Kate Cross - Touch of Steel

On the third day, he came for dinner and brought her flowers and a cylinder-playing Victrola. They danced the waltz in her cell and had sex on the windowsill. Afterward, he confided how he’d felt about his father when he thought the man was a traitor, and he told her how the truth had made him see his mother in a different light. She had gotten tangled up in an intrigue with a person she hadn’t known was a double agent until it was too late. His father had done what he had to in order to protect her, and he had allowed his own reputation to be questioned—for love.

She told him about her father and why she was afraid of small spaces. And she told him that she had promised herself she would never be caged again.

He’d looked at her then. “I was going to let you escape.”

She went completely still. Only her heart continued to move, pounding violently against her ribs. “I beg your pardon?”

“That night on the ship. I was going to tell them you got away. I thought I’d give you the submersible, or find a place for you to hide until the ship reached New York.”

He had planned to betray his agency—his country. For her. She didn’t deserve such devotion. “I was going to kill him, you know. Stanton Howard. Robert. I never intended to let the Wardens have him.”

Alastair nodded. “I know. I wouldn’t have blamed you for ending him.”

“But I would have ruined your mission.”

“The Wardens would have been happy enough with the information I found in his room. We had the Doctor after all. I would have told them I had to kill him.”

Claire was actually shaking. “I wouldn’t have let you do that.”

His smile was sad. “Doesn’t really matter now, anyway.”

That was a subdued night for both of them after that. Buaftletely t still he came back the next day, and the day after that. He was with her when Evie came to check on her and when the director came to question her about yet more Company secrets. He asked his own questions as well, and all of her answers were recorded by a machine that etched the sound of her voice into a brass cylinder. She talked until she was hoarse, and then they came back the next day and asked even more questions. It was as though they gleaned every detail of her life in the Company from her.

And then they came with Lady Huntley with them—Luke’s wife. She had a strange helmet in a box that had wires and knobs attached to it. “It stores memories,” she explained to Claire. “We’d like you to wear it while you tell us about a few important events.”

Claire turned to Alastair, who smiled. Was it her imagination, or did he seem suddenly very tired? “It will be all right. Lady Huntley’s machines almost always work as they ought.”

Claire started. Lady Huntley shot him a filthy look. “Your faith in me is astounding.” Then to Claire, she said, “There is no danger to you, I swear.”

The woman reminded her of a schoolteacher she’d once had, so dry and clipped. She glanced at Alastair. He nodded, a slight smile curving his lips. “You’ll be fine.”

His assurance was the only reason she let them put the damn thing on her. They asked several questions about Robert—some of them painful to answer. She didn’t know when her brother had lost his sense of decency, but she told them what she did know. It was strange thinking the memories of those moments were being lifted from her mind as she thought of them. Not stolen, but . . . borrowed.

They also asked her to talk again about how she came to join the Company, and she explained that they had approached Robert first. He refused to go without her. She recounted as much as she could remember about the few times they worked together, and about how she’d been led to believe that the Company was behind his “death.”

“I realize now that Robert wanted it to look like the Company had betrayed him by hiring a killer. Senior officers would be too busy looking for who gave the order to look too closely at his ‘death.’ And no one would be surprised when Stanton Howard disappeared. They’d assume he either was in hiding or had been killed by the people who hired him.”

“And he would have gotten away with it—and sold Company secrets as well as sensitive information from other agencies if you hadn’t gone after him,” Alastair remarked. The director shot him a pointed gaze, which he met with a slightly smug smile. What was he playing at?

“Why these marathon interrogations?” she asked. “And why now? You people didn’t hound me this hard when you first caught me.”

The director cleared her throat. Between her, Lady Huntley and Evie, Claire was beginning to feel as pretty and intelligent as swamp water. “Next week you will appear before the upper echelon of Warden officers, who will listen to all the evidence you’ve given us, plus ask you questions of their own. They will decide whether or not you remain a prisoner here, or whether you are set free.”

The thought of freedom flipped her heart like a hotcake on a grill. “Toss me to the wolves, will you?” They all knew what would happen to her if she was set free. Ths shought oe Company would be on her before she made it to the street. Odd, but a few weeks ago that thought wouldn’t have bothered her at all. Now she found death wasn’t so appealing, and it was all because of the man sitting a few feet away, watching her as though he would trade places with her if he could.

She loved him for that. The realization hit her hard. Love?

“No,” Alastair said in a tone that brooked no refusal. “You will not be tossed to the wolves. Trust me.”

And she did. That was the cruelest part of all. She trusted him with her life, even her heart. But she couldn’t say these things in front of the director and Luke’s wife, so she only nodded, letting her faith in him smother the fear in her heart. He was only going to be disappointed. Or worse. If the Company came for her, they would come for him as well, and she couldn’t bear the thought of his death—it robbed all breath from her lungs.

He stayed for a few minutes after the women left. He took both of her hands in his and met her gaze with his own unflinching one. “I have to go away for a few days. I’ll be back in time for the trial; I promise.”

Was this the moment where he finally recovered his wits and walked away from her? No, he wouldn’t be that smart, or cruel. He was going to stay with her until the bitter end; she knew that. She was even reconciled to it.

“Where are you going?”

“Paris.”

“You poor thing,” she drawled. “What a hardship for you to have to go to such an exciting city.” She was only a little jealous that he could just up and leave whenever he wanted. She would probably never see Paris again. And she would so like to see it with him. That was what really bothered her—that he was going to the city of love and she wouldn’t be able to share it with him.

One corner of his mouth lifted, deepening the groove in his cheek. She adored that little smile, halfhearted as it was. “We all have to make sacrifices.”

“You don’t. I don’t want you to sacrifice anything for me. You’ve already done so much. . . .”

He cut her off with a kiss. “I do those things because I want to. Now, be a good girl and say good-bye to me properly. I’ll be back before you know it.”

So she did. She said good-bye with her mouth and hands and body. They didn’t even remove all of their clothing—just the necessary items. She straddled him as he sat in the chair and took him inside with a fierce shove of her hips. It was fast and frenzied, and entirely too fraught with emotion, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed just as desperate for her as she was for him. And when he finally left her, Claire told herself she would see him again. He would come back for her.