as the fighters swept up the last of the crumbs with their fingers and shoveled them into eager mouths. “Do you want the Germans better trained than you? Get back to it. Tout de suite.”
A feather could have knocked Kat over. Running to keep ahead of the Nazis, she’d fallen into the lap of the very operation struggling to fight back. “Never did I imagine.”
Barrett crossed his arms over his chest, grinning with pride. “Thought I was leading you to your deserved doom. Surprised?”
“To say the least.” Kat’s hand fluttered to right the skewed hat on her head. Her mind raced to connect the dots. “You’re not really a bar owner?”
“I am, but it’s a cover for this. The SIS needed someone who could run a successful pub while instructing how to bloody a few German noses.”
Her eyes traveled to the bullet-ridden back wall. A new appreciation sparked for the mysterious man at her side. “Seems you do a little more than that.”
“My recruits are trained for every possible necessity. Bloody nose, broken skull, or blown bridge. They learn it all here.”
He stood straight and tall with a confident tilt of his chin. A slight dip in his nose indicated a one-time break. Or more. The scar sitting atop his lip shone white as he eased into a smile, while his large, blunt fingers tapped with impatience as if the boxing match before them called him to join in.
“Who are you?”
He shrugged, not taking his eyes from the rib jabbing. “Just a simple man trying to end this war before any more of our lads get laid low.”
“Mr. Anderson, I believe you to be many things, but simple is not one of them.”
“I know my way around a bottle or two and how to keep my feet in a scuffle. One day I met the right people—or rather they met me. They threw me into a few months of official skill sharpening and tasked me with training willing French citizens to fight back using guerilla attacks.”
A frown puckered between her eyebrows. “Would not a Frenchman have been a better choice? As a Scotsman, surely you stand out.”
“As an underground instructor, I suppose they’re willing to loosen the rules a bit for proper training. Didn’t hurt that I’m part French, though that hasn’t made much difference.” His dark-blue eyes flickered to her. “More recent, I’ve been tasked with babysitting.”
“The British government cares about two girls? Is the war not enough to concern them?”
His eyes dropped to the ground. “Suffice it to say you’re important enough to need supervision.”
“I don’t require a caretaker.”
“And I don’t need to trail after two girls who don’t have the sense to stay where they belong when my efforts are needed here. Where I’m trying to keep good people alive for their country instead of dying for it.”
For months she’d endured the hardships of war by conserving her lipstick, wearing fashions from two years past, and canning jams at the local Women’s Institute. How grand they had felt to pitch in to do their bit before laying their heads to rest on a pillow at night. Not once was she forced to entertain the thought of picking up a weapon or laying down her life. Soldiers did that. Faceless others who courageously ran into the line of fire to protect the innocent and save the world from tyranny. Here were the others. Here were the faces she could not unsee, that so blithely put her best efforts of bravery to shame. Family restrictions, a wayward sibling—they held no weight in comparison to the horrors happening right here. She was a right high hat for thinking otherwise.
Barrett scuffed a toe against the corner of a frayed rug. Two men tumbled in front of them. The smaller one slipped around and pinned his larger opponent. Barrett nodded in approval. “For laughs, do you have any plan on how to get the two of you out of here? Getting in must’ve been simple enough. Someday you’ll have to tell me how Father dear pulled the strings. But getting both of you out will prove trickier. Especially with that propaganda minister she’s consorting with. He’s not all he seems.”
“I was told no one is in this town.”
“Too right about that.”
“Including yourself?”
He slid her a wink. “Especially myself.”
Kat blinked and quickly looked away as heat spiraled over her cheeks. Men never flirted with her, at least not without the incentive of bending her father’s ear in the political arena. Men like Marcus.