The Veils of the Budapest Palace (Darke of Night Book 3) (30 page)

BOOK: The Veils of the Budapest Palace (Darke of Night Book 3)

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The café radio played mindless pop music, interspersed with quite inappropriately cheerful chatter. A young man yawned behind the counter and began to fry bacon and sausages. Nell’s stomach rumbled.

And then she saw him. Kolnikov. He was walking down the pavement toward the café, hands in the pockets of a battered black leather jacket, his long legs striding, more, it seemed, because they couldn’t travel any other way than because he was in a hurry. He appeared to be whistling.

The police had found no reason to hold him. So far.

Nell’s heart lurched.
Don’t look in,
she willed him suddenly. Then,
Oh hell, yes, please look in.

He looked in. He stopped first to examine the menu in the window. But she didn’t think he even saw it. He looked pale and exhausted, his lips tighter, his fine jaw more rigid than in the police station. And his blue eyes weren’t hard or cold. They were blank with something very like misery. Then his gaze dropped, and he saw her.

She caught a flicker of recognition, even a faint upward tug at the corner of his mouth. For an instant, she held his gaze, descried a flare of intense, almost predatory interest that swiped at her breath.

Then he walked on.

Fuck.
Suddenly there were two reasons to call him back, but if she thought about either she wouldn’t be able to do it.

She was at the door before he’d taken two steps. “Mr. Kolnikov?”

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. She wondered what she looked like to him. A professional young woman fully made-up at six thirty in the morning, wearing a smart business suit and hanging out the door of a café only one step up from a greasy spoon. With her eyes held open by imaginary matchsticks. This was such a bad idea. She was in way over her head, and he must be able to see it...

“Are you all right?” she asked reluctantly.

There was the faintest pause, then: “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve been up all night being questioned by the police just for trying to help strangers?” It was too close to the words used by his solicitor already. She added quickly but honestly, “You look ill.”

“I’m not ill. Just tired, I guess.” He glanced at the café window. “Is the coffee any good?”

“Good enough,” she said, going back inside.

Stupidly, her heart hammered in her breast. She was careful not to make eye contact as he came in, gave him space. He didn’t need to talk to her. She didn’t
want
him to talk to her.

And yet the writer in her was curious. He wasn’t like any criminal type she’d encountered before. He wasn’t anything like she expected of an arsonist. A possible gangster. A murderer.

P
lease read the rest in
Smoke and Mirrors
, available now from
Amazon
,
Amazon UK
etc.

Books by Marie Treanor

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D
ARKE OF NIGHT

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The Veils of the Budapest Palace (Darke of Night Book 3) (30 page)

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