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“Let me check your text messages.” Sophie held out a hand and gestured at Tess’s phone.
With a shrug, Tess surrendered it.
“I texted you last Friday before the attack. Hey, what’s this?” She highlighted a text time-stamped the day of the attack from Unknown Caller, Cyprus, and inside, a long stream of garbage characters.
“Just unreadable spam.” Often overwhelmed with texts, Tess rarely read them all.
“No, this text was my warning. Damn it, between translation and encryption, it got screwed up. Goddamn technology.” Sophie grimaced at the phone with an eye roll.
“Maybe David was briefed since he was supposed to lead the summit? He summoned me to attend in his place last minute.”
Mouth gaping open, Sophie stared. “What? You’re telling me your boss bailed and sent you in his place the day of a terror attack in a country that never has them? How remarkably interesting.”
“You’re not suggesting David sold me out, are you? Don’t be ridiculous.” Tess snapped and clenched her fist, almost frightened by the murderous intent filling Sophie’s gaze.
“I don’t believe in coincidences, and neither should you.”
Annoyed at the accusatory finger Sophie pointed in her direction, Tess lashed out. “Don’t you dare insinuate David sent me to die! We’ve worked together for ten years, and he’d never betray me.”
“You sure? Whether you meant to or not, you risked your life for him. Next time, I hope you make a different choice.” Sophie paced the room, cracking her knuckles.
“We are not talking about this, period.” Unwilling to consider David a potential villain, Tess aimed an icy glare at Sophie. “Quit harassing me. Escaping required a high price, and I had to do awful things.”
“Self-defense?”
Tess couldn’t stop her lip from quivering and pressed her palms onto her thighs, not wanting to break down. Since the gruesome night in the barn, she’d replayed the fight countless times but never found any alternative to killing Sergey. Although her confession to Sophie was heavily veiled, it offered her a dose of much-needed relief.
Sophie squeezed her hand tight, and empathy filled her gaze.
“Since Cedarcliff, I’ve been so scared I considered getting a gun again. I want to defend myself.” Tess looked up. “I can’t stand being vulnerable.”
“Sure, I get it, but first, this is the UK—no guns allowed. Second, you’re a great shot, but you’re even better with a sword. Have you considered that?”
“You’re not helping.” Overcome by the need to release her guilt, Tess gripped Sophie’s hand harder and stifled the urge to cry. She grabbed a water bottle and gulped half of it as a distraction, hoping to wash away feelings she couldn’t outrun.
“You’re gonna need something stronger than water, Bennett. You were damn brave, but civilians aren’t trained to handle lethal complications. You made the right call, so don’t waste time second-guessing yourself.” Sophie opened the minibar refrigerator, extracted two bottles of vodka and tonic, mixed them together, and offered Tess the highball glass. “You’re running on empty and need comfort food. I’ve got to go now, but I’m ordering you room service, and don’t try to stop me.”
A few minutes after Sophie left, a hotel waiter delivered a cheeseburger and salty fries. She nibbled at the meal, pausing to lick the salt off her fingertips. A bath sounded comforting, so she headed for the bathroom, ran the hot water, and dumped a heaping scoop of lavender salts into the white porcelain tub. With a deep sigh, she sank into the steaming water up to her chin. However, Kyle’s words flashed like a neon sign in her brain. A lump filled her throat, followed by a dry sob. The emotional levee she’d built since Cedarcliff burst, and her tears splashed into the fragrant bathwater and disappeared. The reason the new age self-care nonsense she tried last year had failed to ameliorate her loss became apparent. Soothing wind chimes, aromatherapy, and candles were all pointless.
She needed anger—and justice.
Taking stock, she couldn’t resurrect Kyle or trust her colleagues. Sophie was traveling to an undisclosed location for at least a week. As Mark had warned, traveling too soon proved a stupid choice. Outside her window, the city lights appeared like stars, and one by one, they wove a glowing blanket of light above the River Thames. Toweling herself off, her skin freshly scented with lavender, she debated how to mobilize and engage her contacts. Several people popped up as possibilities, but only one name motivated her enough to pick up the phone and dial.
Her call transferred to voice mail, and she waited for the electronic beep. “Mark, it’s Tess, and I want to apologize. Flying to London was a mistake, and I need your help. Please call me.” All at once, she felt overwhelmed with loneliness. If Mark didn’t call her back, she’d have to face this crisis alone…a prospect too grim to bear.
Chapter Thirteen
Chasing Leads
After a fitful night’s sleep, Tess woke to find London had shifted into action for the day. Late autumn sunshine poured through the gauzy curtain sheers lining the hotel room’s windows. Grogginess gave way to anxiousness, and she checked to see if Mark had called, but he hadn’t. Damn it. She dragged herself out of bed, still feeling the sharp pang of disappointment.
Next, she searched her phone contacts for Inspector Archie Willis, the police detective who investigated Kyle’s accident last year. Typing quickly, she texted him regarding her new evidence and requested to meet at once. His immediate reply, which suggested a time slot in one hour, bolstered her hopes for progress. Three cups of strong coffee later, she ignored Dr. Patel’s advice about resting and hailed a cab to the Metropolitan Police Station at New Scotland Yard in Westminster.
When Willis met her in the lobby, he projected an aura of command, just like she remembered from Kyle’s accident investigation. Stout but not yet portly, his erect posture added inches to his otherwise diminutive height, and his immaculate, black leather oxfords reflected the light. Weathered, deep wrinkles documented his decades of police service, and he wore his grayish-blond hair in a no-fuss crew cut. He greeted her with a nod, surveyed her top to bottom, and his gaze lingered over her orthopedic boot.
She shook his hand and struggled to manage a half-hearted smile.
“Morning, Ms. Bennett. Ye just can’t stay out of trouble, can ye? Come upstairs, and we’ll get this sorted.” He gestured toward the elevator.
