The Last Bullet by Merline Lovelace

Author:Merline Lovelace
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 2005-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

It moved front and center again later that evening.

They got the call from Mulholland a little past six. The search was a go for Monday morning. Faced with a flurry of preparations and the drive down to Weymouth the next day, Cleo, Jack and Johanna opted for dinner at the local pub and an early night.

The George boasted both a public house and a restaurant separated by a well-stocked bar. Deciding on a drink before dinner, the newcomers joined the crowd in the public house.

The proprietor paused in the act of drawing a pint and beamed a welcome across the smoky bar. “Lady Marston! It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too, Bill.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve been down to Bethersden.”

“Indeed, it has. May I introduce my houseguests? This is Cleo North and Jack Donovan. They’re from the States.”

The proprietor’s eyes widened with recognition. “Aren’t you the one they interviewed on BBC news last night? About the fire up at Kew?”

“Yes.”

“Do they know yet what caused the fire?”

Arson investigators had confirmed the presence of an explosive device, but the information hadn’t been publicly released yet. Cleo dodged the question with a laugh.

“Whatever caused it, it got my attention.”

The admission drew a chuckle from a farmer in muddy Wellingtons. “I saw that bit on the news about the rat. Load of rubbish, if you ask me, all that nonsense about exploding rodents and guns made out of bicycle pumps.”

“No, it’s true,” another pub customer argued. “Didn’t you read the stories back a few years ago, after they declassified those SOE documents? Opened my eyes, those stories did.”

Johanna deftly avoided being drawn into the discussion. “What would you care to drink?” she asked her guests. “Bill stocks a beer made from hops grown locally and fired in an oast house right here in Bethersden.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The local brew was dark and nutty and packed a solid punch. Cleo downed one pint in good order but declined a second. When Johanna declined as well, they left Jack in the company of the men at the bar and claimed a table. Within moments, the farmer had co-opted Donovan into a game of darts.

He lost the first game with unimpaired good humor. He wiped the floor with the farmer in the second. Pints were emptied and refilled, cigarette smoke blued the air, and noise levels shot through the roof as the championship game kicked off.

It was a man thing, Cleo and Johanna decided with some amusement, a primal flex of muscles.

“My Barty was every bit as bad. We could never come in for a pint without someone issuing a challenge. And he never failed to rise to it.”

Cleo had admired the British agent’s classy looks and cool under fire, but this was the first time she’d been allowed a glimpse of the woman behind the shield.

“You miss him, don’t you?”

“Every day.” A sigh feathered through her lips. “You would think the ache would ease with time, wouldn’t you? It merely moves to a different place.

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