Page 32 of Shadowfox
For a few brief months, the world let us just . . . be.
It was perfect, and I fell for him a little more each time I woke and our eyes met, still sleepy from an evening’s rest. As much as the man made me want to hurl a knife into a tree—and as much as I wanted to shove him out of a plane on our first mission—now, I couldn’t imagine life without him by my side.
I could never get enough of the infuriating man. Therecouldnever be enough.
Egret, somehow sensing my inner recollection, rose from the bed and moved to the window, pulling the curtain back with one hand. The city wasn’t quite dark, but what remained of the sunset cast little light, save for weak streetlamps and the occasional flicker of headlights.
“Juliette, come here. The sun is almost down, and the sky is . . . you have to see this.”
I kicked off my shoes and padded to where he stood. Across the street were two men wearing fedoras, an oddity in a city that preferred fur-lined headwear. Egret’s hand tickled my waist on its way around. He pulled me into him, and I leaned my head against his chest. For the first time in days, a wave of peace washed over me, through me.
He kissed my head, and the strange men across the street suddenly felt far away.
Then he kissed me again.
Before I realized what he was doing, he’d turned me toward him, and our lips were pressed together. For the briefest moment, I thought about pulling back; but Thomas was our leader, and until he contacted our asset, there was nothing Egret or I could do but relax.
So I surrendered to his kisses and melted into the contoured muscles of his body.
“Let’s teach our friends what love sounds like.” His playful whisper teased my ears right before he bit my lobe and made me squeal in a most unladylike way.
11
Thomas
Willdidn’tspeakwhenI reached for my coat. Not at first.
He sat on the edge of the narrow hotel bed, watching me fasten the last button with precise, silent fingers. The light from the window cast a dull gold over the room, over the sloping line of his back, over the quiet worry carved into his brow.
I knew what he was thinking.
I also knew he wouldn’t say it—not until he had to.
“You sure you don’t want company?” he asked, soft and flat, like the words had to be pressed out of him.
“I just need a little air,” I replied. “You know I think better alone.”
Will blew out a long, tired breath. “Yeah. I know.”
I glanced at him, reached to touch his shoulder. There was so little we could say, given all the bugs scattered about the room. Every movement was a message. Every silence, a calculated risk. So, I gave him what I could—a look that said, “I hate this, too,” and a small, dry smile that only deepened his frown.
“Don’t take too long, okay?” he said. “New cities are . . . confusing. I would hate for you to get lost and kick up drama for yourself.”
“Have I ever been dramatic?”
“You’re British. You seethe dramatically.”
That earned a ghost of a smile. I opened the door, paused.
“If I’m not back in an hour—”
“I’ll wait thirty more,” Will interrupted, “then start knocking on doors.”
We didn’t say, “I love you.”
We rarely did, forever afraid it might be overheard. Even back in Paris—or home in the States—the risk of discovery was too much. But the air between us thickened with what we felt as I slipped into the hall and vanished into the hush of Budapest’s winter-dark afternoon.
I exited the hotel at a predictable time, coat buttoned, briefcase in hand, head down like a man weighed down by state business. Rather than head straight toward the Chain Bridge, I cut across the avenue, boarded a tram for three stops, then stepped off to double back on foot.
