Addison Fox - The London Deception

She briefly toyed with brazening her way through a bluff, but the blue eyes that bore into hers saw too much and knew too much for it to be worth the effort.

“Yes, I’ve been having the dreams again. They started up after you got home. After we understood what really happened in Paris.”

“I’m fine, Ro.” Campbell reached across the table and gripped her hand. “Abby and I are both fine. And it’s behind us.”

“You killed her brother, Campbell.”

“I know.”

“That doesn’t just go away, so don’t act like you’re all fine with it.”

“I know it’s not that easy. And I am working on it. We both are.” He looked up from their joined hands. “So why the hell are you the one having bad dreams?”

The urge to tell him about that long-ago night rose up, clamping her throat in a tight grip. With stoic determination, she pushed down on the urge. For nearly half her life, she’d kept the secrets of what she used to do.

The stealing. The deliberate and purposeful removal of prized possessions from others. Even the emotional void that she’d lived with for so long and which she still sunk into from time to time if she wasn’t vigilant.

But underneath it all were the images of that horrible night.

The twisted body as it lay along the base of the house, unmoving. The gunshots directed at her that she’d barely missed. The lingering hunt through newspapers, police files, internet searches—whatever she could get her hands on—to find out if someone had been murdered outside the Warringtons’ Knightsbridge home that spring night in London.

Rowan had always carried the slim hope that the boy who was barely a man had escaped with his life. She and Bethany had stayed friends, and the ensuing excitement and rampant sympathy at school for the traumatized house she and her family came home to had sparked endless rounds of discussion and speculation. On several occasions, Rowan probed if they’d found anyone, or any blood, or if anyone had gotten away.

The answer was always no.

Despite the hope she carried that he was all right, Rowan simply couldn’t erase the images of that last night. And even now, she could feel his lips on hers if she closed her eyes.

Could remember the distinguished lilt of his voice when he spoke, his lips pressed to her ear.

Could feel the moment her heart had begun beating once more with a passion for life that had lay dormant since the death of her parents.

“Have you considered a vacation?”

Rowan zoned back into Campbell’s words as their waitress laid down their drinks. “I’m taking part in that dig in the Valley of the Queens next spring.”

“That’s work, Ro. Not vacation.”

She smiled at the endearment as she picked up her wine. “I love what I do, which makes it a vacation every day. Besides, who wouldn’t want to get their hands on the new cache that was found this past spring?”

Campbell shook his head but his smile stayed broad. “What is wrong with us? I’m dragging Abby to a conference next month on the latest upgrades in internet security. Want to know the worst part?”

“What?”

“Abby’s actually excited about it.”

Rowan couldn’t hold back the smile—or resist pointing out the obvious. “She is one of the world’s leading experts in communications technology and she runs a multinational company. Does this really surprise you?”

The quick smile that was his trademark flashed. “No. And when you consider I find it oddly sexy, well, there you have it. We do what we love.”

“That we do.” She was so pleased to see that smile. Relieved, really. If he could smile that way, it meant he was on his way back to normal. “And for the record, we all think she’s your match in every way. It’s so obvious it’s almost scary. I just can’t believe Kensington never thought to introduce you two before.”

“We weren’t meant to meet before.”

The words were oddly prophetic and Rowan chewed on them long after he’d walked her back to her Chelsea apartment, then went on to his own home.

Was there a time and a place? A moment when two people were supposed to meet or were meant to click? She’d always been a bit middling on the whole fate-takes-a-hand thing, but Rowan also knew there were simply things in life you couldn’t explain.

Moments of extreme awareness that could save your ass, like dodging a bullet without even realizing it was coming.

Or acting on impulse and kissing someone you had no business touching.

She’d also visited enough parts of the world to know that superstition and the belief that some broader, guiding hand was in control had many a follower.

Despite all that—or maybe in spite of it, Rowan mused—she had never been able to fully abandon the notion that you also made your own life and made your own luck. Sitting around waiting for something to come to you was about as valuable as waiting to win the lottery.

Action trumped all.

Which was why her curiosity about the new job Kensington had on the line had her padding into her home office after changing into a pair of oversize, comfy sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The heat kicked on as she walked into the old maid’s room that she used as an office, and Rowan smiled at the sound. The crisp October air had grown colder in the past weeks and she was already thinking about the coming holidays.

She navigated through the secure log-in to the House of Steele database and pulled up the files Kensington had sent earlier. And forgot every single worry or care in her mind as she read the details her sister had layered over several pieces of source material.

The three-time payday was a lovely gesture, but as Rowan reread each piece of information on Finn Gallagher and his company, Gallagher International, she knew deep in her heart she’d have done the job for free.

* * *

Finn rechecked his email as he lingered over a bourbon, irritated there had been no further correspondence from Kensington Steele. He’d requested services from her firm three days ago.

What was she waiting on?

Even as the question floated through his mind, Finn knew the answer. She was vetting him as thoroughly as possible, just as he would have done with any business partner he was considering working with.

The fact he already kept close tabs on the entire Steele family, watching them from afar, was a different matter entirely.

The sounds of the bar—a favorite of the London art crowd—swirled around him in dulcet tones as he allowed himself a few brief moments to think about Rowan Steele and her family. He was fascinated by what the Steele siblings had built. Although their firm wasn’t highly publicized—there was no website or social-media feeds for them—those in the know knew exactly how to find them.

The House of Steele was a discreet resource, and from what he’d heard, observed or pulled through casual gossip, the Steeles always got what they came for.

It was a track record he couldn’t help but admire.

“Gallagher.” Finn stowed his phone in his interior coat pocket and glanced up at the greeting before standing to extend a hand.

“Good to see you, John. Join me for a drink.”

John Bauer—a well-placed administrator at one of the world’s top auction houses—took the seat opposite. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Finn ordered a bottle of wine he knew John set stock by and settled in for a lively discussion. As evenings went, it wasn’t what he’d planned, but if he were honest with himself, he had no idea what he’d planned. The restless feeling that had gripped him the previous week when the job came in had sharp claws and he hadn’t been able to settle.

The conversation with John would give him some much-needed company while also ensuring he’d go home rich with information he didn’t have when he began his evening.