“I have been depleted, drained of my energy today. Perhaps that was not your intention, but it is nonetheless so.”
“You don’t really think I would give up the advantage of questioning you when you are tired, do you?”
She raised a brow. “So we are going to continue this interrogation all night? Very well, but when I fall asleep in this chair is when we are done. Wake me all you want, but I will say no more.”
He didn’t acknowledge her warning other than to call out, “Boris, what is keeping you?”
It took another half minute for the servant to rush into the room with two bowls sloppily filled with something creamy. “Apologies, my lord. Franz could not make up his mind.” Then, in a whisper: “I think he wanted to impress your pretty guest.”
“She’s not a guest. Warn him not to be so foolish again.” Christoph waved the servant away.
Alana had the thought that the captain had said that for himself, not his cook. But he was going to allow her to eat the dessert in peace. Vanilla, she tasted, but another flavor she didn’t recognize.
“Anise, from the southeast,” he said, as if reading her mind.
She nodded her thanks. “London gets a wealth of spices; I just never spent enough time in the kitchen to learn the names. But I don’t think our cook ever experimented with that one.”
Before she set the bowl aside, she couldn’t resist running her finger along the inside of it to get the last few drops. Sticking the finger in her mouth, she froze as she caught the captain staring in fascination at what she was doing. She immediately reached for the small, wet towel Boris had left beside her and wiped off the last of the cream instead.
“Please pardon that breach of good manners. I’m partial to sweets,” she explained. “Do not accuse me of anything else.”
“I wasn’t going to. I did the same thing when I was a child. Now I just ask for another helping. Would you like more?”
“No, the meal was quite filling. But thank you for offering.”
He nodded, even smiled. He was being too cordial again. To make up for that brief bout of anger? If he wanted to make amends, she would much prefer he answer a few questions of her own.
“Exactly how many attempts have been made on my father’s life?” she asked. “Is this new plot with the rebels just an extension of the one in which I was supposed to be eliminated? Is it contrived by the same people?”
“You were right. It’s late enough for me to be off duty, so no more questions, eh?”
She stared at him incredulously. Just like that? How convenient for him, and utterly frustrating for her. But he probably wouldn’t have answered her anyway, she realized. There was and had only ever been one interrogator in the room. He was mindful of that even if she wasn’t.
But he wasn’t done. “It’s still early enough for some amusement though.” He pushed his chair back, but only to give himself room to put his legs up on the table and cross them. He then patted his lap. “Come,” he said with a slow grin. “I’m sure you can think of something creative to convince me not to put you back in that cell tonight.”
Chapter Twenty
WITH NO WINDOWS ON the high walls and two locked doors, Leonard didn’t know the warehouse was abandoned until he picked the lock on the second door and entered at the back of the building. At least the cavernous building wasn’t completely empty. Crates, large and small, had been left behind, though only in the back half of the warehouse. All of them were empty, most even broken. Discarded debris littered the floor around them, making his traverse of the room silently a very slow process.
He’d found his target, the man who’d arranged for him to get rid of the royal heir eighteen years ago. The man had a face he’d never forget. Now he also knew the man’s name. Aldo. It had taken all day and several more hours into the night to find him. Leonard had actually expected it to take much longer. Luck? He didn’t believe in luck. Aldo was simply a man of habit who frequented the one place in the capital where he would hear the kind of news that interested him.
The old tavern where Leonard used to go to “hear” of jobs had burned to the ground, a miller’s shop now filling the lot. He’d canvassed the town, checking all the other taverns, spending enough time in each to determine if it was what he was looking for. The last one he’d entered was newer, right on the main street, and much more elegant than the others. A good cover to hide what could really be bought there—death. Even Leonard would have discounted the place if he hadn’t recognized an old competitor sitting at one of the tables.
The bartender was as new as the establishment, but likely doing the same job on the side as the old bartender at the old tavern, connecting men who paid for unusual services with those who supplied them. Leonard tried to confirm that by ordering a drink, then telling the man, “I’m looking for work.”
“What sort?”
Leonard didn’t answer. That used to be all he needed to do to have a few choices mentioned. But this middleman wasn’t familiar with Leonard’s voice or his manner of concealing his face under a heavy false beard and the hood of his coat. And considering the more prosperous class of customers who frequented this place, Leonard knew the bartender would need to be cautious.
“No jobs here, unless you want to serve drinks?” the bartender said with a chuckle.
“No.”
After a moment the bartender said, “Take a seat. Maybe someone will join you.”
Innuendos Leonard wasn’t familiar with. The man was too cautious. Or a middleman was no longer involved? Or maybe he just wasn’t in the right place?
He took his drink to the table closest to the bar, thinking he would have to spend the rest of the night waiting, watching, hoping for something other than the presence of an old competitor to confirm he wasn’t wasting his time. And then he had more than that when his target actually walked in and went straight to the bar.
