” I smashed my lips together to keep from grinning. Pierce was in teacher mode and I didn’t want to screw up a chance to learn stuff by distracting him.

  I was rewarded with his signature grunt. “Be a good time to test your surveillance technique.”

  The gruff man I’d encountered earlier was still behind the counter. Looked li
ke he was sorting receipts, and when he spotted me he did a double take. Guess there weren’t many people who downed two large scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam, then showed up thirty minutes later for more food. He gathered two menus and pointed toward a table in the corner—the opposite corner from where I’d been seated earlier. He centered the menus on the placemats, muttered something unintelligible, and then scurried off.

  Pierce sat, putting his back to the wall, glanced at the menu, and then began a meticulous scan of the room. “See anyone you recognize?”

  I scooted my chair around for a better view of the room. “Just the guy who seated us.”

  A much younger man approached us, notepad in hand. “I’m Andy and I’ll be taking care of you this afternoon. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Two Coke Lights, please.” I’d learned that Diet Coke in the UK came with a different name and in tiny bottles, so I always saved time by ordering two.

  “Yes, ma’am. And for you, sir?”

  “Water and a double order of the hot roast beef sandwich.” He smiled at our server. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Are you from around here?”

  “Not Cockington Village, no, sir. My family’s from Torquay. I’ll be along in a minute with some bread.” He turned to me. “Would you like to order your meal, ma’am?”

  “I’ll just be having the soda, thanks.”

  When Andy left us, I scooted my chair back and stood. “I need to visit the loo. Had two pots of tea when I was here earlier.” I handed him the paper with the address printed on it. “Why don’t you ask Andy about this when he comes back? I had no luck earlier, and my server deliberately shut down when I mentioned Connor. Maybe you’ll do better. If she owns this place, he has to know her, right?”

  Pierce sighed, took the paper, then tapped his phone. “Text me if I’m needed.”

  “Right. Got it.” It was an easy promise. I wanted to keep my backup close at hand, and if I found something worth pursuing between our table and the water closet, I’d whip out a text.

  Nothing caught my attention on the way to the restrooms, but when I came out I noticed a hallway jutting at an angle from a slight alcove. I stuck my head around the corner. Empty. I snapped a picture of the hallway and sent it to Pierce. Taking a short detour. If spotted I’ll explain that my sense of direction had technical difficulties.

  With Pierce watching my back, it should be okay to wander down the hall a few steps, just to see if it hid any interesting secrets—like Connor’s office. It would be good practice for me, I had excellent backup, and our table was nearby. What could go wrong?

  There were a few empty offices, but all of them were locked.

  A loud click echoed along the hallway, and a door at the far end opened.

  Light flashed. Had someone taken a picture?

  I flattened against the wall, watching. Listening.

  No sound. No movement. I crept closer to the open door.

  Loud mutterings came from inside, the sound of a chair being shoved along the floor, and then footsteps.

  I smooshed my body into a two-inch door frame, sucked in my gut, held my breath, and concentrated on being invisible. Should I text Pierce or not? Probably no need yet.

  The footsteps receded down the hall. It took a very long minute before my heart slowed to a normal pace and I dared to move from my miniscule hiding place. The hall was empty in both directions, so no reason I shouldn’t nip through that open door for a quick look-see. No reason at all.

  The “office” was empty—no desk, chairs, cabinets, phones—nothing but a small opening in the far wall. I crossed the room and looked through the two-by-three inch rectangle straight into the dining room. They apparently spied on their employees. Or was it their guests who needed to be watched? Whatever, it was creepy.

  I tapped the glass covering the opening. It had to be some kind of telephoto lens, because everything I looked at appeared big and close. I watched the servers moving around, spotted Andy when he crossed the dining room with a heaping plate of roast beef sandwiches that he set in front of Pierce. The opening gave me a perfect view, right down to Pierce’s narrowed eyes and white-rimmed lips. Guess I’d been gone too long.

  Voices traveled along the hallway. Mumbling, but I still recognized one of them. A shiver raced along my spine, and I tiptoed to the door, peeked out. Yes. It was the woman who’d served me earlier, and she was angling her cell phone so a man in an expensive looking suit could see the screen. “…she…with him…sure…waited on earlier…red hair…”

  Well, damn. She’d taken a picture of Pierce.

  EIGHT

  I EASED BACK INTO THE empty room, keeping an ear to the mumbling conversation between the woman who’d served my scones that morning and the man in the designer suit. It wouldn’t do to get caught. Looking for the loo wouldn’t cut it as an explanation for my presence in the “spy” room—especially since these people were apparently stalking Pierce. And me. I shivered. Time to text Pierce. Hiding in empty room. Interesting conversation. Be there in a minute.

  The voices grew louder. And closer. Definitely coming my way. I ducked behind the door and plastered myself to the wall. Apparently the room was near the kitchen because the enticing smell of freshly baked scones flooded the room. My stomach grumbled. Panic kicked up my heartbeat, and I pressed a fist deep into my abdomen. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. It was not a good time to have digestive indiscretion.

  Footsteps shuffled outside the room. Would Pierce come after me if I didn’t get back to our table soon? Yeah. He would.

  I sucked in a breath. Held it.

  “Best run it up to Ms. Connor straightaway.” There was an arrogant twist in the guy’s tone that made his English accent stark and brittle.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do that. And I’ll snap another photo of the gentleman for backup, shall I? Perhaps I’ll be able to catch one of the woman as well. Miz Connor has such an issue with red hair.” It was definitely my former server, and the sound of her voice sent a wave of nausea through my already knotted stomach. I rubbed the spot, willing knots, nausea, and rumbling away. No way would I let her spoil the creamy deliciousness of my highly caloric brunch.

  And then it hit me. She’d have to come in this room to take the picture. This empty room that provided no hiding place whatsoever. Pierce was gonna kill me.

  My attention shot back to their conversation. “Capital plan, Nolla. A few pictures from different angles would be just the thing.”

  Yes, yes, yes, I screamed silently. Different angles. Preferably far away from the spy hole in this room.

  The woman huffed. “Right, then. I’ll deliver them to estate on my break. Miz Connor will be—

  “Best not to second guess her, Nolla. Deliver the photos posthaste, if you will.”

  It sounded like Nolla rustled around, getting ready to go, and then I caught her mumble. “Oh, no. Mobile’s dead. They’ll shoot me, they will.”

  I sucked in another shaky breath, held it until the sound of her footsteps faded to nothing, and then I peeked into the hall. Empty. I jogged to our table, met Pierce’s frown with one of my own, slapped a £20 note on the table, grabbed his hand, and yanked. “Time to go. Now.”

  He’d just swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, so I didn’t bother dredging up any guilt. To his credit, he didn’t ask me a single question, but I sensed they were building up in the back of his mind. Yep. I’d be in the interrogation hot seat as soon as we got out of the tea room.

  We made it outside without incident, and I ducked behind the nearest hedge that was large enough to hide us. Pierce hunkered down next to me, and shook free from my death grip on his hand. “Talk.”

  “Bad news—”

  “Got that part.” His lips were tight and his skin had only lost a hint of the gray tinge.

  The guilt I’d been ignoring erupted, spread through me like wildfire, and then the shakes started. This was big-time bad. There were no photographs of Tynan Pierce anywhere. None. Until a few
minutes ago. It was far too dangerous because of his covert, and this was my fault. No point trying to break it to him gently. “The woman who served me scones earlier today, Nolla is her name. She’s the one I asked about Connor…”

  He nodded.

  “She snapped a picture of you and is taking it to Fion Connor.”

  His eyes dilated. “Fuck. He pointed through a break in the leaves. “That her?”

  Anticipation surged through me. “Yes. Let’s go. We can’t afford to lose her.”

  Pierce ignored me, his attention on Nolla. “She take the photo with her phone?”

  Why was he stalling? “Yes. Now let’s go.” Impatience made me itch, so I yanked his arm. His muscles bunched under my hand, but he didn’t move. Not a millimeter.

  “Hang on, Hot Shot. We need a make on her transportation.”

  I jumped up and peered over the top of the hedge. “White car, a titch too small for her.”

  Pierce had his cell out and had snapped a picture. “Let’s move.”

  I stalled in place. “Nolla’s in a car. I took the bus. There’s no way we can follow her on foot.”

  His palm flattened on my back and he pushed. “Parking lot. Go.”

  Pierce moved at a brisk jog, and I was doing a triple-time run to keep up. It must have bumped my brain cells into gear, because I finally realized that we were on a direct path toward an adorable bright blue Citroën. Pierce would never fit.

  He beeped the doors unlocked, and maneuvered into the impossibly small space behind the steering wheel. I missed most of the action because he’d have left me behind if I wasn’t buckled in by the time he started the engine. But still, the contortions I saw were worth a video. Not that I’d ever…well, maybe I would. It’d be okay as long as I left his face out of the shots. Maybe it would be okay. He had a distinctive behind—tight and…well, enough about that. He was damned careful to stay out of any and all photographs since too many people wanted him dead. A shiver of dread crawled over my skin.