The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance (26 page)

She had spent her entire life looking for a man of equal ability and in the end had resentfully settled for fleecing the men she inevitably found wanting. She had made an enormous amount of money doing it and no doubt would again. But in her heart of hearts, Enigma knew that she would give it all up to be understood . . . to find her counterpart.

She laughed aloud, surprised to find that after all of her financial success, she was still a woman, a woman looking for her mate, her intellectual match.

And then she heard it, a muffled click.

Her mouth dropped as she lifted her head. She met the cold green eyes of Lucas Youngblood and he smiled weakly with Mister Collin’s pistol pointing at her heart.

Mister Youngblood took a gargled breath and blood poured from the side of his pretty mouth as he whispered, “Bitch,” just before pulling the trigger.

~

Seamus
turned his head at the sound of gunfire, but quickly lost interest when soldiers surrounded the landau as it attempted to exit Hyde Park.

His attention, his world, was focused on the woman lying on the ground. He gathered Juliet in his arms and she winced, chilling him to the bone.

“Juliet, darling, are you all right?” Seamus whispered, but she did not respond. He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers to feel her warmth, her life. “Juliet,” he breathed, kissing her lips.

But when she still did not respond, Seamus scooped her up in his arms and mounted his horse.
But where to go?
He could not think as panic was clouding his judgment.

Felicity’s house was not far and a physician could be quickly summoned. Five minutes. It would take no more than five minutes to ride there.

“Juliet?” He needed to hear her voice, see her beautiful eyes, to assure himself the she would survive his stupidity. “Juliet!”

Seamus looked down at her face, her freckles appearing lighter.
Was she getting pale?
God, please, not his Juliet.

They were at Felicity’s home and he slid off his horse and climbed the stairs shouting, “Open the bloody door,” as he banged the brass kick plate with the tip of his right boot.

“Juliet,” he called again as he ran into the house. “Can you hear me, darling? Are you all right?”

Felicity was running into the entryway, fear in her eyes.

“Well, Seamus, I would feel a great deal better if you would stop banging me about.” Seamus smiled, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I mean honestly; don’t you think the fall I took from that damn carriage was jarring enough?”

The efficient Felicity was quietly ordering her butler to summon a physician as she herself ran up the stairs ahead of Seamus to ready Juliet’s bedchamber.

“And why on earth would you bring me here?” Juliet was rubbing her head and squinting as if the light was painful. “It would have been much more sensible to take me directly to the physician. Now, poor old Doctor Barton will be forced to drag all of his apparatus—”

Seamus lifted the girl to his lips and kissed her hard, relieved that his love was alive and for the most part well. “Shut up, Juliet.”

It must have been the besotted look in his eyes, because rather than argue, Juliet just smiled, saying, “Very well, Seamus.”

Seamus watched as she closed her beautiful eyes and then nuzzled his neck, allowing him, for the first time since their meeting, to take care of her.

They reached Juliet’s bedchamber and Seamus grinned, stepping past the settee where it all had begun. He carried Juliet to the bed where they had made love and gently set her down, settling on one knee at the side of the cobalt counterpane.

“How do you feel?” He stared at her eyes so that she would not lie to him.

“A few cuts and bruises, but otherwise I’m perfectly fine.” Juliet brushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled a little half smile that made him want to devour her.

He leaned forward and kissed the adorable freckles on her perfect nose, before kissing her beautiful mouth. He lifted his head and brushed a leaf from her hair.

“Seamus?”

“Yes,” he said, the happiest man on earth.

“This never would have happened if you hadn’t gotten me dismissed.” She could not resist pointing this out, and his head dropped, a defeated man.

“Juliet.” He rose.

She sat up, propping herself on the many silk pillows. “You know I’m right. You never should have gotten me dismissed from the Foreign Office just because I threatened your pride.”

“Juliet,” he shouted out of frustration. “I resigned from the Foreign Office because I had fallen in love with you!”

“You really are in love with me, aren’t you?” Her bright blue eyes grew brighter with her tears.

“Yes,” he said, feeling vulnerable. “Why else would I have resigned when we both bloody well know that I’m the better cryptographer?”

She laughed. “Do we?”

“Mmm.” Seamus grinned, scooting her over so that he could lie beside her.

“We shall see about that.”

“What do you mean, we shall see about that?”

“Nothing.” She kissed him and his heart leapt.

“Marry me.” he ordered.

“If you apologize for calling me homely,” she countered.

“You called me dim-witted.”

“It is not the same.” He could see the hurt in her eyes.

“Juliet, do you remember the rogue in the corridor at the Foreign Office?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what I said to you?”

“No.”

“I said that beautiful women should not be allowed in a building full of unmarried men.”

Juliet smiled. “You did say that, didn’t you?”

“I thought you beautiful then, Juliet. That night, I just . . .” He looked into her eyes, ashamed. “I just could not stand the thought of another man touching you, and I wanted you to feel the same amount of pain that I was feeling.”

“I did.”

“I know, and I’m so very sorry for hurting you.”

“It seems we both know how to cut with our tongues,” she pointed out.

“The curse of being clever, I’m afraid.”

“I never had this problem with Robert.”

“Ouch, she draws first blood.” Seamus kissed her on the neck. “But as I’m the one marrying you, Robert Barksdale can—”

“I don’t recall accepting either one of your offers.”

Seamus met her amused eyes. “Marry me, my darling Juliet?” he asked with all his heart.

And being a very clever woman, she saw his sincerity, whispering, “Yes.”

~

“
Seamus
, what are you doing!”

“Nothing,” Seamus said, perplexed by Juliet’s anger. “I’m just sitting at my desk!”

“You know James is injured and yet you ordered him to bring you a laden tray of coffee and biscuits?”

“I did no such thing,” he protested, half listening to his wife and colleague.

“It’s all right, Mrs. McCurren, I am feeling right as rain,” Mister Habernathy said as he set the tray on Seamus’s larger desk.

“See,” Seamus said absently as he continued to read. “Not my fault at all.”

“Are you quite sure, James?” his bride asked their devoted secretary. “Perhaps you should take another week off.”

“No,” the man said adamantly. “Thank you, madam, but if I am being entirely truthful, it is far more restful at the Foreign Office than at home with my five children.”

Juliet laughed. “Very well, then, you can recuperate here if you promise not to retrieve any more coffee, luncheon trays, or heavy documents.”

“I swear it,” Mister Habernathy said, his hand on his heart, as he backed out of the office door.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing really,” Seamus mumbled, continuing to read. “Don’t you have anything to decrypt?”

“No.” His wife sighed heavily. “Honestly, sometimes I wish the French were not so thick and provided me with a bit of a challenge.”

“Uh-huh.” Seamus was scarcely paying attention.

“Do you ever feel that way?” she mused, more to herself than to him.

“Why don’t you work on one of your mathematic suppositions?” Seamus suggested so that she would leave him alone.

“I was working on a new theory.” Juliet walked up behind him and began playing with the hair at the nape of his neck just as Seamus was getting to an interesting portion of the newspaper he was reading. “Are you familiar with the work of Pascal?”

“Not now, Juliet.” He brushed her away, both of them aware of the amorous mood her discussions of mathematical theory put him in.

“He was a Greek mathematician who founded a school for both men and women—”

“Not now.” Seamus dropped his chair to the floor, his heart racing as he continued to read.

“You’ve found something?” Juliet asked, hearing in his tone that he had.

“Get me a piece of paper and a pencil.” He knew his wife would forgive his rudeness in the state of discovery.

“Here.” Juliet handed him the things he had requested and then stood back to let him work, trusting his ability to decode and knowing that he would confer with her if he needed assistance.

Seamus read the article four times, seeing the pattern clearly. Yet as he wrote the words, his face turned as pale as the sheet of paper his wife had handed him.

“Darling?” he asked, hoping to God he was wrong. “Who is speaking in the House of Lords Friday next?”

“Don’t be foolish, Seamus. You know very well that Ian St. John is scheduled to address the House. He has been working on his speech for weeks now.” And then she glanced at him, holding her breath. “Why do you ask?”

“Because”—Seamus met her eye—“the French have just offered one thousand pounds for his assassination.”

ONE

Descendants.com Headquarters

Salt Lake City, Utah

January 13
th
, 9:44am

"We got one!"

The man in the black suit jumped to his feet then walked across the room to stare at the computer over the analyst's right shoulder. "Where?" 

"I'm working on it,” the programmer muttered, tension straightening his back as he fought the keyboard to extract the information they would need from their database. His dark eyes grew wide with concentration as he read from the high definition monitor. "Washington State. A town called Woodinville. Her name is Mrs. Catherine Miller."

The older man lifted his cell phone to his ear, and out of habit, hooked his thumb on the belt loop in front his holster.

"I want the team ready to go in ten minutes," he ordered. "We're going to Seattle." The man hung up, his heart pounding with an unfamiliar urgency. He turned his grey eyes on the man sitting in front of the computer. "Is there anything else we can use?" he asked, praying that there was.

The internet resisted, but the kid was persistent.

"She's a thirty-two-year-old owner of a magazine called
The Finer Things
. According to her tax records, she works from home and didn't make much money last year. However, her husband did. His name is Dave Miller and he works for..." The tech tapped again, and colorful websites flashed by until he found the one he was looking for. "Microsoft. Nice," the kid added, impressed.

"Focus, please," the older man growled as he leaned over the small table at the back. He was already stuffing his black leather briefcase full of the evidence he would need before clicking it shut. "Call our guy over at Google to get the woman's search history and all of her files stored on the cloud. Then call her cell phone company which is..." He snapped his fingers at the young tech.

"Uh, AT&T."

"Do we have someone there?" He was pretty sure they did.

"Oh, yeah." The tech nodded. "We have a guy that's been working with us for years."

"Great, I want Catherine Miller's phone records. The recordings of her conversations,
not
a list of calls. Have them sent to my cell phone along with any photos or video she may have posted on-line," the man said, shrugging on his unfashionable jacket with his full cup of coffee left steaming on the table, long since forgotten. "It shouldn't take us more than two hours to get to Seattle. I want any additional information on Catherine Miller in my hands when we land."

"Yes, sir."

The man lifted up his briefcase, and had just reached the door when he heard.

"Crap!" Followed by furious tapping away at the worn keys of the keyboard. "You better make it one and a half hours, sir."

"Why?"

"She has a brother." The kid looked concerned. "Ansel Babineaux, thirty years old."

"And?" He walked back to the computer.

The kid spun in his chair and looked him straight in the eyes. "He's Special Forces."

"How do you know?" the older man asked, the pressure in the room ratcheting up a notch as they both considered the implications.

"Because I can't find a thing on him after the age of twenty. And I mean
zero."
The kid shook his head, amazed. "Do you know how difficult that is in this day and age?"

"Are you sure the guy's not just dead?" he asked, knowing that records get lost down the government’s bureaucratic rabbit hole at an appalling rate.

"Absolutely sure." The younger man nodded, his dark curls emphasizing his point. "There was no death certificate ever issued. No news reports of his death. No obituary. Nothing. This guy is a ghost. And to become a ghost, you need help."

"From the military?"
Or CIA
. Either was bad for them. The man ran his hand through his salt and pepper hair. "And this is Catherine Miller's biological brother?"

"Yep."

"Which means he's a carrier too." It wasn't a question and the kid did not take it as one. "He'll put up a fight."

"Yep."

"How strong is the sister's positive?"

The analyst spun back around then ran his finger down Catherine Miller's DNA test results. "Eighty-nine percent. Wow, that's the highest I've ever seen and men tend to run even higher. So, the brother will---"

"Call Cody and apprise him of the situation," the older man interrupted, inhaling deeply as he thought. "Have him meet us at the airport," adding, "Do you have an address on this guy... Ansel did you say?"

"No way, this guy is off, and I mean
off
the grid," the tech answered, wiping it away with his hand. "The military, and maybe his sister, are the only people who even know this man exists."

"Well, it doesn't matter." The older man shrugged his broad shoulders. "As soon as the Pentagon finds out he's a carrier...they'll kill him. But for now, I need to get to Catherine Miller." He glanced at his watch. "Before they do."

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