“You know if she ever worked for a bank?” Aloha asked without turning away from his computers. “Anna Reed?”
My pulse raced.
“Might have a connection to a private bank called Kensington Trust,” Jagger said.
I was impressed he could keep his voice so even. My heart felt like a caged bird flapping its wings inside my chest.
“That’s the one,” Aloha said. “Your woman worked there for less than a year about fifteen years ago.”
“Anna Reed worked for Kensington Trust,” I said, hardly believing it even though it was the only thing that made sense.
“Yeah, in London,” Aloha said. “Except her name wasn’t Anna Reed then.”
“What was it?” Hawk asked.
“Irina Sokolov.”
IS at KT.
Irina Sokolov at Kensington Trust.
I was forcing myself to breathe through the revelation when Jagger looked from me to Vigo to Hawk.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
PART III
39
CASSIE
The housein Hampshire was large rambling, and I loved it in spite of the low ceilings and strange nonsensical layout. Tucked into the woods an hour and a half outside London, it was everything I’d imagined an English cottage would be, complete with a overgrown garden thick with roses and a large field surrounded by a wooden fence.
The Kings had let us use their plane (I was still dumbfounded that the Kings — not much older than me — had a private jet) and we’d had a stupidly comfortable flight from the States to London where a car had been waiting.
After that, Hawk had driven us to the rental house in Hampshire. We’d passed through the village of Fullerton on the way to the house and I’d gotten a glimpse of cobblestone streets, wild roses climbing historic buildings, and thatched-roof cottages that looked straight out of a fairytale.
Now I was glad to be tucked away in the rental house a few miles from the address Aloha had given us for Anna Reed.
The kitchen was small and simple, but it had everything we needed for a few days and I set to work heating water to make tea(found in the cupboard) while Hawk and Jagger carried our bags to the second floor bedrooms.
I was filling four mugs with hot water when Vigo strode into the room. “This place is trippy.”
“It’s cool,” I said. “Old.”
I pushed one of the steaming mugs toward him.
He sniffed it suspiciously. “Smells like charcoal water.”
I laughed and dunked my tea bag a few times. “Put some cream in it. Or lemon.”
“Bags are upstairs,” Jagger said, entering the kitchen. “First room on the right.”
“Where did you put mine?” I asked.
“First room on the right,” he repeated.
“You’re with us, mouse. Always.” Vigo started popping cupboards. “Obviously.”
