bottle of Ballantine’s couldn’t purge her from his thoughts, his very system of existence.
A crumpled message caught his eye at the bottom of the stack, and once more anger burned in his veins like wildfire. Command had denied his request to end the mission and get the sisters out of Paris. They couldn’t afford one extra man for escort service, especially not when the women in question were vital to retrieving information from Hitler’s private circles. He slapped the folder closed. Their safety was in his hands. Her life was his to protect.
Who would protect his heart?
“Is this your mother?”
He spun back around. The air froze in his lungs as he stared at the faded tintype of a beautiful young woman with unbound dark hair swinging down to her waist. Innocent sweetness curved her face as two large eyes pierced the lens. Eyes he saw every time he looked in the mirror.
“Pieces of a forgotten past. I’ll thank you to return it.”
Pink burst across Kat’s cheeks as she gently placed the photo on top of his other meager savings from a life he’d tried to piece together. Postcards of New York City and Washington, DC, and Coney Island, newspaper articles about the building boom in major American cities and new immigrants at Ellis Island, and even a few American coins his cousin had sent him from Pittsburgh. Seeds of hope.
Closing the lid, she slid the box he’d carelessly left out back across the desk to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that we’ve been together for some time—” The pink deepened to red. “I mean, we’ve worked together, and I hardly know anything about you.”
He brushed his thumb over the intricate carving on the lid of a thistle and fleur-de-lis intertwined. Scotland and France. “Thought you wanted to keep all the personal particulars private. Keep things uncomplicated.” Taking the box, he eased it down into a lower desk drawer and locked it tight. Out of sight and mind. No use dwelling until the mission was complete. “Besides, there’s not enough about me to keep you interested.”
She, on the other hand, had enough to keep him reeling for more years than he could count. Distance had been his ally, but she’d broken through every barrier to leave his defenses in tatters. If he’d thought to keep anything from her grasp, that kiss had wrenched it free.
Her head cocked to the side as she studied him for second. Her mouth parted as if to speak, but a quick shake of her head stopped the words from escaping. She jumped to her feet. “Care for a walk?”
“Thought after the past week my presence was intolerable to your sensibilities.”
“In light of my less than stellar morning, I’ll give you a reprieve.”
No. Stay away, lad. You know what happens when you get too close to this one.
Hopefulness and loneliness clashed across her face. “You can help me think of new complaints about Ellie and Eric.”
“Can’t turn down that offer.” So much for staying safe.
The waters of the Seine lapped against the stone embankment below as they walked along the Right Bank. To the left stretched the fancy Pont Alexandre III, and beyond it towered the Les Invalides, where the remains of Napoleon lay in silent slumber under a dome large enough to hold the man’s godlike persona.
“I’ll never understand man’s ingenuity to build things over water.” Afternoon clouds rolled across the sky, darkening the waters of the Seine to a muddy green. He should’ve thought to bring a hat. “All those statues and gold. Don’t know how it keeps from collapsing.”
Hatless herself, Kat pointed to the four gilt-bronze statues at the corners. “I believe Résal and d’Alby designed the Fames as stabilizing counterweights for the arch.”
“Sneak into a few engineering lectures while at university?” Another marker in the distance between them.
“Not exactly.” Her hand dropped to the rail, fingers curved over it. “My fiancé—ex-fiancé, that is—was an engineer.”
His mouth slacked open. “You were engaged?”
“Years ago. It didn’t end well. He . . . wasn’t who I thought he was.”
Tendrils escaped from the pins at her neck to dance unchecked behind her ear. A far cry from the prim and proper image he’d come to expect. Just one more expectation about her he had all wrong. The strand weaved down her neck to brush her shoulder like a yellow ribbon of silk. All other times she had a perfect comb to hold everything in place, yet here before him she let it