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“Well, we’re fooked.”
“What about you?”
“I’m from Liverpool, la. Pure Scouse. The people here talk too slow. Lots of syllables that aren’t supposed to be there.”
“This is very true. It took me ten minutes to order my coffee this morning, and I think the woman who made it knows more about me than my last lover.”
Lancelot snorted. “Maybe we need to hire a private investigator, someone local. If they talk to Alicia’s known associates, get us a lead, we could take it from there.”
“Can we do that?” Hugo asked.
“No. Fookin’ ’ell. We can’t hire an American—too risky. The Trinity Masters are already watching us.”
“We would only tell the PI what we already told Grand Master Juliette—we’re looking for Alicia Rutherford.”
“True.” Lancelot paused as if considering it, and then shook his head. “That’s a last resort. I’m hoping either the neighbors or something we find at the school will lead us out of Charleston, and we’ll be able to operate without the Trinity Masters spying on us.” Lancelot pushed to his feet, then reached down and grabbed Hugo’s hand.
Electricity zinged through him at the knight’s touch.
When Lancelot pulled Hugo to his feet, their bodies brushed, trapped as they were in the space between a blocky coffee table and the couch.
Hugo looked up into Lancelot’s eyes. He raised a brow, a mute question. Did the Englishman feel what he had?
Lancelot frowned, confused.
Ah. That was all the answer he needed. Though Hugo was a legacy, he’d never considered actually having sex with another man. His fathers were both straight, and though he didn’t know for sure, Hugo was fairly certain they’d never taken their wife to bed at the same time. Growing up, all three parents had their own bedrooms, which meant Hugo and his sister were either a product of immaculate conception, or his parents crossed borders briefly in order to procreate.
Lancelot hadn’t grown up with trinity parents, and while he was easygoing and looked like the sort to be up for anything, Hugo doubted he’d ever slept with a man. So this…attraction, Hugo thought, for lack of a better word…was new to both of them.
Lancelot grunted and took a long step back. “We have work to do. Finish searching this room, then we have one more living room, plus the bathroom.”
“Exciting,” Hugo muttered. He started pulling cushions off the couch. He hadn’t imagined this mission would involve so much manual labor. “I am an award-winning, highly respected scholar.”
“And now you’re a mediocre investigator,” Lancelot said.
“Mediocre?” Hugo unzipped the case around the cushion. “I have never been mediocre in my life.”
“Big talk.” Lancelot was flipping through the next shelf of books. “But so far you haven’t found anything. That means you’re mediocre.”
“You should be doing the couch.” Hugo struggled to shove the cushion back into the casing.
“Nice try. When you did the books, you stopped to read them.”
“This is what books are for.” Hugo finished that cushion and looked in despair at the rest. There were so many.
When a cell phone rang, Hugo grabbed for his pocket.
Lancelot grinned. “Nice try, but it’s mine. Keep searching.” He tapped the phone. “Knight.”
Hugo was still looking at Lancelot, preparing a caustic remark, when he saw the other man’s eyes widen, his face taking on a slightly green tinge.
Lancelot turned to fully face Hugo.
“Yes, Fleet Admiral,” Lancelot said. “Our investigation is going well.”
The fleet admiral was calling?
Merde.
