Roses in Moonlight (20 page)

But there was someone standing across the street.

He wasn’t looking up at her, but just the way he was standing was so utterly sinister, she could hardly stand the sight. She jumped back, drew the curtain, then sat down on the bed and reminded herself that there was no need to have a nervous breakdown. She had nothing anyone would want. The lace was back where it belonged. Surely not even retribution was worth following her all the way to Ambleside.

She unpacked her suitcase, checking every piece of clothing, looking in every nook and cranny for a stowaway of some kind. There was nothing she hadn’t expected except a pair of pearl earrings and a lovely necklace to match, but since there was a note from Emily attached, she didn’t think those were thug-worthy. She replaced everything with shaking hands.

She paused, then looked at her bag. She hadn’t emptied it, but there was nothing else inside it that shouldn’t have been there. She felt around inside it just to make sure. No, it was just full of her usual stuff. She sat on the edge of the bed and suppressed the urge to wring her hands.

She was half tempted to open the balcony door and bellow for the guy across the street to move on to greener pastures, but something about letting sleeping dogs lie echoed in the back of her mind.

She considered, then considered a bit longer. She didn’t want to call the concierge because it was entirely possible that she had forgotten to pull her door to. There was nothing missing in her room, so there wouldn’t be anything for the police to find worth their time to investigate. Lots of people stood on streets. Maybe the guy across the street was waiting for his wife to come pick him up so they could go out to a late lunch.

She looked around the room, then found a chair and propped it up under the doorknob. Then she double bolted the door with the security lock. She wished she’d thought to ask Derrick for his phone number, but what in the world could he have done? He was probably all the way back to London already.

Actually, for all she knew, he’d decided he needed a vacation and flown to Paris.

She was on her own.

Which she supposed wouldn’t be so bad during the daytime. Thugs didn’t break into rooms during the daytime, not while people were there. For all she knew, it had been the maids—

She blinked, then she smiled. It had obviously been the maids. Why else would someone have been able to get into her room? They had a master key and had no doubt come in to freshen things up. Nothing else made sense. She didn’t have anything on her that anyone would want, with the exception of the clothes Emily—or, Derrick, rather—had bought her.

She let out her breath slowly and didn’t mind that it wasn’t all that steady. She was safe. She had jumped to conclusions and freaked herself out. She was perfectly safe and nothing was going to happen to her.

Though she was going to figure out first thing in the morning where to go get a phone. Just in case.

She took a deep breath, then looked around the room for something to use for a still life while she had plenty of daylight.

D
errick
looked out the window and watched the scenery slide by. He could have wished for a speedier journey, he supposed, but there was only so much a man could demand of the British rail system. It was definitely faster—and less stressful—than driving. Unfortunately, it gave him far too much time to think.

He imagined Samantha was enjoying the scenery. She had been stunned by the camera, still a little gobsmacked by her newfound wealth, and rather pleased with her rendition of Lord Epworth’s hedge. Her life, at least, was definitely looking up. He wasn’t sure what his life looked like, but he didn’t think it was pretty.

He knew he should have checked his email or texted Peter to inquire about discreet business enquiries or called Sunny to thank her for saving his arm, but all he could do was stare out the window and wonder why it was his life was just not quite so interesting when it was missing a certain textile historian who would rather have been an artist.

No, interesting wasn’t the word.

Sweet was the word.

His phone cheeped at him. He sighed, then pulled it out of his pocket to check the text.

Call me.

He frowned. Oliver tended to send short, pointed messages. The only reason he ever wanted to actually pick up the phone and engage in conversation was if there was something disastrous on the horizon. Derrick sighed, then grabbed his pack and made for the end of the car where he might have a modicum of privacy. He dialed Oliver, who picked up on half a ring.

“Hey, mate, you know those two lads?”

“Ah,” Derrick said, finding it difficult for some reason to switch gears back to spy mode, “which two lads?”

“The pair we saw in London.”

Derrick frowned. “Bald one and skinny one?”

“That’d be them.”

“Haven’t seen them. Have you?”

Oliver made thinking noises. “I haven’t, but I got to wondering why they looked familiar.”

Derrick felt something slide down his spine and it wasn’t a tingle of pleasure. “Did you? Fascinating.”

“Isn’t it,” Oliver said. “You know, it’s funny they should be following our Yank.”

“I almost hate to ask why.”

“I did a little snooping into their habits.”

Derrick was unsurprised. It was, after all, what they all did best. “And what did you find?”

“Well, this is the interesting part. They don’t deal in cloth.”

Derrick leaned back against the wall. “What do they deal in?”

“Jewels.”

“Odd,” Derrick conceded. “Maybe they were off on another assignment.”

“Possibly, but strange that they should be following our girl for a scrap of lace. It’s not like they would have been able to tell the difference between real lace and a Nottingham knockoff, what?”

Damnation, he never should have let her go off on her own. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen them recently, have you?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I haven’t,” Derrick managed, “but I haven’t been looking all that hard.”

“They weren’t around when I delivered that embroidery yesterday. Peter didn’t see them, either. The other two lads were there, the ones shadowing us down by the Globe, but they left soon enough. The jewel thieves . . . don’t know where they are.”

“Hell,” Derrick said, blowing out his breath. “I sent her off hours ago.”

“And you can’t call her?” Oliver asked, sounding surprised.

“Her mobile is destroyed.”

“And you didn’t buy her a new one?”

“Is she too feeble to get to a Tesco?” he asked impatiently. “I assumed she would manage. I did actually book her a hotel.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “I’ll call the desk and get her. Perhaps she can at least stay put until I get there.” He could hardly believe where his thoughts were taking him. “She can’t be carrying something else.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“I’m finished with strange things.”

Oliver was silent for a moment or two. “Think she knows?”

“What?” Derrick demanded. “That she’s carrying something else? Impossible.”

“If you say so.”

“The woman is beyond innocent and she’s no thief. Where are you?”

“In London, on the way to your garage.”

“You don’t have a key to the Vanquish.”

“Don’t need a key, mate.”

Derrick rolled his eyes. “One of these days . . .”

“So says you always. Can you get yourself to Leeds? I’ll have Rufus pick you up at the station.”

“Why is Rufus anywhere near Leeds?”

“I had a feeling he should be.”

Derrick rubbed his free hand over his face. “I’m about five minutes from Doncaster and it’ll take me another half hour’s train time to get back up there. I’ll get there as quickly as Her Maj’s rails will allow.”

“Where’re we headed?”

“Ambleside.”

“I’ll find you.”

Derrick imagined he would. “Thank you.”

Oliver made some noise of dismissal, though Derrick wasn’t entirely sure there wasn’t some bit of censure as well for a boss who couldn’t keep his mind on his business.

Nay, Oliver wouldn’t. It was his own conscience damning him. He’d kept an eye out for potential ne’er-do-wells, true, but not as close a one as he should have. He’d been convinced that they had been after the lace. More the fool he, obviously.

He considered rail lines and schedules and routes, then found the number for Samantha’s hotel. He waited to ring them until the next station in spite of what that cost him because he simply didn’t want to be overheard. He hopped off the train, then dialed as he was walking to catch one going the other way. He spoke briefly to the concierge and found that Miss Drummond wasn’t answering her phone and they weren’t at liberty to tell him anything more.

It was almost three. If it took him half an hour to get to Leeds, then another three hours to get to the Lake District . . .

He could only hope Samantha would have the good sense to look over her shoulder.

Or lock her door.

•   •   •

R
ufus
was waiting for him at the station and did his best to break every speed limit on his way north and west. Derrick had nothing to do but curse, which he did, just to keep himself awake. Rufus seemed content to make do with the Beeb on the radio, which Derrick supposed he might have appreciated at another time.

If he had let her walk into danger . . .

“Almost there.”

Derrick looked at Rufus. “I should have been more careful.”

Rufus glanced at him. “Derrick, my lad, she’s an adult. She won’t do anything foolish.”

“The woman is a girl who I’m sure thinks everything bad that can possibly happen to a person is limited by what’s found in a Nancy Drew novel.”

Rufus smiled. “You booked her a decent hotel, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“With decent security?”

“I don’t think it matters,” Derrick said grimly. “We aren’t dealing with nice people here.”

“I’m not sure we ever deal with nice people, Derrick.”

“Aye, but that’s you and me and the lads,” Derrick said. “This is a brainless Yank we’re talking about.”

Rufus shot him a look. “Brainless?”

Derrick rubbed his hands over his face. “Very well, she isn’t brainless. Her marks at university were embarrassingly high—I checked a couple of hours ago because I had to do something—which left her parents not needing to pay a bloody cent for anything she did and if I ever see the pair of them, I’ll have something to say about not having taken that money not spent and setting it aside for her use, but that is perhaps not a useful thought at the moment.”

“Perhaps not.”

Derrick pursed his lips. “The point is, I don’t think she could protect herself from a pensioner poaching her pocket money, much less a lad with more serious business on his mind.” He shook his head. “I should have taught her something before I turned her loose.”

“And how were you to know?”

“Because I am supposed to know,” Derrick said. He didn’t add that part of the reason he’d put her on that damned train so quickly was because he hadn’t wanted to have to look at her fresh-faced self a moment longer.

He would have kissed her otherwise.

“I want a Scottish lass.”

The words hung out there in the car, innocent and unassuming, for far too long.

“Well,” Rufus said finally, “that seems reasonable.”

Derrick looked at him. “I don’t want to get involved with her.”

“Never said you had to, did I?”

“But it will be my fault if she’s harmed.”

Rufus glanced at him. “Then you’d best rescue her, hadn’t you?”

Derrick didn’t say anything, because there was nothing to say. He had allowed a defenseless woman to go off into the wilds of England alone because he’d been so unsettled by her that he hadn’t provided her with the rudimentary security he would have provided for a perfect stranger in similar circumstances.

He hoped she didn’t pay a steep price for that neglect.

He called Oliver. He was put on speakerphone, which allowed him to quickly determine exactly the rpm rate at which his beloved Vanquish was traveling.

“What gear?” he demanded. “Fourth or fifth?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You ruddy bastard.”

Oliver only laughed, which led Derrick to believe he was going far faster than he should have been.

“I don’t imagine we have equipment,” Derrick said, not daring to hope that might be case.

“Usual setup,” Oliver said. “All on our very own supersecret frequency.”

“You’re chatty.”

“Mate, I’m doing a hundred, not a sheep in sight, and Peter’s sitting here sweeping for cameras and bobbies. What’s not to love?”

“My car wrapped around a . . .” Derrick shook his head. He couldn’t think of anything dire enough. “Be careful with yourselves.”

“Touching, Derrick, truly. We’re less than an hour out, but I’ll have to slow down soon. We’ll be there by dark. Cheers.”

That was too long, but there was nothing to be done about it. He wasn’t going to be there any sooner himself.

He only hoped that wouldn’t be too late.

•   •   •

R
ufus
dropped him two blocks away from Samantha’s hotel. He stepped into the shadows and felt Peter’s particular tap on his shoulder. He took the earbud, put it into his ear, taped the mic along his cheek and switched on.

“Got you,” Oliver said very quietly from a location yet to be determined. “Timing spectacular. One right in front of me here, one going up the side of the building. Best get in there soon.”

“Handle the street,” Derrick said. “We’ll take care of the other.” He looked at Peter. “You take the roof. I’ll get inside.”

Peter only nodded and slipped away. Derrick walked quickly down the street and into the hotel. He staggered into the lobby and over to the desk, keeping his hand over the mic taped to his cheek so he didn’t give himself away.

“Angus MacDonald,” he gasped. “Key—”

“Of course, Mr. MacDonald,” the clerk said. “Your assistant called and arranged—”

“Migraine,” Derrick rasped. “Key, directions.”

“Up the lift, second floor—”

Derrick took the key. “Stairs,” he said thickly.

“Over to your left, but do you need help?”

Derrick shook his head, manufactured a sick smile, and put his hand over his eyes to shield them from the light as he stumbled over to the stairwell. He did his best impression of a very sick man on the first two flights, then paused, as if he simply couldn’t go on. He waited until he heard Peter’s voice in his ear.

“Camera off,” Peter said. “Sometimes this is just too easy.”

“Tell me you didn’t just hack into their system.”

Peter laughed a little. “No. Had to have something to do whilst waiting for you. Off you go, lad.”

Derrick took the stairs to the third floor three at a time, then strode down the hallway.

“One in through the window,” Oliver said. “Hurry.”

Derrick had Samantha’s door open before he heard her squeaking. He realized she was wielding a chair the split second before she brought it down on his head. He rolled, came up, then smashed their intruder in the face as the man came through the balcony doors. Something broke as the man fell. Derrick felt fairly confident that hadn’t been any of Samantha’s bones, so perhaps that was all he could ask for.

“Get the light,” Derrick said to her.

She was standing near the door, her hand on the light switch. Derrick looked at the unconscious thug on the floor, then nudged him with his foot. That one would be out for a bit longer, thankfully. He turned, strode over to Samantha, and pulled her into his arms.

“Are you unhurt?” he asked quickly.

“Just terrified,” she said, her teeth chattering. “Are you some sort of superhero or what?”

“An idiot, rather,” he said grimly. He heard Oliver click in.

“Safe?”

“Aye. How about on the street?”

“Friend number one is going to have one bleedin’ lovely headache come morning. What shall I do with him?”

“Leave him loose,” Derrick said. “I’m curious what they’ll do next.”

“Whatever you say, boss. What of yours?”

“I thought we’d put him in the linen closet and let him wake up on his own.”

“And then where are you off to?”

“I think Miss Drummond and I need a strategy session. We’ll disappear for a bit. Peter?”

“Here, boss.”

“Cameras still off?”

“Till you say differently.”

Derrick looked at Samantha, who had pulled away from him and was looking at him as if she’d never seen him before. Then she apparently caught sight of the mic on his cheek and her expression lightened.

“I thought you were talking to ghosts.”

He shook his head and attempted a smile. “Just the lads. How fast can you pack?”

“I never unpacked.”

“Excellent. Let’s go.”

She was very pale. “Fancy toys you have there.”

“It helps with the cloak and dagger,” he agreed. “How’s your acting?”

“The genes of Richard Olivier Drummond flow in my veins,” she said. “What do you need?”

“I, Angus MacDonald, have a crushing migraine and wandered onto the wrong floor. You were—”

“Feeling a great disturbance in the hallway—”