Free Shana Galen by True Spies Page A

We need to find this Trollope.”
    “And kill him.”
    Adrian held up his hands. “Slow down. We’ll start with torturing him first. We can do that here. If we decide to kill him, we’ll probably have to move elsewhere. Sophia will have my head if we spill blood on this rug. We just had it replaced.”
    “They’re meeting in Hyde Park in the morning,” Baron said. “I propose we conduct surveillance and dissect our target.”
    “Agreed. We can make a plan from there.”
    “I’ll take my leave.”
    “Wait.” Adrian stood. “We have another issue.” He couldn’t let Baron walk away that easily. If he helped the man with this Mr. Trollope, Baron was going to help with Foncé.
    “Foncé?” Baron asked.
    “Exactly. Saint and I chased the man halfway across Europe, but we lost him. Blue suggested we return to London, thereby luring Foncé here. We have no way of knowing if that will work or not. Perhaps we’ve read Foncé all wrong. But if I know Blue—”
    “No one knows Blue.”
    That was true enough. “All right, let me rephrase. If Blue’s assumption is correct—”
    “And when has one of Blue’s assumptions ever been incorrect?”
    “—Exactly. We have a man who has succeeded in murdering half a dozen of our agents, using rather grotesque methods, and he is presently on his way to England.”
    “I see your point,” Baron acknowledged. “We must be ready for him. We should start with a list of his known acquaintances and previous contacts. The way to best him is to find him before he finds you.”
    “We surprise him when he’s not ready for us. Somewhere he feels safe. The residence of a mistress or another member of his group.”
    “Right.” Baron considered. “Who’s going to do all this research? It’s tedious, and most agents don’t have the time or the knowledge of the Maîtriser group.”
    “Leave that to me,” Adrian said, grimacing inward. “I know the perfect person.”
    ***
    Winn had always been an early riser. Elinor, for all her efficiency in other arenas, was not. He usually breakfasted, read The Times , and enjoyed a morning ride before his wife and daughters were even awake.
    But today was different. Today he had just accepted his tea from the butler when the dining-room door opened and Elinor entered. She could not hide a look of surprise. “You are here,” she said, all but stumbling into the room. She wore a rose-colored day dress cut low enough to expose the swells of her breasts under the gauzy fichu. Her hair, which she always wore simply, had been curled and coiffed and hung in charming coils over her shoulder.
    She looked like the girl he had married. No, she looked even prettier than the girl he had married.
    “I live here,” he answered her. He watched as she considered the obvious retort about his frequent absences and then decided not to make it. Clearly, she was hoping for peace this morning.
    Futile, futile hope.
    She sat at the other end of the table, accepted her cup of tea from the butler, and seemed to sip it warily. He studied his copy of The Times silently and allowed her to consider. If she had not cancelled it, she had a rendezvous this morning with her lover. Winn’s presence was clearly a complication. He glanced over the top of his paper and could not help studying her.
    Had she always been so pretty? Her skin was milk white, and her cheeks so perfectly pink they looked painted on. She had a small, pert nose both of their daughters had inherited, and dark brown eyes that were amazingly expressive. But her best feature was and had always been her mouth. She had red lips the perfect size and shape for kissing. Her small white teeth were perfectly straight. And there was a tiny freckle just at the curve of the left side of her mouth. He could not even see it from this distance, but he knew it was there. He’d kissed that freckle on many occasions.
    Unfortunately, at present, he could not remember the last time he had kissed her. And he could