Home > In the Clear(24)

In the Clear(24)
Author: Kathryn Nolan

If they were talking about Bernard, was he pissed about the other night? Technically, Abe and I had foiled their plan. We hadn’t been drugged, and we’d beaten back our attacker. Maybe what this meant was—

“Devon Atwood!”

I was so focused on the conversation I didn’t recognize my own undercover name for a moment. Whoever had yelled it had a voice that boomed like an explosion even down a busy street at dinner time.

“What on earth are you doing in the bushes?”

I turned, swallowed a gasp at the sight of Humphrey fucking Hatcher lumbering toward me with a giant grin and an expression of total delight. I couldn’t have been happier, except I was hiding in the bushes to eavesdrop on a conversation between two men who had conspired to drug and attack me. Instead I froze, crouched in the bushes, staring at Humphrey with my jaw dropped open.

Think Sloane. Think.

I stood up, tore off my hat, dislodging leaves from my hair and on my clothing. Dislodged my earrings and cast a wary glance behind me.

Caught the bartender and Big Guy glaring at me. I wasn’t sure if they’d recognized my name. They sure as shit seemed to recognize my face. I blinked, and they vanished. The mistake of this moment, of getting caught, hit me like a punch to the gut. But I didn’t have a second to fret before coming toe-to-toe with Bernard Allerton’s closest friend.

“Humphrey,” I exclaimed, holding out my hand for his aggressively friendly shake. He seemed genuinely happy to see me. “What a lovely surprise.”

“What’s an enchantress doing hiding in the bushes?” he bellowed.

I held my earring. “Fell right off, if you can believe it. I was lucky to find it in the dark.”

“Lucky indeed,” he agreed. “Although I have a feeling you have a lot of luck in your life, Ms. Atwood.”

“I’ve been very fortunate,” I said, lying through my teeth. Attempting to redirect the course of my mission. Yet again, I’d lost my fucking lead. Yet again, another had appeared in front of me, and I didn’t take this kind of opportunity lightly. “What are you doing skulking about? Don’t you have some place to be on a rainy Wednesday night?”

“I do actually,” he said, tucking his fingers beneath his suspenders. “I’m off to Mycroft’s for a drink with Reginald.” His eyes grew wide. “And you shall join me. I will not take no for an answer.”

I laughed—and it was a real laugh. Until my mind caught up. “I was just coming from that way. Weren’t you only there two days ago giving a talk?”

Humphrey leaned in. “I know. It’s a bloody tourist trap, though I do love it. Used to be Bernie’s favorite pub for lamb stew.”

“Bernard’s?” My smile became fixed.

“The one and only,” he beamed.

I pulled a final leaf from my hair. “Well then, sounds like I have a date with you and whoever Reginald is. I’m assuming he’s a gentleman, like yourself?”

“An absolute gentleman, and I should know.” Humphrey waggled his eyebrows. “He’s my husband.”

“I have a million questions for him,” I replied. “Shall we?”

He held his arm out, and I hooked my hand through his. I wasn’t sure what to do with, well, the all-consuming, tangible presence of Humphrey Hatcher. He was like a sharply dressed British Kool-Aid man, and I was helpless to resist his natural charm. Was this what it was like to have uncles and brothers and family friends? People who made you laugh and feel better after a hard day?

“You could call your Mr. Fitzpatrick,” Humphrey suggested as we walked.

“What?” I asked, confused for a moment.

“The handsome devil you left looking lonely at this pub the other night,” he said.

Oh, Abe.

“Maybe,” I said, trying to dodge the question. “Or maybe it should be you, me, and your husband.”

“Are you having a lovers’ quarrel?” he asked.

Again I was briefly confused. He meant lovers’ quarrel between me and Abe? I did have several quarrels with him, namely that he wouldn’t provide the help I needed. And the act of asking for that help had stripped several layers off my soul, leaving me tender in a way I hated.

My other dispute was less with him and more with my own libido—which couldn’t stop filling my mind with endless sexual fantasies about the man. And dreams too. Sexy, erotic, vivid dreams of slick, naked bodies and entwined fingers and Abe’s full lips, gasping my name.

“Devon?”

I blinked, flushed. “I’m quite fine to spend the evening without Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

The look Humphrey gave me was cunning in a friendly way. “I’ve been in your position, Ms. Atwood. Love is a rocky path, and partners must navigate the pitfalls together if they hope to succeed. There is no stronger pairing than a couple that faces life’s challenges head on and declares, for all to hear, that they are an unstoppable force of valiant passion!”

I huffed out another surprised laugh. “Well… Reginald must be a happy man.”

He barked a laugh. “We’ve faced our own rocky paths, believe me. Perhaps you and Daniel need to face things together.”

I shook my head, smiled. Caught the glow of Mycroft’s Pub ahead and hoped no one in there had spotted me spying on them from across the street for two straight days.

And really hoped the bartender and Big Guy weren’t planning on returning.

Luckily, Humphrey appeared loose and chatty and happy, and maybe this was the kind of night where I uncovered the real dirt on Bernard’s location. Regardless of what he claimed, a close friend could ultimately reveal the man’s hiding place.

“Thank you for the relationship advice. And for the invite,” I said.

He clutched his chest. “Like Mr. Fitzpatrick, we are all mere mortals, beholden to your siren song.”

He pulled the door open, and I stepped inside. “I promise to keep the singing to a minimum.”

Although I’d use whatever tricks I had in my arsenal to uncover the truth.

 

 

15

 

 

Abe

 

 

Not a single star shone in the London sky by the time I left the Royal Opera House. Rain was coming, the clouds were heavy, but that didn’t stop the mood of the people around me from dipping into liveliness. It wasn’t far back to The Langham, so I opted to walk, turning up the collar of my coat to protect against the chill. Groups of people spilled from pubs as others walked their dogs, chatted on their phones, sat on city benches, smoked cigarettes, and hailed taxis. Couples held hands. Friends walked toward restaurants with purpose and ease. Maybe they never felt the weight of the world on their shoulders. Maybe they did and had managed to come out the other side, to balance. Like my mother, who’d laid to rest her anger toward my father and happily started a new life—one that suited her much, much better.

The thought of my empty, quiet hotel room sent a twinge through my chest I hated to admit was loneliness. I might have passed on invitations to brewery tours and movie nights with my team, but I hadn’t realized until now how much their daily presence shaped my sense of real connection. Every morning when I stepped into the office, I was surrounded by people who cared about justice, cared about the world. Cared about me, even.

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