“Well, there are two more sides. I was thinking metal tubes that squirt hot oil at intruders, but it’s been done before—”
“Passé,” she agreed. “So last century.”
“—and I really wanted something that meshed more with their particular skills and personalities.”
“An action that causes chaos,” she said slowly, “in the most Tommy-and-Philippa way possible.”
He nodded. “Any ideas?”
“Well…” She walked around the machine in a slow circle. “They both wear disguises. My favorite is when they pretend to be Great-Aunt and Great-Uncle Wynchester. They have caused alotof chaos that way, and they look about as frightening as wrinkly old ancestors in some nob’s Hall of Portraits.”
“That’s it!” He grinned at her. “I’ll make living portraits. It’ll only work in dim lighting, but there are always plenty of shadows.”
“Living… portraits?”
He gestured at one of the empty sides. “Imagine this has a trapdoor that allows Tommy to slip inside. And a canvas comes down, appearing to be a life-size portrait of Great… Which ‘great’ is she?”
“Great-Aunt.”
“… Great-Aunt Wynchester. Unnervingly lifelike. Because it’s not a painting at all. At least, only the background is. The rest is colored gauze. It’s really Tommy,disguisedas a painting, which she can step out of at the moment it would most inconvenience whoever is passing in front of her.”
“I love it,” Elizabeth breathed. “I want an entire hall of portraitsthat aren’t portraits. It’d be like your murder room, except I’d get to leap out of a painting and do the murdering myself!”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Not just for helping him put the perfect touch of anarchy on the souvenir he was making. Not even for caring about his machines—caring abouthim—enough to teach herself how to reset his absurdly complicated devices.
But because she had achieved the impossible. Instead of trying to prevent someone else from entering his life, Stephen was trying unsuccessfully to avoid thinking about the day he’d return home to a life without Elizabeth in it.
So he kissed her as though that day would never come. As though if they kept their bodies pressed together and their mouths locked in—
“Densmooore,” boomed a distant male voice.
“You must be bamming me,” Stephen murmured against Elizabeth’s parted lips. “Is that blackguard going to interrupteverytime I kiss you?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Let’s see what he wants.”
She bounded over to the closest window without hesitation. Stephen followed, mortifyingly cognizant that whilsthewould rather keep wooing his houseguest, Elizabeth was already back on the case.
He should do the same, he reminded himself. It was illogical to make room for her in his life when they both knew she would soon leave it. Their arrangement was temporary and could end at any moment. Just as soon as they found the will or the deed.
Or until the rumors about Reddington’s murderousness turned all too real.
“Well,” Elizabeth said, leaning her head out of the window. “He brought his army again.”
Stephen looked out over her shoulder. There on the grass belowwas Reddington in his Duke of Wellington costume, along with the same squadron of foot soldiers as before.
At least, Stephen assumed these were the same players. Elizabeth had probably memorized their precise formation and written down descriptions of each individual visage in her journal.
“It’s an intimidation campaign,” she whispered to Stephen. “It’s not working.”
“Speak for yourself,” he murmured back.
A hundred or so armed soldiers, whether a properly trained regiment or not, could certainly do a significant amount of damage.
“Mere days remain until the battle royal,” Reddington announced through a long brass speaking trumpet.
Stephen’s heart skipped. “Until thewhat?”
