It wasn’t until I moved to the wardrobe to get my nightclothes that I realized I wasn’t alone in the room. I caught the shadow of his silhouette from the small gap in the curtains that let in a hint of moonlight.
I went about my business, reaching under my dress to undo my garters. I slipped the small knife I kept tied to my garters from the sheath and hid it under my nightclothes, and then I finished unbuttoning my dress and let it fall from my shoulders so I was dressed only in my slip. I turned and headed toward the bed, wanting to be at the best angle and distance to throw my knife and hit the target, but my plans were interrupted with the strike of a match.
I saw the flame flicker and smelled sulfur as the tip of his cigarette went red.
“I can’t decide if I’d rather die from a heart attack if you take off more clothes or from that knife you’re hiding,” he said.
“There are worse ways to die than either one,” I told him. There was no point in covering up. We weren’t children and I didn’t want him to think he intimidated me. “I see you’re still alive.”
Henry Graham chuckled and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles and making himself at home as if it were his room instead of mine. “I could say the same to you,” he said. “You made it back from dinner in one piece. Other women haven’t been so lucky.”
I arched a brow. “I’m not other women.” I’d been listening to the timbre of his voice and there was something there that intrigued me. “You’re not British.”
“It says on my papers I am,” he said.
“Ah, yes,” I said, moving toward him slowly so the moonlight shone on my slip, making it practically transparent. I leaned down and took a cigarette from the black case on the table, putting it between my lips and then leaning closer so he could light mine with his own. “We all have papers, don’t we,” I said, blowing out a stream of smoke and walking away so he could get a back view.
I had no idea what Graham was doing in my room, but I felt the challenge of matching wits with his and I wondered if he could be broken like any other man.
“You’re very good,” he said.
“You don’t know how good.”
He barked out a laugh and sat up straight, mashing out his cigarette in the ashtray.
“What did you learn from Wagner tonight?” he asked, turning from pleasure to business in the blink of an eye.
“What did you discover in his office today?” I countered. “Interesting he’d have you taken there.”
I might be new to this world of intrigue, but if I’d learned anything over the past two months it’s that information was sacred and in the wrong hands it could be deadly. I knew Graham only by reputation, but I liked to size a guy up before I started trading life stories.
His smile was thin this time. “Don’t worry. I had my cyanide pill, just in case.”
I had mine in the small locket I wore around my neck. There were two things I never left home without—my knife and a quick way to die.
“So why aren’t you dead?” I asked.
“Wishful thinking?” he asked.
“Do you always answer a question with a question?” I countered. “We haven’t even been properly introduced. What do you want from me?”
He arched a brow and his eyes smoldered with something more. “That’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “And to think Wagner was more of a gentleman tonight than you’re being.”
“I’ve been many things in this life,” he said. “But a gentleman is not often one of them.”
He made his way toward me with slow deliberate steps, and I felt my heart catch in my chest. This was a man. And he made all the others I’d known in my life dim in comparison.
He held out his hand and I placed my smaller one in his, watching as he bent down to kiss the back of it. He lingered, gazing up to see my reaction.
“Henry Graham, at your service,” he said.
I pulled my hand away slowly and gave him a look that would’ve had lesser men puddling at my feet. “A pleasure,” I said. “Scarlet Holmes.”
“Hmm, it suits you,” he said. “I’ve heard of you, of course.”
“Naturally,” I said, feigning indifference, though I was curious how he’d have heard of me. My work so far had mostly been observing and gathering information. I’d done nothing spectacular to draw attention to myself.
“Codename: Bouncing Betty,” he said. “You’re quite infamous, you know? You have a reputation for superior intellect and heart-stopping seduction. I can see they weren’t exaggerating. The Alliance has great hopes for you.”
“I have great hopes for them as well,” I said. “As lovely as it is to have evening guests in my bedroom, can you enlighten me as to why the great Lord Hawkeye is gracing me with his presence?” I asked, using his own codename.
“You’ve done well,” he said. “You’ve managed to become one of Wagner’s interests, and hopefully you’ll become one of his distractions. This entire city is under his command. There is a French girl working as a maid at the Gestapo headquarters. Her name is Lise. Each week when you visit Helene she will slip a tin of makeup into your case after she delivers tea. There are coordinates inside the makeup tin and you’ll take them to the next destination on your route, where someone will relieve you of them.”
“Am I working for you now?” I asked.
“Get some rest,” he said. “Debriefings are always long and tedious.”
And then without answering any of my questions, he walked out of my room. I went to the closed door and flicked the lock, but I knew it wouldn’t keep him out. I
