She shrugged. “Figured I’d take a chance. Youdidwhip out that Batman quote earlier. Thought maybe you were getting hip to American pop culture, yo.”
He snorted before quietly sliding from behind the tree.
She followed in his footsteps,ignoring the urge to creep after him on tiptoe with her arms drawn up and her hands curved into claws like some sort of cartoon character. Especially since Angel walked with an easy, almost lazy confidence. He was allnothing to see here, folks.Just out for a stroll.
Of course, there was a catch. He wasn’t making any sound. His footsteps didn’t scuffle over the grass. There was no hitch inhis breath when they paraded down the slight embankment toward the manor’s front lawn. Which, conversely, drew her attention to herownlabored breaths, to the sound of her own hiking boot snapping a rogue twig in two.
“Damnit,” she hissed.
Angel sent her a look.
She wasn’t sure whatkindof look. His face was as impassive as ever, so she was forced to whisper, “What?”
“Act natural,”he said. His gravelly voice barely carried through the windless air.
“Right. And what’s natural about skulking around a five-hundred-year-old house looking for weaknesses in its security system?”
One corner of his lips twitched. “Everything. Just another day on the job.”
“Foryoumaybe.”
Thirty seconds later, they were around the side of the house. Angel scanned the exterior, hiseyes alighting on the windows, skimming over the roofline, scrutinizing the perimeter.
Since she didn’t know what the hell she was supposed to be looking for, she contented herself with a close-up examination of the manor. The gray stone of its exterior looked thick and substantial, but there were places where lichen and moss had taken root, lending whole sections a fuzzy, greenish hue. Thevast two-story wall—speckled with eight windows, four on each level—was an imposing sight, seeming to reach up into the sulking clouds. And the grass around the manor stopped a good six feet from the foundation, as if it dare not intrude upon the stately grandeur of the place, leaving that task to a bed of mulch and a row of well-tended rosebushes.
All in all, it was quite a house. A throwbackto an era when things were built to last and landowners ruled the roost.
As an American, Emily was impressed by the sheer gravity of a structure that had seen armies rise and fall, watched rulers come and go, and withstood the ravages of five centuries of wind and rain and chaos.
“Come.” Angel distracted her from her inspection.
“What’s the verdict?” she whispered, following him aroundto the back of the house.
She was shocked to discover that unlike other historic homes she’d seen during her short sojourn in England, this one didn’t boast a vast back garden. The English seemed to really get off on bushes and shrubbery. Instead, there was a simple rock patio running along the back of the manor. Beyond it, the forest hulked, tall and dark and slightly foreboding. Emily thoughtit whispered of mysteries, at least to anyone who cared to listen.
Whoever had built the place had obviously valued privacy over opulence. Or maybe it was a simple matter of neglect over the generations. Perhaps the original owner’s descendants had grown too poor or too indifferent to keep up the grounds, and so had let the trees reclaim the land.
“No cameras,” Angel said. “No motion detectors.No floodlights. Only sensors on the doors and windows. Very elementary. Easy to disarm.”
“Just another day on the job?”
His dark eyes glinted. “Exactly.”
“Christian will be glad to hear that. I think he was looking forward to staying here tonight. You know, a walk down memory lane or whatever.”
“And you are happy to make Christian happy, no?”
She stopped in her tracks, frowningat Angel. “No. Well, yes. I mean, I wanteveryoneto be happy. What’s wrong with that?”
Angel shrugged. “Nothing. I thought perhaps after what happened…” He let the sentence dangle.
“What do you mean after what happened?” Her nerves jangled with alarm. “What happened?”
“I saw him kiss you.”
Right. Damn. So there wasthat.
“Didn’t mean anything.” She waved a dismissive hand.“It was a heat-of-the-moment thing and— Shit on a stick!”
