The Mark of Kane (Interracial BWWM Romance) by Nadia Aidan

Author:Nadia Aidan [Aidan, Nadia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Romance, Women's Adventure, United States, African American, Thriller
Amazon: B008D2GG8M
Published: 2012-06-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 53

Surprises Can Be Fun

Colchester turned out to not be as small and quaint a town as I’d originally thought. About an hour northeast of London, it was a nice place with friendly residents, who were proud to reside in the oldest city in Great Britain, and they weren’t ashamed to tell you.

I found Colchester to be quite charming. It was the perfect blend of old buildings and preserved history, but still boasted the modern sophistication of larger cities, with vibrant art and shopping districts.

If I actually lived through this mess I’d landed myself in, I planned to return to Colchester as a simple visitor, but unfortunately right now I wasn’t there to shop or take in the arts. I was there to dig up as much information as I could on this town’s connection to Boudicca, starting with a trip to Colchester’s castle and museum.

I pulled my rental car into a space marked for visitors, and then hopped out to follow the signs toward the administrative buildings where the office of the museum’s curator and resident historian, Vivian Fallon, was located.

“I’m here to see Mrs. Fallon,” I said to the young receptionist who sat before the curator’s office like a guard dog.

“Is she expecting you?” the receptionist asked, her lips pursing into a frown as if she’d swallowed something bitter.

“Yes, tell her Ms. Landau is here to see her.” I held my breath as I waited for the bitchy woman to ask for my passport and driver’s license. She seemed like the type that would do it. As always, I kept the documents that I used to support my aliases on me, so it wasn’t a problem, but I still didn’t like how this woman looked at me, as if she found fault with me for just breathing.

I wanted to tell her to get in line. Right now I had a whole list of people who would relish the thought of ending my existence.

“Mrs. Fallon will see you now.”

“Thank you,” I nodded to the receptionist as I breezed past her toward the door with Mrs. Vivian Fallon, Colchester Museum Curator, emblazoned across the center.

I knocked softly and then gently pushed open the door to let myself inside.

I barely took one step before I stopped in my tracks. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the cheerful, gray-haired woman that I knew was Mrs. Fallon, but my eyes never left the man in front of me.

In the weeks since I’d last seen him, he’d let his hair on his head and jaw grow out some, and bags now hung beneath his clear blue eyes. The sprinkling of blonde hair made him look sexy, and his weary gaze gave him this rugged quality that called to me.

I plastered a phony smile on my face, thinking it wasn’t fair that I was still attracted to a man who’d been sent to drag my ass back to jail. Fair or not, there was no denying that Logan Richards was a handsome son of a bitch.

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