the Nazis’ clutches.
Spinning, she checked the seam of her stockings. Thankfully, she still had a drawer full of silk ones and hadn’t been relegated to the itchy cotton pairs. Yet. Or worse, to staining her legs with tea like many of the other girls. She smoothed her hand over a wrinkle near her hip, then dropped it. She’d once despised wrinkles, but tonight was quickly changing her opinion on them.
Venom rippled in her veins. It clawed the sense struggling to rule her mind. Get ahold of yourself. Cowering in here like some ninny from a schoolyard bully. You are the daughter of Sir Alfred Whitford. Now pluck the backbone God gave you.
Tipping her chin, she pushed the frosted glass door open and stepped into the lovely sound of a piano and violin crooning down the hall. As soon as she got back to the table she’d turn her back to that horrible man and listen to the jazzy notes—
“What do you think you’re doing?” Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her behind a large potted palm. Barrett Anderson towered over her like a seething volcano. “Do you have any idea the game you’re playing at? You are in way over your head.”
She slapped his hand away. “Stop accosting me in dark places.”
“Then stop painting a target on your forehead.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
Impatience burned in his dark-blue eyes. “That Nazi. If you have any hope of getting your sister back, then you’d better learn to smile a little more convincingly.”
She took a wobbly step back. Palm leaves brushed the backs of her knees. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t play dumb. It’s not attractive on ladies of your breeding.”
He knows. Blood pounded in her head. Her father’s contacts at MI6 had warned of spies around every corner. With agents trained to charm the socks right off you or put a bullet in your head, she was to trust no one. Simple is better. Just say what they told you to say. “I’m here merely to visit Ellie.”
“With the intent of dragging her back to England, by the roots of her hair if you have to.” He took a deep breath, swelling the broad expanse of his chest. The irritation slowly faded from his eyes. “As comical as that would be to witness, we can find quieter ways of doing it. Ways that won’t have the Gestapo chasing our trail.”
“‘We’? No, no, I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.” She took another step back, bumping into the pot. Why, oh, why hadn’t she demanded better instruction on handling interrogations?
“You want her back, and so does Parliament before she spills everything she knows to that clod-headed boyfriend.”
Kat shook her head, whirling the blood pooling there. “Ellie knows nothing beyond how to throw a smashing party, and even if she did, she certainly wouldn’t betray her country.”
“She’s already betrayed it by coming here.”
“You’re wrong.” Even as the words slipped from her tongue, she tasted their false bitterness.
“We’ll Meet Again” crooned from the muted pipes of the trumpet as a bass strummed the harmony. She’d last heard this song the night before Ellie disappeared. They’d spent the whole evening at Lord Melford’s party trying to find partners who didn’t step on their feet. As Ellie hugged her good night, Kat never thought it meant goodbye. Her dear little sister had a penchant for finding trouble, but a traitor . . . She pressed a hand to the throbbing above her eyes.
“Miss Whitford, I know you have the best of intentions coming here.” Barrett shifted, drawing her attention. Weariness etched his tan face. “But your best intentions won’t save your sister from the shark-infested waters she’s flung herself into. You need someone who’s treaded the waters before.”
“She never was a good swimmer.”
A white scar shone above his top lip as his mouth tilted in a half smile. “At least you remembered your sense of humor. It’ll come in handy for what we’re about to do.”
“‘We’ again?” Kat straightened her shoulders. He was dealing with the wrong sister if he thought to bully her. “No, I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson, but I’ll ask you to refrain from barging in on our private affairs.”
“The second she stepped foot on occupied soil, your affair was no longer a private matter. That’s why I’m here. I’m getting you and your Rhine-loving sister back to good ol’ Blighty before she has the chance to waltz Hitler straight to the gates of Buckingham Palace.”
Chapter 4
The bar’s blue velvet curtains had been tied back