“I’m curious about the date selection for the week of the meetings,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “The fact that the full moon hits toward the end—it is symbolic or happenstance?”
She nodded. “Many people have wondered. Initially, it was happenstance, but once the organizers realized it, they embraced it. Many lodging houses and hotels have added features to accommodate shifters for those needing it. The hope is that the cause’s point will be proven—that even in the midst of a huge festival during the full moon, shifters are not to be feared.” She paused. “While every eventuality has been addressed and readdressed, I confess unease at the thought of what others might do to exploit the timing.”
“Are you imagining anything specific?”
She frowned. “No, I suppose I have become jaded the past few years. I’ve met many who are not to be trusted.”
He nodded, pursing his lips. “In certain circles, caution is never wasted. I should think it unwise to be oblivious to potential trouble.”
“Security forces will be present everywhere, at all times, and we have the comfort of knowing safety is paramount.” She shook her head. “So many countries represented, all gathered in one place—sometimes it seems like a recipe for disaster.”
Silence hung heavy for a moment, then Detective-Inspector Reed shifted in his seat. “I will require a copy of your travel itinerary and schedule of activities during the Summit.”
She swallowed. She would be civil, and she would be grateful. Perhaps he would blend into whatever woodwork they found themselves near and she wouldn’t even be aware of his constant, looming, disapproving, judgmental presence. “Of course. I’ll have a packet of information ready for you tomorrow.”
“Excellent.” He withdrew a small notebook and pen from his pocket. “And your schedule for tomorrow?”
She blinked. “I shall have the information delivered to you at the Yard, or to any address you prefer, Detective-Inspector. You needn’t bother retrieving it here.”
He smiled, pen poised. “I require your schedule for security purposes. I’ve cleared my calendaring to accommodate yours.”
“You’ve . . . but . . . already?” She made an effort not to raise her voice. “We do not leave for a few days. I fear you have inconvenienced yourself unnecessarily.” She smiled, feeling patient and amiable. “Do not bother yourself one moment before you must.”
His smile remained, and she imagined he was also feeling quite patient and amiable. “I fear I am already several moments behind. You received the letter this morning.”
“Sir.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “Am I to understand you believe your duties extend to home care?”
“As it happens, Chief-Inspector Conley has arranged for round-the-clock surveillance of uniformed officers on the property, though I alone will accompany you whenever you leave the house.” He paused and tapped his pen against the notebook. “Where will you be tomorrow, and when?”
“Mr. Reed, I do not require your presence at my mother’s boutique for dress alterations.”
“Time?”
She let out a frustrated sigh. “I cannot have you following me around all day.”
“Why is that, Miss O’Shea? Do your plans include illegal activity?” He leaned forward again, notebook and pen hanging between his knees. She’d seen those intense brown eyes before in close quarters—usually while he was pulling her from illegally rigged scaffolding as she yelled into a megaphone. They were alone, now, in the quiet of her library, discussing his efforts to keep her safe. She was much more comfortable confronting him in a crowd.
She sat up straight and scowled. “Detective-Inspector, heaven knows that letter was a horrifying shock. Though I still believe my mother’s reaction to it was premature, I am not an idiot. I certainly see the benefit of protection while I am in Scotland. Here, though? As I shop and dine with friends and attend meetings?”
“Can’t imagine what I was thinking. Crimes are never committed in the city while one is shopping and dining with friends and attending meetings. Especially against one who has been specifically targeted and warned away from an event that one is still obviously planning to attend.” He maintained an even expression, but his jaw had tightened and his words became increasingly clipped.
She studied him openly. His face was an honest one, and—if she were being honest—a handsome one. Everything about him was efficient and lean: clean-shaven, strong cheekbones, well-defined jaw, straight nose, firm brow, and an air of quiet speculation around him that gave little indication of the nature of his thoughts.
He was principled and driven, and she knew from Daniel Pickett that Oliver Reed was one of few men he would trust with his life, and Isla’s. Phrases from the Bad Letter floated through her thoughts, snippets of horrible words and threats, and despite herself, her shoulders slumped. She was suddenly weary. “Detective-Inspector Reed—”
“Oliver,” he said quietly.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she paused. She scratched her temple with her fingertip, befuddled and painfully aware of it. She cleared her throat. “The odds of something happening to me before I arrive at the Summit are quite slim, and I believe you agree. Your superior has tasked you with an assignment, and you are duty bound to a fault. In this instance, however, please know I genuinely do not wish to waste your valuable time. We can meet in Edinburgh in a few days. If the Chief-Inspector insists, you might turn your attention to Lysette. She seems quite eager for your attention.” She paused, thinking. It was true, and she’d only tonight realized it. Lysette had seemed unusually
