Double Agent
Cal
Another day gone, and still
no answers. Freddie has scoured every cargo captain, and not a one has connections to Totrington. Most cargo ships are based in the islands or in the U.S. and they carry produce or oil.
“What about this guy?” Freddie says, pointing to an online manifest. “Adem Tanipar?”
“That sounds Turkish,” I say, walking to the large computer screen and leaning forward.
I’m holding the papers on a Russian captain Logan ran background checks on yesterday. No connections to any southern European countries. Still, it’s the closest we’ve come—until now.
“Your uncle fled to Turkey after the shooting at the race.” He looks up at me, and my eyebrows rise.
“Where is Reggie now?” I drop the Russian captain’s papers on the table as adrenaline spikes in my veins.
“We haven’t been able to locate him.” Freddie moves the mouse, and I hear the printer start to work. “He didn’t accompany Wade to Tortola. It seems they’ve split up.”
“Where could he have gone…” I say it as much to myself as to Freddie.
We’re in the large library on the first floor of the palace, and an oil painting of my mother reading a book is situated over a burgundy leather chair with shiny brass buttons. My eyes fix on her, and an idea flashes through my mind.
“Have Logan run a full background check on Adem Tanipar. I’m going to speak to the Queen.”
* * *
My mother is sitting at the blonde wood writing desk in her bright, yellow study with a stack of linen thank you cards beside her. The tall windows are covered in thin, lace curtains, and it all feels very cheerful and summery. I’m working hard to keep my temper under control.
It’s not my manner to be angry with Olivia, but the realization I just had makes me want to shout at her.
“I need to speak to you, Mother,” I say, striding into the room.
“MacCallum,” she says without looking up. She’s holding a cloisonné fountain pen, and she doesn’t pause in writing on the pale linen notecard in front of her. “I haven’t seen you since you returned from your trip. Are you well?”
“As well as can be expected,” I say, pacing the room. My hands are clasped tightly behind my back. It’s going to be difficult to keep this up for long.
“You seem agitated.” She’s still focused on her letter. “Would you please fetch a bottle of the Canard-Duchêne?”
My eyes flicker to the clock. It’s four-thirty in the afternoon. A bit on the early side, but not shockingly so, and the Canard-Duchêne is her favorite champagne as well as mine.
I go to the small wine refrigerator and open the door. Taking a black bottle from the rack, I set it on the counter and proceed to remove the foil, loosen the basket, and carefully slide the cork from its place.
Two flutes are on the portable wet bar at the window behind her desk, and I pour us each a glass before returning to where she sits.
Finally, she places her pen carefully on the blotter and folds the linen paper. “Now, what in heaven’s name is troubling you, MacCallum?”
I let a moment pass, watching as she calmly seals the envelope with a stamp and places it to the side.
“You, Mother,” I answer, and her blue eyes flicker up to mine. “You’ve been keeping up with Reggie. You never stopped communicating with him when Rowan turned him out of the kingdom. You know everything he does and you can get in touch with him whenever you wish.”
Leaning back in her chair, she lifts the champagne flute and takes a small sip. “I don’t know if every word of that is true. I don’t know everything he does, and I can hardly reach him whenever I want.”
I’m at my limit. Stepping forward, I place my palms flat on her desk. “Where is Reggie, Mother?”
“I’m not sure where he is at the moment, MacCallum.” Her eyebrow arches, and she looks up at me. “Despite what you think, my brother does not send me his daily itinerary.”
My jaw clenches, and as much as I respect my mother, murderous thoughts flicker across my mind. “When is the last time you spoke to him?”