by Mari Carr
Mateo held his left hand up, the back of it to them, signaling for them to hold. He opened the door and peered outside once more, then motioned for them to follow him without looking back.
They walked quietly, considering their haste to cross the narrow patch of grass to the ivy-covered gate. Mateo opened it, freezing when it creaked. In a calmer frame of mind, Cecilia would have recognized the noise wasn’t that loud, but given her current state of panic, it sounded like a gunshot piercing the silent night.
Mateo must have been more reasonable because he went ahead and pushed the gate open wide enough for the three of them to pass through. Despite the noise, he closed it behind them.
“I don’t want to leave them any way to trace which way we went,” he whispered.
“Where now?” she asked.
Dimitri grasped her hand. “This way. I managed to steal a car before I set Mateo free. It’s hidden just outside the castle grounds behind some tall bushes.”
“Who are you?” Cecilia asked in a hushed voice, not bothering to move despite Dimitri’s tugging.
He turned and gave her a mischievous grin that he punctuated with a quick kiss.
“I’m a Ukrainian spy.”
14
James met her by the door, walking fast enough that he was limping a little. His limp was always worse when he was upset or worried.
Cecilia held up her hands, palms out. “I’m okay, James.”
James looked from her to scan the space behind her, as if she would have hidden Mateo in the small stairwell. It was late, but the interior security light above the door they’d used to access the Trinity Old Library was enough for her to see the expression on her cousin’s face.
“What the hell is going on?” James demanded. “Arthur got a call that someone tried to kill the fleet admiral. Then ten minutes later, we find out it was Mateo! I try to call you. No answer. I keep trying to call you, and you don’t answer. Then Arthur gets another call. Mateo has escaped, and you and Dimitri are MIA.”
“Mateo didn’t do it, James.”
He took a halting step back. “Cecilia…my husband is the admiral of England. If you helped Mateo escape…I have to tell him.”
“I didn’t,” she insisted.
“And what about the other one?”
“Dimitri didn’t either. He was with me. We got on the ferry to Dublin and didn’t find out he’d escaped until we got here.”
It was a little scary how good she was getting at lying.
She and Dimitri had bought tickets for the ferry from Douglas to Dublin as walk-on passengers. Mateo had slipped into the camper of an inattentive Irish family returning to Ireland from a camping holiday on the isle. Once the camper was driven aboard, Mateo slipped out and joined the foot passengers.
There would be video evidence—of him getting out of the camper, of him walking off the ferry with all the other foot passengers. Dimitri assured her it would be okay, and that the trick would be for them to stay far enough ahead of their pursuers that, by the time someone went through all that video, they were safely out of Dublin.
“James, please. We need your help. The librarians’ help.”
James’ face creased with worry for her. “Cousin, I know he was supposed to be your third, but—”
“But he didn’t do it. He’s being set up—”
“I know this must be hard—”
“—which means the real traitor is still out there! And with the fleet admiral injured…” Cecilia raised her brows.
They’d both raised their voices as they interrupted one another. James could, annoyingly, out-shout her, but she could hold her own in an argument through tenacity.
James’ eyebrows twitched and his face relaxed into a more customary smile. “Come on.”
The librarians were gathered at the same table they’d used before. The chair at the head of the table was pushed out at an angle—the seat James had vacated to come meet her at the door.
Hugo sat beside Josephine, who was talking animatedly, though in a low enough voice Cecilia couldn’t hear what she said. Hugo was nodding, even as he blinked in apparent surprise. Nyx was across the table from them, her pale hair pulled back into a bun that should have made her look studious, but instead she seemed like an artist about to take brush to canvas.
“Where’s Karl?” Cecilia asked.
James shrugged. “I don’t know. He said he was coming, but I haven’t been able to get ahold of him since. I filled the others in on the task assigned to your trinity and what’s happened in the past twenty-four hours in order to speed things along.”
“Excellent.” The three at the table looked up when she spoke. There was an awkward silence.
She crossed her arms, knowing it looked defensive but not caring. “Mateo didn’t do it. He’s being set up, and I need your help to prove it wasn’t him.”
Hugo looked unconvinced, while Josephine seemed sympathetic. Nyx—as always—appeared unemotional, almost otherworldly.
“Do you have proof he wasn’t the traitor in the guard?” Hugo asked.
She shook her head.
“Have you discovered who the true traitor is?” Hugo wasn’t purposely being unkind, Cecilia knew that. He was a man of facts, one who found truth in the details, in the things he could see and understand.
“No.” The word hurt to speak.
Hugo didn’t back down. “Then your assertion that Mateo is innocent is based on…what?”
Cecilia knew her answer would appease none of them, that it wouldn’t help her case. “I just know. I’ve spent the past four days with Mateo. I’ve gotten to know him. He isn’t capable of what he’s been accused. He’s loyal and honest. He would never betray the fleet admiral or the society.”
Nyx sighed. “Cecilia,” she said kindly. “There is no shame in falling in love, but to let it blind you to—”
“No,” Cecilia interrupted. “My feelings for Mateo aren’t playing a part in this.”
“Of course, they are, Cecilia,” James said gently, calling her out. “But without any evidence to lead us to another suspect, we can’t discount Mateo. Especially not when all the proof seems to point to him.”
“Not all of it. We found a…well, a sex toy.” Cecilia wasn’t a prude, but the words seemed vulgar within the hallowed stacks of the Trinity Long Room. She’d stashed the thing in a bag and dropped it by her seat as soon as she’d walked in.
Everyone looked at her. She cleared her throat, then tossed her head back, ready to forge on. They didn’t believe her, but she was determined none of them would leave this room until they agreed to help her clear Mateo’s name.
“Dimitri had a list of places where Manon might have been meeting with the sniper. When we were on the isle, we investigated them. That’s where we found the whip.”
“Who gave him the list?” Josephine asked.
“No one. I think he came up with it.” However, as soon as she said it, Cecilia questioned that answer.
It didn’t help that Josephine smiled as if she knew some secret, but she said nothing else.
“You think she met with the sniper so close to Triskelion Castle?” Hugo asked. “Why take the risk?”
“That might have been part of the enjoyment. Proximity either to the object of her hatred—Kacper—or the danger of discovery are both possible motives for an otherwise risky behavior.” Nyx glanced around the table with those unsettling dark eyes as she spoke. Dimitri had suggested the same motives in the stables.
Cecilia opened her tote and pulled out the whip, placing it on the table.
“That’s a sex toy?” Josephine asked, her eyes wide with horror behind her thick-framed glasses. She shoved them up on her nose as she leaned closer to examine the whip, her expression equal parts curiosity and terror.
“Yes,” Cecilia answered. “According to Dimitri.”
Nyx picked it up. “Yes. This is a custom-made piece.” She looked at the small metal tag dangling from the handle. “M.K. G.R. A.R.”
“What about the drone operator? The one who actually shot Kacper.”
James shook his head. “No, Lorelei—England’s vice admiral—ran his fingerprints through the computer and discovered his name was Bertrand Fenwick.” James looked slightly ill. “He died right in front of me. A lot of people died that day.”
Cecilia put her hand on her cousin’s shoulder. She should have considered what kind of memories talking about all this would bring up for him.
“Well, then it should be simple. Which member of the Spartan Guard has the initials A.R.?” Hugo asked.
“None of them, but maybe they have a nickname?” Cecilia suggested, even though Dimitri and Mateo had discounted that as an option.
The four other librarians shared the same doubtful look her lovers had when she’d posed it.
“Think of it this way,” Cecilia said. “If Mateo is the traitor, he’s on the run and the fleet admiral is safe. If he’s not, once the fleet admiral leaves the hospital, he’s going back to the castle with the traitor, and he’ll be vulnerable. He’s hurt. I’m not willing to risk his life by saying it was Mateo.”
There was a moment of silence, then Hugo sat forward. “I was looking into the history of the Isle of Man itself. That led me to asking Josephine—”
“About the history of the Spartan Guard,” Josephine interrupted. “There was a time when most of the guard were Manx—from the Isle of Man—and it was a big tradition, kind of like the Swiss Guard at the Vatican. And—”
“And,” Hugo cut in, “I started working on tracing the lineages of the families who used to traditionally hold the Spartan Guard positions.”
“What connection are you making?” Nyx asked, still holding the whip.
“I’m saying that the Domino—an old enemy—might have been able to tap into old grudges or feelings of displacement within the society.”
“So maybe it’s not a member of the current Spartan Guard at all,” Nyx said.
“No, it had to be someone in the guard. They’re the only ones with the access needed.” That much had been clear when she, Dimitri and Mateo talked about it.
“Or maybe someone in the Spartan Guard had to work too hard to get there.” Hugo’s eyes were alight with enthusiasm. “Thinks that by right they should be more important than they are, and the Domino traded in on that. It’s like what Nyx said last time about how the disenfranchised are recruited into organizations or cults.”
Cecilia sat forward in excitement. “If that’s true, then that could explain them trying to frame Mateo. To get his position. Who are the descendants?”
Hugo shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Josephine frowned. “We’re having trouble sorting it out. We’re talking hundreds of years, multiple generations.”
“Start with Charlotta Nielsen. She’s the one who wants Mateo’s job.” Cecilia paused before adding the other suspect to her list. “And Derrick Frederick.”
Even Mateo’s trust in his friend had begun to waver.
“Why do you suspect them?” Hugo asked.
Cecilia outlined what had happened with Charlotta and Derrick.
“Then we should be working those angles too. That’s what we’d do if we were investigators or assassins.” Josephine grinned, and it was a rather blood-thirsty expression.
Even Nyx blinked. “But we’re not investigators. We’re scholars. There are investigators, spies, and security operatives in the Masters’ Admiralty. If that’s what we need, we should turn it over to them.”
Josephine waved her hand in the air, dismissing that argument.
“I might have another way to find out.” Nyx set the whip down, took out her phone, and snapped a picture. “I think I recognize the work on this whip. If I’m right, it’s by an American craftsman. I’ve seen the gold deerskin before.”
James frowned. “Arthur went to this sex club in London. Garden something. I could ask him to show them—”
“The Garden,” Nyx cut in. “Damon Knight’s club. I’m texting a picture to Charlotte Taggart. She might recognize it.”
“Who?” James asked.
“She’s an American. Not a member of the…what is the American copy called?”
“Trinity Masters,” James said quietly.
“She’s not one of those, but she’s a major player in the scene in Texas. She knows Damon—she and her husband and Damon and some others own McKay Taggart and Knight, a security firm. If we find the whip maker, we might figure out who A.R. is.”
“And I’ll keep trying to trace the Manx family lines,” Josephine said.
Nyx was frowning at her phone, typing occasionally. “What if our two lines of inquiry don’t end at the same place?”
They all looked at her.
Cecilia’s eye started to twitch. “What do you mean?”
“We’re assuming that the traitor is in the Spartan Guard. They may not be.”
Cecilia shook her head. “No, like I said, it has to be because—”
“Fine.” Nyx picked up the whip and snapped it in the air, with a skill that even Dimitri hadn’t shown.
Conversation stopped.
“Okay, then. That’s…uh.” Josephine shoved her glasses up her nose again. Cecilia noticed they constantly slid down.
“Frightened or aroused?” Nyx asked conversationally.
“I am so not answering that question.”
“This is not a toy for a casual player.” Nyx set the whip down. “It’s possible that the traitor in the Spartan Guard is ‘A.R.’ but it’s not likely.”
“Why not?”
“First of all, I doubt they would have been able to keep it a secret. This kind of play leaves marks.”
“You mean scars,” Cecilia said.
“Not from deerskin, but they might enjoy other forms of impact play. A paddle would leave bruises, a cane, welts. But also there would be a paper trail. A history of membership at clubs, regular expenditures on dues, toys, fetish wear. That is, I assume, something that would have come up when the person was vetted.”
“Derrick,” Cecilia said. “Derrick looked at the whip like he knew about it. Like he’d seen it before.”
“So either he knew about Manon’s affair or…” Hugo raised his brows.
“Or he could have just been surprised because he thought we were getting married to his best friend and didn’t expect to see a whip in our room.” Cecilia fought the urge to scrub her hands over her face. It would just mess up her eye makeup, and experience had taught her that she couldn’t make her brain go any faster by doing that. “Charlotta is aggressive. I could imagine her enjoying that type of sexual play.”
James groaned and put his head in his hands. “Okay, hold on. Let’s get organized.” His low, rumbling voice pulled their attention. Josephine took out a pen and a pad of paper.
“First, there is definitely a traitor in the Spartan Guard. If we assume it’s not Mateo, we potentially leave the fleet admiral, who is hurt, vulnerable to the real traitor.”
“The other guards are there,” Cecilia added, “but they think it was Mateo, so they won’t be looking for another traitor. Might not be as on guard as they should be.”
“Agreed.” Josephine had a worry line between her eyebrows. She shoved her pen and paper at Hugo, who accepted them and, after a surprised hesitation, took over the act of taking notes. Then, she fished her phone out of a pocket and started typing.
“Secondly, we have a whip that we think belonged to Manon. She was having an affair with Griffin. It’s possible there was a third person in their relationship, someone with the initials ‘A.R.’ This person might be the traitor in the Spartan Guard,” James held up a hand when Nyx started to object, “or they may not. They may be totally unconnected to the Domino and the Masters’ Admiralty.”
Hugo, who had been dutifully writing, snorted. “Not likel
y.”
James continued, “I agree. Third, we have the history of the Spartan Guard itself, the Manx bloodlines. If traced, those may lead to someone who has reason to resent how the current guard is run.”
Then Hugo added, “And fourth—actually, fourth and fifth—we have names. Charlotta Nielsen and Derrick Frederick.”
James looked pleased. “There are plenty of strings there to tug.”
Hugo looked at the list, then around at the people at the table. “Divide and conquer?”
“Yes,” James said. “But we’re going to be smart. I’m going to call England’s vice admiral. Have her look into Derrick. He’s from England after all.”
“What about Charlotta?” Cecilia knew Mateo thought it was her, and from what he’d said, since she was from the same territory as the fleet admiral, Eric might trust her too much.
What Cecilia hadn’t told the librarians was that Mateo and Charlotta had been lovers. There had been no opportunity during their escape from the Isle of Man for her to question him about that relationship. Until she did, she was keeping that piece of information to herself.
James answered her question. “I’ll give that to Lorelei too. She could always send one of the security officers to Kalmar.”
Hugo looked disappointed. “What are we going to investigate?”
“You and Josephine are going to run down the history angle. Nyx, you’re going to try to figure out who made that whip.”
Nyx nodded. “If that’s all, my task is complete. My friend Charlotte suggested we take the whip to Red. It’s a club outside of London. Not as exclusive as The Garden, but they have a lot of exhibitions and classes, and the vetting isn’t as tight, so if one of our members were to join a club, that’s probably the one they’d join.”
“That was fast,” Josephine said without looking up.