No.
No. Gray Delacroix was not her world, and this wasn’t going to destroy her life. She had been briefly infatuated with a man who had a huge, gaping flaw that could never be overlooked.
She gathered the papers and the map, then headed toward the house. Even handling these papers was revolting, but they needed to be turned over to the government. They containeda wealth of information that might save lives on both sides of this simmering rebellion.
She went straight to her bedroom to hide them in her bag. When she returned downstairs, Tabitha nodded toward a towel-wrapped pan of cooling gingerbread.
“You’ll take the gingerbread to Mr. Gray?”
The warm scent of the spices made Annabelle want to weep, and she couldn’t bear to be near it. She smiled sadly. “No, keep it. I won’t be seeing Gray any time soon.”
It was late in the afternoon when Annabelle arrived back in Washington. She dropped her luggage off at her apartment, relieved that Elaine wasn’t home yet. It would be impossible to pretend nothing was wrong.
Twenty minutes later, she’d arrived at the grand building of the War Department, situated just west of the White House. Her canvas satchel weighed heavily as she carried it up the stairs leading to the building. The weight of the satchel made her entire arm and shoulder ache, even though all it contained was a single map, a slim notebook, and a few letters.
Enough to hang a man.
Enough to save countless lives on both sides of this battle.
She continued trudging up the stairs, the heat making it hard to breathe. Each step sapped her energy a little more.
“Annabelle! Annabelle Larkin, howareyou?”
The bright voice cut through her misery. She looked up to see Caroline Delacroix descending the steps of the War Department, both hands outstretched in friendship.
Annabelle backed down a step. Aside from Gray, his sister was quite possibly the last person on earth she wanted to see. “I’m fine,” she said, unable to meet Caroline’s eyes. She wanted to escape, but Caroline still blocked her way.
“We should go out for tea,” Caroline said brightly. “I’d inviteGray, but he’s been so busy preparing for his presentation to the Food and Spice Association. La! Seems very dull to me, but Gray can be a real zealot over that sort of thing. Until that meeting is over, he will be buried like a moth hiding from the sun.”
This was torture. Annabelle had always admired the gentle teasing between the Delacroix siblings, but the contents of this satchel would blow it to smithereens.
“I have some business to attend to,” she said, sliding around Caroline to continue up the steps, but once again Caroline stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.
“I saw Countess Frederica at the embassy last week, and we reminisced about the christening of the yacht. Wasn’t it marvelous? If I live to be a hundred, I shall still be in your sister’s debt. Please give Elaine my regards.”
“I will,” Annabelle said, pulling away and heading up the steps.
A few minutes later, she was escorted into General Molinaro’s private office, where the cloying cigar smoke sickened her. The general gave her a polite nod and gestured to a chair. She didn’t want to sit. She just wanted this over with.
“I found something of interest.” She handed over the canvas bag. Touching those notebooks and letters was impossible.
As General Molinaro emptied the bag onto his desk, she stared out the window. The White House was visible from here, sitting serenely amidst the deep green leaves of summer. She was doing the right thing. Just because she hated it didn’t make it wrong.
A low whistle of admiration came from General Molinaro. “You have done very well.”
“What will happen to him?” Her voice sounded small and frightened in this ornate office.
“That will be for a court of law to determine,” he said. She must have flinched, for he immediately softened his voice. “Miss Larkin, this is treason. There is no room for sympathy here.Sometimes life forces us into unbearably difficult choices, but that does not absolve us from stepping up to the plate to do what is right. You did that and should be proud.”
“I’m not proud.”
She stood and left without another word.
Sixteen
The annual gathering of the Food and Spice Association was always in Washington at the finest country club in town. Almost a hundred businessmen from across the country had already gathered on the terrace overlooking the manicured grounds by the time Gray arrived. Normally the men at this meeting were fierce competitors, but during the three-day conference, they sheathed their swords and worked toward resolving common problems.
And one of those problems was headed straight toward Gray. Dickie Shuster was a reporter forThe Washington Postwho pretended to cover business and politics, but what he really craved was gossip. While attending events such as these, he was always on the lookout for who drank a little too much or who cast covetous glances at another man’s wife. With his striped jacket and floppy bow tie, Dickie looked like a dilettante, but it was an illusion. A few years ago, he’d caught wind of a Russian diplomat who spent too much at the horse races. While investigating the diplomat’s spending, Dickie pulled on a thread that led all the way back to inflated armament sales from a German company to the Russian czar, resulting in trials for embezzlement and collusion. Gray had never underestimated Dickie Shuster since.
