Chapter Twenty-Nine

The telephone call I'd been waiting for arrived the next morning during our breakfast.

"The major asks if you would join him here this morning," Constance said.

"Certainly. I'll start that way now," I said, careful to keep the eager note out of my voice. I would be glad to see him again.

I had hoped he would come here, that we could have a less official place to discuss what I anticipated might be some sort of understanding, but I wouldn't quibble.

"Important meeting?" Uncle Mick quipped with a wink at me across the table.

I felt myself flush. "Something like that."

Uncle Mick had spread the word, given to him by an "unnamed source," that the false map had been sold by Lazaro. The buyer's name had been passed to the band of thieves, and they had gone on their way, presumably to relieve him of it. I hoped the map would cause the Germans a hundred times the trouble it had caused us—and then some.

I arrived at the town house in record time, and Constance helped me off with the mink coat. I hoped I would be able to convince Ramsey to drive me home. It would give us a bit more time together, and then he could take the coat back with him. The dress I'd cleaned and folded carefully in a box, which I handed off to Constance.

"I didn't get much time to talk to you the other night," I said. "But I admired your quick thinking so much. You might have saved us all from a very nasty outcome."

She smiled. "I only did what anyone would do. I made the most of the materials available to me."

"Well, it was a jolly good show," I said. "I'm glad to be on a team with you, Constance."

"I feel the same way, Ellie."

She went back to her desk, and I drew in a little breath and made my way down the hall to the major's office.

I tapped lightly on the door and heard his call to enter from the other side.

I went in, closing the door behind me as I always did. This time, however, I felt a new awareness of being alone together. What was he going to say? Would he kiss me?

I turned from the door to look at him.

Something was wrong. He didn't come to take me into his arms. He remained behind his desk. His face was unreadable, never a good sign.

"Good morning," I said brightly, trying to gauge his mood.

"Have a seat," he said.

I did as I was told, with a sinking feeling in my chest. The day since I'd been here had been long enough for him to change his mind. He was going to tell me that there could be nothing between us, after all.

My mind was running along counterarguments to this stance, so I was caught off guard by what he said next.

"Where were you last night?"

For just an instant, I was confused. Had he been to visit me and been irritated to find I was not at home? No, this was something more than that. And then I felt the lurch of alarm in my stomach.

He knew.

My brain spun, trying to figure out how to play it off. What could I tell him that he would believe?

While I was trying to think, Major Ramsey reached into his desk and pulled something out. He dropped it on the table between us.

I didn't know exactly what it was, but I could guess. It was the components of the device Bert had used to wiretap the telephone in that office building.

"Explain yourself." His tone wasn't angry; it was cool and controlled, which was somehow almost worse.

It seemed there was no choice but to tell the truth. That was generally the best option with Ramsey anyway, as he seemed unnaturally skilled at finding things out.

"How did you know?" I asked, as lightly as I could manage.

"I've had your house watched as a precaution since we were attacked."

Of course. He'd done it before, but it hadn't even occurred to me that he might do it now. He could be protective to a fault, but I felt too anxious to be angry with him. There was something in his manner that set the alarm bells off in my head, and years of finely tuned self-preservation skills told me to tread carefully.

"I didn't know you were accomplished at wiretapping." The emotionless tone of his voice was chilling, and I wished he would shout at me instead.

"I'm not," I said. "You know I'm not."

He waited.

"I owed Pony Peavey a favor. When he found that man for us, I told him I would do something in return. And this was it. You haven't complained about me using my skills to help you in any other circumstances. Why is this any different?"

"Do you know whose office these were put in?" I realized suddenly why his manner upset me. It reminded me of the first time we had met, when he had questioned me in that empty interrogation room down the hall. When I hadn't known him at all.

"No," I said. "Pony showed me a picture, but I didn't recognize him."

"His name was Nathaniel Gregory. Do you recognize that?"

The sinking feeling deepened, because I did. I'd seen it in the papers often enough. "He's a member of Parliament, isn't he?"

"Yes."

I'd helped bug an MP's office. This must look very bad indeed.

"I didn't know," I said. "Really. I was only concerned with paying off my debt to Pony."

"Why didn't you come to me?"

"It didn't have anything to do with you," I said honestly. "We needed information, Pony got it, and so I owed him. It's as simple as that."

"It's not simple at all," he said.

Then he reached into the desk again and pulled something else out. That was when my heart fell.

He tossed it on the desk between us. I looked down at it and schooled my face not to react. It was the blue glove I'd dropped in Peter Varney's flat.

When I was sure that my features were expressionless, I looked back up at him. I said nothing but waited for him to make the accusation.

"There was a break-in reported a few days ago at another government official's home. He said that his desk had been tampered with, documents disarranged. The thief left this behind. I was consulted, as it was an intelligence matter. Imagine my surprise when I recognized this glove."

"That glove could belong to anyone," I said.

"Your fingerprints were found at the scene."

I hadn't worn gloves; they'd been in my pocket. I hadn't needed them for such a simple job. Or so I'd assumed.

"My fingerprints aren't on file with the police," I said, trying to find my footing in this conversation. "I've never been arrested."

"No," he agreed. "But I have them on file, and I told Kimble to make the comparison."

I wasn't surprised. He was nothing if not thorough.

There was nothing to do but come clean.

"He was blackmailing a friend with her love letters," I admitted. "I got them back. That's all. I didn't look at any other documents."

"You could go to prison for this."

"Then call the police, if you must."

He slammed his hand on the desk and swore, his eyes flashing. "This is not a time to be flippant with me."

"I don't know what you want me to say," I said. "I'm telling you the truth."

There was a long silence.

I knew perfectly well that Major Ramsey was not one for niceties, and there were none to be had here.

"You committed felonies," he said, his tone once again even and cool, impersonal. "Broke into the offices of not one but two government officials, conspired to wiretap a telephone, and stole personal documents from a desk containing sensitive information."

I said nothing.

"These could be construed as espionage activities," he said. "Do you understand that? You could be arrested and potentially hanged as a spy."

I was cold all the way through now.

Silence held heavily in the air.

At last, he spoke, and this time his tone was neutral, horribly professional in tone. "I'm removing you from duty effective immediately."

Somehow, I had not expected this, hadn't even considered the possibility, and it was impossible for me to hide my shock. I'm rather afraid my mouth dropped open.

"You're what?" I whispered.

"Here is what is going to happen," he went on in that same flat voice. "You are going to return to your house, return to working with your uncle in the locksmithing profession. If you wish to continue contributing to the war effort, I suggest the Women's Voluntary Services."

"You want me to go from spying to doing clothing drives and serving coffee to soldiers?" I asked. I knew that work was important, of course, but I was accustomed to doing dangerous work. I was accustomed to working with him.

He didn't answer what he clearly deemed a rhetorical question.

"You can't do this," I said. I was angry at the tremor in my voice, but I was shaking with emotion, my insides warring between sorrow and fury. Strangely, my temper, which had always been so difficult to control, was wilting under growing despair.

"You'll be paid for your services for this job, but I'm afraid we will no longer be keeping you on the payroll in the future."

It was maddening, the way he went on as though all the work I had done meant nothing, as though I meant nothing to him at all. Perhaps I didn't. Perhaps those kisses in the moonlight had been only one minute of forgetting, as I'd suggested.

But my services were valuable. I'd been instrumental in the capture of more than one spy ring. And now I was to be swept aside so easily.

"You don't have to do this," I said. "I've told you my reasons for what I did."

"Yes," he said, his eyes meeting mine. "And I believe you. Which is why I'm not turning you over to the authorities."

He would have, I realized, if he hadn't believed me. My future had hung in the balance more than I had realized during this conversation.

"If you know I'm telling the truth, why are you doing this?"

"Your motives are immaterial. The problem, as I'm sure you can see, is that I cannot trust you. You gave me your word you would not commit robberies on your own while working under me."

The accusation, however true, was like a slap across the face.

"I've put my neck on the line from the beginning to employ you," he went on. "And it could very well have brought us both down if you had been caught or discovered during the course of these robberies. You endangered yourself and my entire operation with your inability to follow instructions and your propensity for rogue behavior."

My lips parted as if in preparation to argue, but I pressed them closed again. What could I say?

He was not finished. "Again and again, you ignore my instructions, hide things from me, and do what seems best to you. I understand that you are not a part of the military hierarchy, and that sometimes, in our line of work, improvisation is called for. But I cannot allow you to work for me if you won't keep to your word."

It was as thorough a dressing-down as I'd ever received, and what made it particularly awful was that I was fairly sure it was deserved. While it hurt to consider it in those terms, I had broken his trust. I'd told him I wouldn't pull any jobs on my own, and I'd done two. That didn't mean, however, that I would go easily.

"I've done so much to help. I could do more. You know how valuable I've been." Annoyingly, I felt a lump in my throat, and I had to stop before my voice cracked. Already it was an effort to keep the tears at bay. But if he was dismissing me from service, I was not going to cry.

"No one is questioning your capabilities," he said. "Or the value of your contributions. You saved my life. And there's nothing I can do to adequately thank you for that. I will, to some extent, be forever in your debt. But that is outside of the bounds of this operation. I have to do what is best for everyone concerned, and so that is why this is going to have to be your last assignment."

It was clear he had made up his mind.

But there was one more thing I had to know.

"And what about what happened between us?" I asked softly.

For one horrible moment, I was afraid he was going to ignore the question, but then his eyes met mine and he let out the faintest breath, the first hint of yielding in the entirety of this conversation. Again, I could sense that he was trying to think of the best answer, weighing his words carefully.

"That, unfortunately, was another aspect of what led me to this decision."

This I had not expected.

"Why?" I whispered.

"In short, you've become a liability. To the work, to the operation. When you act impulsively, you become a distraction."

"To whom?" I demanded.

"To me," he said.

The words hung in the air between us, open for interpretation. Then he clarified: "Clearly, there is a strong connection between us. I had hoped, after Sunderland, we would be able to put it behind us, but I found myself incapable of it."

I looked at him, wondering what sort of declaration this was. Something told me it wasn't the happily-ever-after sort.

"I owe you honesty," he said, "and the truth is that I can't do my best work when I am constantly concerned about your safety because you will not do as you are told. I cannot afford to have my focus compromised."

"That's not fair," I whispered.

"Perhaps not," he said. "But it's how it is."

I felt rather as though my world was unexpectedly crumbling around me, and I didn't know how to react.

I gave a short nod, unable to meet his eyes. He'd as much as confessed that he had feelings for me, but there was not a hint of joy in it. It was costing me my work, and I was gaining nothing. After all, it was clear that he intended to send me on my merry way. Out of sight, out of mind, it seemed.

"What about Uncle Mick?" I asked. "It's a shame for his skills to go to waste because of me."

"If another job comes up that requires safecracking services, I know where to reach him."

I nodded again, drew in a breath. There was no sense in dragging things out.

"Then I suppose this is goodbye," I said briskly, rising from my seat. I'd recovered myself now. My voice was steady, and the tears had somehow been pressed down deep until I had the leisure to let them out. My pride was too strong to let him see how much this hurt.

He had risen with me, though I think my abruptness had caught him a bit off guard.

I forced myself to look up at him. His eyes were on my face, and I didn't intend to let him see any of the inner turmoil I was feeling. I drew in a slow breath through my nose to steady myself and then spoke.

"Thank you for the opportunities you've given me, Major Ramsey. I've enjoyed the work very much." I ought to have said something about being glad to know him, but I was angry and hurt, and, besides, I wasn't sure I could say it without crying.

"Your country thanks you for everything you've done."

I couldn't stop the cynical little laugh that sprang to my lips.

There was nothing more to say, so I turned and walked out of his office for the last time, closing the door behind me.

Constance was gone from her desk, and I was glad. I didn't think I could have managed to say goodbye to her. I was barely holding myself together as it was.

I went, coatless, out the front door, and the cold air hit me in the face.

It was in that moment, of course, that I realized the horrible truth of it.

I was in love with him.