The Lost Key (A Brit in the FBI 2)

Ben said, “I’m going to pull Lia off Sophie Pearce, and turn hospital duty over to her, come back and help Gray and Jack go through Pearce’s files and that SD card. I’ll be able to monitor Sophie as well.”

“Where is Sophie?”

“She’s at the UN, wrapping up. Gonna take her a while, too, from what it sounds like. She called her boss, told her she was coming in to clear her desk so she could take a leave for the next month while she handles her father’s affairs. She’s gonna burn the midnight oil.”

“All right. You know, I can’t help but feel like everyone is looking for something, and we have no idea what that something is.”

“Maybe the something is a someone—Adam Pearce.”

“Him, sure, but there’s something more. Hey, here comes Nicholas, I’ve got to go. Call me if you find anything.”

“Mike, you and Nicholas look like crap warmed over. Get yourselves fixed up, okay? Oh, yeah, another thing, next time, even if you guys think you’re just going to scoop up some kid, I’ll have a team surrounding you. This shouldn’t have happened, Mike, you know that.”

What could she say? He was right. She punched off.

“News?” Nicholas asked, reaching her.

“Ben said nothing new. Why don’t we get some dinner? There’s a great new Chinese place down the street I’ve been wanting to try.”

He ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired, and depressed and flat-out beaten up. “If it’s all the same to you, Mike, I’d like to grab a taxi and head home. It’s been a long day.”

“A cab? What, you didn’t drive your ejector-seat Bondmobile to work this morning?”

She didn’t even draw a smile. “No. I don’t have a car in the city. Taxis work fine.”

“I’m right here, with keys in hand. I’ll drive you home.”

Nicholas thought of his magnificent town house, all five beautiful floors of it, thought of Nigel, doubtless dressed to the butler hilt. “No, no, there’s no need. I’d like the time alone, to clear my head.”

Mike grinned. “If you think I’m falling for that, you must really think I’m stupid.”

“Never,” he said. “Honestly, I’ll be fine.”

She hooked her arm through his and dragged him to the elevator, punched the down button. “I know you, the minute you’re home, you’re going to investigate Pearce and the Germans and Adam by yourself.” She shook her head. “Why do you think Zachery wants us together? He knows things are moving fast and he figures we’ll keep investigating, even though we shouldn’t. He’s pretty smart.”

He waited for the doors to close, then faced her. She’d put her hair back up in its ponytail, but the blood had dried on her white blouse and turned black. “You really think so?”

“Yes. Remember how much he told us before he got to the inquiry part? He’s not going to outwardly sanction us working off-book, but I’m sure that’s the reason he sent me home with you. So don’t fight it.”

He smiled then, and Mike saw a hint of his uncle, Bo Horsley, her former SAC. “So you’re not simply supposed to be my babysitter? Keep me out of trouble? I get the sense you wouldn’t be a very good one in any case. Are you?”

“Nope, I never was. I used to have to babysit to earn spending money, and I hated every minute of it.”

Up went a black eyebrow. “Don’t like kids, Mike?”

“I like kids fine. It was all the parental rules I disliked. Dinner at seven, bath and bed by eight, no jumping on the sofa or pillow fights. Where’s the fun in all that?”

33

7:30 p.m.

“Want to tell me where we’re headed?”

Nicholas commended his soul to God and said, “Upper East Side. Three fifty-eight East Sixty-ninth, between First and Second.”

She shot him a look as she turned onto the FDR. “So you’re not far from Ariston’s.”

“No, not far at all.” The sky was purple with the threat of impending rain, a fog drifting between the high-rises, creeping toward the Brooklyn Bridge. New York looked more like Gotham City tonight than he’d ever seen.