the weather channel, and they hadn’t returned until the early morning. All night, the scariest thunderstorm I’d ever seen thrashed the tiny motel, rattling the windows. Water leaked in from the bathroom window, and the electricity went out. Right before, the newscaster had been talking about dark, greenish skies and potential hail.
Signs of an impending tornado. And my parents didn’t return until breakfast the next morning. I only recalled the starkest, iciest terror I’d ever known. Alone, at seven, convinced a tornado was going to destroy the motel and kill me.
The door at the back of the pub slammed closed, and the sound made me jump. I winced, cursed. Thinking about my parents never did any good except to fracture my focus. As if to prove a point, at that exact moment the goddamn bartender stepped out of Mycroft’s Pub.
With Big Guy.
They were on the move, and so was I. Leaving my half-empty glass, I yanked a hat down onto my head, low over my face, and slipped out of the bar, careful to not let the swinging door make a sound. Their body language was casual yet attuned to their surroundings. No conversation, simply heads down and on the move. I’d worn all black for the occasion—it was both my usual attire and worked well for sudden, covert stakeouts. I kept to the shadows, body pressed to each building, ducking into every alley I could as I kept my eye on them. Big Guy was still big; the bartender still looked like a Brooklyn hipster.
Neither of them noticed me. I hoped. About a quarter of a mile down the road they stopped. The buildings were mostly non-descript offices and stores. Nothing stood out. They slipped into a side alley to speak and I crept down a long wall to get close. I searched for fire escapes or open windows to sneak into. Their conversation was completely muffled by the sounds of London at night—cars, horns, more trucks rumbling. Glancing once behind my shoulder, I slipped out a pocket mirror, angled it towards them. Body language still casual, as in non-threatening. But Big Guy appeared upset, and the bartender appeared neutral.
A little closer. Then a little more. A group of loud locals walked past me—I acted quickly and pretended to be texting on my phone. They were noisy and obscured the secret conversation. Right near them was a little hedgerow of bushes about ten feet from where they were speaking. Before I could doubt my choice, I leapt, ducked behind the bushes, crouched low. A gust of wind muted their conversation. I pushed my ear directly to the bush, looking like an extreme nature enthusiast.
“He wasn’t fucking happy…”
I inhaled sharply. Tightened my fingers in the branches.
“Whose fault is that, hey?”
If they were talking about Bernard, was he pissed about the other night? Technically, Abe and I had foiled their plan. We hadn’t been drugged, and we’d beaten back our attacker. Maybe what this meant was—
“Devon Atwood!”
I was so focused on the conversation I didn’t recognize my own undercover name for a moment. Whoever had yelled it had a voice that boomed like an explosion even down a busy street at dinner time.
“What on earth are you doing in the bushes?”
I turned, swallowed a gasp at the sight of Humphrey fucking Hatcher lumbering toward me with a giant grin and an expression of total delight. I couldn’t have been happier, except I was hiding in the bushes to eavesdrop on a conversation between two men who had conspired to drug and attack me. Instead I froze, crouched in the bushes, staring at Humphrey with my jaw dropped open.
Think Sloane. Think.
I stood up, tore off my hat, dislodging leaves from my hair and on my clothing. Dislodged my earrings and cast a wary glance behind me.
Caught the bartender and Big Guy glaring at me. I wasn’t sure if they’d recognized my name. They sure as shit seemed to recognize my face. I blinked, and they vanished. The mistake of this moment, of getting caught, hit me like a punch to the gut. But I didn’t have a second to fret before coming toe-to-toe with Bernard Allerton’s closest friend.
“Humphrey,” I exclaimed, holding out my hand for his aggressively friendly shake. He seemed genuinely happy to see me. “What a lovely surprise.”
“What’s an enchantress doing hiding in the bushes?” he bellowed.
I held my earring. “Fell right off, if you can believe it. I was lucky to find it in the dark.”