Or maybe that should be Underwater O’Shitsburgh.
“Do we, uh… Do we want to know what this friend of Angel’sdoeswith a submarine off the coast of France?” she asked.
“Probably not.” Ace made a face. “This is Angel we’re talking about.”
Right. Jamin “Angel” Agassi. Not his real name.
In point of fact, Emily didn’tknowhis real name. She wasn’t entirely sure anyone back at BKI did either. What shedidknow was that Agassi was a former Israeli Mossad agent who had run into a heap of trouble. Trouble so big and bad he had been forced to abandon his post, abandon his country, undergo extensive plastic surgery to completely change his looks, and then, you know, have his vocal cords scoured so that voice recognition software couldn’t identify him.
As if allthatwasn’t intriguing—or spooky—enough, after he had come to work for BKI, he had taken on a string of blacker-than-black assignments that had mostly kept him overseas. Emily had only met the man twice. Each time, she had been taken aback by his near-flawless beauty. Whichever plastic surgeon had done the work on him had been a Rembrandt. A true artist. No joke. She thought the Black Knights had been right to give him the nicknameAngel.
With black, wavy hair and piercing eyes that looked like they held a thousand secrets, he was downright otherworldly. Which, quite honestly, creeped her out. And made her not trust him.
Not entirely, anyway.
Then again, beggars couldn’t be choosers. If Angel and his friend with the submarine could get them off the island, she’d thank her lucky starsandhim.
“So then the plan will be to hop onto…er…intothis dude’s submarine and Captain Nemo our asses across the Channel?” She tried not to imagine the giant squid fromTwenty Thousand Leagues under the Seawrapping its long, muscular tentacles around the vessel and dragging it down to the black depths until the hull buckled and—
Squeeeeeeeee!The kettle on the stove began singing its ear-piercing tune. On the heels of the giant squid imagery, it made Emily jump.
“Pretty much,” Ace agreed. “Assuming Angel can find this friend of his, and also assuming this friend of his will be willing to help. Angel says it could take an hour or two to locate the guy. He’ll give us a call once he does. But there’s a catch.”
“There always is,” Christian muttered on his way past Emily. He sauntered into the kitchen where Zoelner was busy washing and redressing Chelsea’s wound. After pouring himself a cup, Christian dropped in a teabag and strolled back to the living room.
Emily couldn’t help but notice he carried himself with an easy, almost lazy confidence. It stirred something deep inside her. Something she promptly ignored.
Once bitten, twice shy, baby.She wouldnotmess up the good thing she had going with the Black Knights. Although one look at Christian, and she was sorely tempted.
“The submersible is only big enough for the pilot and two passengers,” Ace said. “So sneaking us all across will take hours.”
Emily frowned. “But really it’s just Chelsea who needs to sneak across, right? Spider and his contacts inside the British government don’t know about the rest of us.”
“Thanks for the all-for-one and one-for-all attitude, Em!” Chelsea called from the kitchen.
“You know I love you like my luggage!” Emily called back. Then, “But seriously, we could load Chelsea into the submarine, and then the rest of us could grab a ferry across or else take the train through the Chunnel. All on the up and up. Easy as you pleasy.”
Plus, the plan had the added benefit of allowing Emily to avoid a chance run-in with a giant squid. And yes, she knew that particular concern was ludicrous, but that didn’t mean it went away. Obviously she’d readTwenty-Thousand Leagueswhen she was too young and too impressionable.
Where had her parents been?
Oh yeah.Out. They had always been out. Each of them more concerned with finding the next love of their life—and the next, and the next, and the next—than looking after their own daughter.
“Good point.” Christian’s eyes darted to his watch. “On that note, and since it seems like we’ll have a while to knock about regardless, what say we toddle over to the local pub? I don’t know about the rest of you, but it’s going on sixteen hundred, and I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I’m getting peckish.”
“Chelsea can’t go out.” Emily glanced over her shoulder at the woman under discussion, giving her a wink that said,See? I got a sister’s back. “Not with her mug splashed all over the news.”
“We’ll fetch her back something,” Christian insisted.
“But Rusty said there was food in the fridge.”
“Tuna salad, a block of cheddar cheese, and a carton of milk do not a meal make, darling.” Just like always, the endearment gave Emily a little thrill. “Besides,” he continued, “if we go ’round to the pub, it’ll give us a chance to have a pint and see if we can come up with a viable alternative, should Angel’s friend not come through for us. You know, drink things through, as is the custom of my people.”
Christian Watson was English through and through, right down to his love of Earl Grey and beer. Both served warm.Bleck!
“You guys go,” Zoelner called from the kitchen. “I’ll stay here and keep Chelsea company.”
I just bet you will, Emily thought, hiding a smile. She knew the two of them needed time alone to work out their shit, so she was quick to jump on the bandwagon and add, “Come to think of it, I could really benefit from a plate of fish and chips.”
