More Than a Mission (3 page)

He grinned. It was an appealing little-boy kind of grin. A gotcha grin. “Too easy. Bottle of beer, preferably Corona, garnished with a slice of lime and less a sip so you can add the sloe gin. I'm assuming the sloe gin is homemade. I understand there's a great abundance after the fall harvest of the local blackthorn bushes.”

He knew his stuff. She had to give him that. “You don't strike me as the type that will stay for long,” she said, firing the last salvo she had held in reserve.

He hesitated since she had scored a direct hit and the grin ran away from his face as he grew serious. “You're right. Dad was an army man so I'm used to a wandering kind of life.”

“I know the type,” she interjected, thinking of her sister Dani and all her travels.

“So you understand, then. But the way I see it, you need a bartender and I'm here. Not going anywhere for a while and I promise that when I do decide to go, because it
will
happen, that I'll give you plenty of time to find someone else before I run.”

Promises. She knew just how often they got broken. But he had a point—she needed a bartender. The past few nights had been horrendous as she tried to cook while at the same time helping out the wait staff with the drinks. “It doesn't pay much, but tips are generally good. If you get here by five, dinner's included. You can start tomorrow.”

He smiled and held out his hand to seal the deal. She hesitated before she shook it, and he said, “To new adventures.”

“I'm not the adventurous type, Mr. Rawlings,” she replied, hoping to make it clear that she had no interest in anything he might propose.

His grin broadened. “Aidan, please. And, Ms. Moore—”

“Elizabeth. All my employees call me Elizabeth,” she corrected and pulled her hand from his since it was starting to feel rather warm. Again.

“Elizabeth,” he said and took a step toward her. “I think it's going to be quite an experience working together.”

She suspected he was right. “See you at five, Aidan. And while the suit is…nice, a white shirt and dark slacks will do.”

With that, she turned and walked into the building.

“Score one for the Mixmaster,” Aidan heard in the earpiece as he headed for the street.

“Told you she couldn't resist my charm,” he replied and hurried back to the hotel, eager now that it looked like the investigation might finally get under way.

“And here I thought it was those drink recipes I was feeding you, only…How did you know about the sloe gin?” Lucia asked.

“You never go into unknown territory without doing your research, Cordez. So I did a little fact-gathering on this town. Did you know that…” As he walked, he recited the details that he remembered, being careful not to be noticed whenever he walked by someone.

He was back at the hotel within ten minutes and found that besides Lucia, Walker Shaw, the Lazlo group's psychiatrist, waited for him in the suite, as well. “What brings you here?” he asked and patted the other man on the back in greeting.

“Snazzy,” Walker said as he perused Aidan's clothing.

Aidan held out his hands. “The lady fell for it.”

“Well, that's good. At least there's some progress going on here.” The frustration was apparent in Walker's demeanor. “We haven't been able to do anything yet with the information Zara and I found. So for now, we're relying on whatever details the two of you manage to get.”

“Not too much pressure,” Lucia quipped and handed Walker a piece of paper.

It was a copy of the list she had provided to Aidan yesterday. Walker examined it and then looked up at him. “Seems like we're on the right track. It's just too much coincidence that Elizabeth Moore turns up in a lot of the same spots as the Sparrow.”

“Including Rome,” Lucia added nervously, shooting a half glance at Aidan after she said it.

“What?” He ripped the list from Walker's hands and quickly read until he came to the date and location of Mitch's death. Beside it was a new entry indicating that Elizabeth had been in Rome as part of a contingent for the Silvershire Tourist Board.

“When did you find this out?” He jabbed the air in Lucia's direction with the paper.

“Late last night.”

“What?” he repeated, his voice a little louder than before. “Why didn't you say something
before
I went to see her?”

Lucia shook her head. “Duh. I didn't think it would accomplish anything besides getting you angry.”

“Angry? You're right that I'm angry. You're part of
my
team and you withheld vital information,” he nearly screamed at her.

“Because you're totally capable of compartmentalizing your emotions to maintain neutrality about this job?” Walker said facetiously. He, more than any of them, knew how hard Mitch's death had been on Aidan, who blamed himself for making the decision that the two of them should split up. He had been as responsible for Mitch's death as the Sparrow.

“Cut the psychobabble bullshit, Walker. I understand the nature of the assignment.”

“Which is to find Prince Reginald's killer. Period.” The other man's tone brooked no disagreement.

Aidan knew that on one level, Walker was right. They had been hired to identify Prince Reginald's murderer, not Mitch's. Taking a deep breath and relaxing his hands—he hadn't even realized he'd made them into tight fists—he let his anger flow out of him. Anger was a distraction. There was no room for distractions with a killer as savvy as the Sparrow.

“I understand and I'm sorry. It's just tough at times, but…I've only failed once at an assignment.” He didn't need to mention that Mitch had died as a result of that failure. “I won't fail this time.”

Walker stood and laid a hand on Aidan's shoulder. “We all understand, Aidan. And we're here for you.”

“Together we will figure this out,” Aidan reassured Walker and Lucia, but then excused himself.

Tomorrow he started working for the Sparrow. He had to be alert and ready to handle any kind of situation that presented itself. Which meant that he needed to do some additional research, and prepare a few gadgets that would allow him to keep a close watch on Elizabeth Moore.

He also needed to get a better sense of the town. With that in mind, he quickly reviewed a map of the area that had been included in his dossier and then headed out again.

Leaving the hotel, he walked briskly to the furthest edge of the town where the docks were located. He stepped from the main street onto the large and very old granite slabs that led to the docks. Although it was late in the day, fisherman were hauling boxes and bushels with their catches onto the docks to be transported to the nearby fish market.

The scene reminded him of one of the seaside towns he had lived in briefly before his father's army career had demanded they move somewhere else. Although he didn't consider himself a settling-down kind of guy, it occurred to him that if he ever did decide to let some moss grow under his feet, it might be in a town like this one.

Mitch and he had always loved to go surfing, sailing or fishing whenever their assignments gave them a break. His best friend who was dead. Murdered by the woman who had hired him earlier that morning.

With that thought in mind, Aidan hastened his pace, familiarizing himself with the area around the Sparrow's restaurant. He noticed the clean and tidy homes along the streets, a combination of older stone buildings and slightly more modern stucco-and-wood edifices.

Nearing the edge of the village, which was not all that far from the wharf, mom-and-pop-type stores appeared here and there, interspersed with the residences. Eventually, he was within sight of the restaurant once more.

He couldn't help but admire the carefully kept gardens and manicured lawns surrounding the central building. As he slowly strolled past, he noticed a cottage way in the back, close to the shore. It was similar in style to the restaurant building, made of stone with a slate roof, but with two stories. Colorful blossoms graced the front of the cottage while in back, tall sea grasses waved with the ocean breeze.

If he recalled correctly from his files, the cottage was the Sparrow's home. Her nest.

In time, he would get in there and locate the information he needed. He was sure about that. He would do whatever he had to in order to complete this mission since it was more than a mission to him. It was long-denied payback for his friend's death.

He only hoped that once the mission was completed, he would finally have the peace of mind that had eluded him for the past two years.

With that thought in mind, he hurried back to the hotel to prepare for his first day of work for the Sparrow.

T
he early-morning hours at the markets were the ones Elizabeth liked the best. She enjoyed investigating the stalls to search out ingredients for something new and playfully haggling with the vendors over the prices. As she walked past one merchant or another, they shouted their greetings. Most of them had known her since she was a child.

Sometimes, if she finished with the shopping early enough, she would walk down to the water's edge and take the long way back home. If the tide was just right, she could skirt the edges of the tidal pools lingering along the shore and find what the ocean had left behind. Small crabs, seashells and even some lobsters every now and then.

From the shore just past her cottage, she could see the mile or more to where fisherman harvested mussels from the pilings of an ancient stone bridge. The Romans had built the bridge centuries earlier to join Leonia to the smaller seaside town of Tiberia across the narrowest part of the harbor. She served those fresh mussels every day in a garlic-and-white-wine-infused broth. Her parents used to sell them in the fish shop they had owned at the time of their deaths.

She could understand why her sister, Dani, found it so hard to be in Leonia. Everywhere she went there were reminders of their parents.

Elizabeth continued walking along the shore, the bag filled with her purchases dragging at her arm. Memories dragging at her heart as she recalled her mother, father and Dani strolling together along the beach. At times, she felt totally alone with all of them gone. Forcing such thoughts away on what had started out as a delightful day, she trudged onward, trying to enjoy the warmth of the sun and the caress of an ocean breeze sweeping along the coast.

At the beach behind her cottage, she detoured up a rocky path until she was at the edge of the back patio to the restaurant. She paused but a moment to appreciate all that she had built with her hard work. Then she was striding across the yard and to a side door by the vegetable garden. As she neared the entrance, the sounds of activity welcomed her. Walking into the kitchen, she greeted Natalie, her friend and sous chef, who inclined her head in the direction of the front of the restaurant. “Someone's up there for you. Says he's the new bartender.”

Elizabeth placed her bag on a prep table and shook a cramp out of one arm. “If you could unpack, I'll see what he needs.”

Elizabeth walked to the bar tucked into a far corner at the front of the restaurant. The driving rhythm of the B-52s' “Love Shack” greeted her—Aidan had a boombox on the polished surface of the mahogany bar and was rocking along, his arms and hips moving to the beat. She couldn't help admiring his grace and the sexy shift of his body to the music. It reminded her of her earlier observation that exotic dancer might well have been his previous employment.

When he realized he had been caught in mid–hip grind, he stopped dead. “In honor of the day you hired me,” he explained, but quickly added, “It's not too loud, is it?” Hot color rode on his defined cheeks as he crammed his fingertips into those tight jeans' pockets and shot her an embarrassed grin.

“Not at all. It's just a little different from our usual musical fare,” she said and motioned to the sound system tucked onto a low shelf behind the bar.

With a quick look at the stereo, Aidan shrugged. “Didn't want to mess with anything until I was familiar with things. It's okay that I came early to get acquainted, right?”

Getting acquainted, huh? Elizabeth told herself not to read too much into his choice of words. He was, after all, someone who would eventually leave, and getting acquainted with him could cause nothing but problems. “Feel free to familiarize yourself with the liquor stock and other supplies. The music selection is generally a bit more sedate. When you're ready, I'll show you the wine cellar.”

Great, Aidan thought. A wine cellar meant another list with which he would have to deal. In his ear, Lucia advised, “I'm on it. Make sure to bring home copies of the wine list and menu.”

“I'll let you know when I'm ready for the wines,” he said to Elizabeth, and then continued. “In the meantime, I'll see if we're low on anything.” After he finished, he examined Elizabeth's face, trying to gauge whether she had overheard Lucia. There was nothing there but interest of a different kind.

Or at least that's what his guy radar was telling him. He hoped it wasn't wrong because it might make the task of getting close to the Sparrow that much easier, although he was a little disconcerted about how someone supposedly as elusive as the Sparrow was apparently so easy to read.

Unless she's a very good actress and is stringing you along?

“Thanks,” she replied and pointed with one finger to the back of the restaurant. He noticed then that she wore just clear polish on short, blunt-cut nails. No rings or jewelry of any kind. The hands of someone who used their hands to earn a living. Either chef or assassin.

She continued. “I'll be in the kitchen. If you need limes, cream or anything else, it's in the large fridges. Jeremy, the old bartender, would keep some supplies handy in the fridge beneath the bar.”

“Got it,” he replied with a quick salute and his most engaging smile as a way to see if his earlier read had been wrong.

Elizabeth delayed briefly, seemingly unsure of whether to go or stay. Then with a shy wavering smile, she bolted from the bar and to the kitchen.

Aidan waited until he was sure she was gone and not returning, and then went to work.

From a well-worn knapsack he had tucked beneath the bar, he pulled out what looked like four fat sewing needles and slipped them into the back pocket of his jeans. Stepping from behind the bar, he scoped out where he could hide one of them, but still get a clear shot from the fiberoptic cameras built into the ends of the thick needles.

He settled on easing one into the stopper on a commemorative liquor flask sitting on the top shelf behind the bar. The empty flask was obviously kept for decoration and would not be moved often. That camera should give Lucia a clear shot of anyone in the anterior part of the building.

“Are you reading this signal?” he said softly and when Lucia confirmed the view was good, he moved to the other side of the dining room. On an end table tucked into a corner, a candlestick, flower basket and brass lamp in keeping with the restaurant's traditional-style décor had been placed.

Dark woods and floral wallpaper graced the walls of the room. Landscapes of the Silvershire countryside were scattered here and there, and at one end of the room, a large stone fireplace held logs ready to be lit if the weather called for it. The curtains at the windows were sheer, offering gorgeous views of the gardens and the shore beyond.

The flowers on the end table were fresh and sure to be discarded shortly and while the candle was newer, it, too, would be subject to regular handling and replacement. He settled on working the camera into the top edge of the ivory-colored lampshade, focusing it on the dining area.

Lucia confirmed that the signal was clear, and, satisfied with what he'd done, Aidan paused for a moment to consider how to approach bugging the kitchen. That area was busier than most and usually occupied. Plus, he really had little cause to go in there, except for those supplies Elizabeth had mentioned earlier. Deciding to use that as an excuse to inspect the area, he hurried back to the bar and was thankful that the fridge Elizabeth had mentioned was empty of anything other than an old-fashioned glass bottle of cream.

Quickly striding to the kitchen, he pushed through the door to find Elizabeth and another young woman standing before a table, glumly looking down at something.

“It's okay, Natalie. It just takes practice,” Elizabeth said, laid a hand on the other woman's shoulders and gave a comforting pat.

He moved behind them and with his greater height, peered over their shoulders to examine the dish sitting before them. Whatever it had once been, now it was a pile of stuff colored a muddy shade of brown. Blackened edges tenaciously gripped the sides of a white cooking dish. The center had sunk down, creating a network of cracks in the surface that revealed something gooey and unappealing beneath. “What is that?”

With a sniff and a quavery voice, Natalie replied, “My final exam.”

“Oh.”

“It's a chocolate soufflé,” Elizabeth corrected with a glare over her shoulder and once again patted Natalie's back in a reassuring gesture. “We'll work through it together, Nat. By tomorrow, you'll be an expert and ready for the test.”

Natalie sniffed one last time as she picked up the dish with oven-mitted hands. “Let me dispose of this mess.”

When she walked away, Elizabeth faced him, clearly annoyed. “She's just learning,” she explained, defending the younger woman.

Aidan held up his hands to ward off further comment. “I didn't mean anything by it. I just came for some supplies.”

Elizabeth accepted his apology and gracefully motioned with her hands to the spacious and orderly kitchen. “Well while you're here, I may as well lay out the rules for this area. One—don't annoy the chefs and two—don't touch the chefs' knives. You've already broken rule one.”

Great. He'd pissed her off. As for her knives…“Your knives being—”

She slipped past him to go to one of the work tables. On its surface was a cylindrical leather pouch tied with a ribbon of leather. He followed Elizabeth and watched as she nimbly undid the tie, grabbed one side of the pouch and with a quick toss, unfurled it to reveal a collection of about a dozen different blades. “
My
knives,” she said and held her hand out to emphasize the point.

Before he could say anything else, she whipped one large knife from its holder and with a batonlike twirl of the handle through her fingers, she then slipped the blade into a holder on the belt riding low on her hips. A practiced move done with ease. Too much ease, he thought, replaying in his mind how quickly she had taken the knife—one that was easily about eight inches long—and gracefully maneuvered it onto her belt.

Had she gutted Mitch with as much skill?

He bit back his anger and said, “Neat trick. Where did you learn it?” Even as he said that, he was reaching for another knife, but she slapped his hand away.

“Remember—Don't touch the knives. As for where—in cooking school,” she explained, one hand resting on the table near the pouch, the other just above the knife at her belt. Her hip was cocked to one side, like a gunslinger ready to draw. He wondered if she was getting ready to use the knife on him. If he had pushed too far.

When he met her gaze—that sherry-colored, drown-in-me gaze—he realized she was almost testing him. Seeing if he'd follow the rules she'd laid down, as if thinking he wouldn't or that maybe he was the kind of guy who liked to touch—and not just knives. Her jaw was set in a determined little jut, confirming his read wasn't all that wrong. “I get it, Elizabeth. Don't touch.”

Elizabeth nodded and realized that Aidan had gotten the dual message in her words. It both pleased and disappointed, but she told herself not to be disappointed since Aidan was just passing through.

“Glad you get it. It will keep things simpler. Do you want to see where the wines are kept?” She motioned to an old wooden door, made from a few hand-hewn planks, at the far side of the kitchen.

He gave her the go-ahead curtly. “May as well get it over with. I can collect my supplies later.”

Elizabeth walked to the door, which led down into the cellar, Aidan close behind her. She opened it, flipped a switch on the wall, and then went down the flight of stairs to a large space that ran beneath the entire restaurant. As she reached the bottom step, she pointed to the far wall where a series of racks held her collection of wines. “We keep the stock first by color and then by region. Whites closest to the floor where it's cooler. Reds along the top.”

She continued walking, too conscious of Aidan behind her, but as they moved to the racks, it wasn't the wine that seemed to get his attention.

“What's that?” he asked and as she turned to look at him, she realized he was looking at the far side of the cellar, where there was a home gym, boxing bag, mat, lockers and a safe.

“A gym. You're welcome to use it during the hours the restaurant isn't serving meals. The equipment is too noisy otherwise.”

A hard look came to his face, but he schooled it and gestured with his hand to the racks of wine. “Anything I can't touch down here?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “While all the wines are excellent vintages, they're generally moderately priced. No sense gouging the customers.”

He walked to one of the racks, ran a finger along the bottles as he seemingly inspected the labels. He moved from one rack to the next in that fashion, perusing them intently.

She walked to stand by the end of one rack and clarified, “Italians and local wines are in the first two racks, Californian in the middle, some Australian, Chilean and French in the final section.”

Pausing by the rack of Italian vintages and removing one bottle for a closer inspection, he said, “How do you choose which wines you'll carry?”

Elizabeth joined him, took the bottle from his hands and examined the label. With a nonchalant shrug, she said, “Tasting trips. Some are recommended to me by others. Like this one.” She returned the bottle to him and continued. “I was in Rome a few years back and someone said I might like it.”