Page 2 of A Touch of Treachery (Section 47 #3)
Section 47 was all about hiding in plain sight.
Several decades ago, this building had been a bank, and over the years, the Section higher-ups had quietly repurposed the lowest level, turning it into a storage facility for illegal biomagical drugs, weapons, money, and other items that were confiscated during raids. Hence the nickname the Vault.
Iris gestured at the café. “Can I get you anything while you wait? Water? Juice? Coffee?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
She nodded, then returned to the reception desk. Iris reached for the landline phone, but her hand trembled, and the receiver squirted out of her grasp and landed with a loud clatter. She winced and scooped up the receiver.
Thwack.
The wet slap of a mop hitting the floor drew my attention. Off to the left, a janitor nudged a yellow cart forward and swiped his mop back and forth, cleaning up the spilled coffee my synesthesia had pointed out.
His dark blue coveralls outlined his broad shoulders and lean, muscled body, while black boots encased his feet. A blue baseball hat topped his head, covering most of his dark blond hair and casting a shadow over his tan skin, along with the golden stubble that clung to his strong jaw.
The janitor bent down over the mop, hunching his shoulders and making himself seem much shorter than his six-foot height.
“Don’t ogle me too much, Numbers.” A low, teasing voice with a hint of an Australian accent echoed through my earbud. “You don’t want to blow my cover.”
Desmond Percy was always worth ogling, even if he was wearing drab coveralls instead of the sleek business suits he preferred. I grabbed my phone and held it up to my ear, pretending to talk to someone.
“I’m just surprised to see a Section 47 cleaner actually cleaning something up, Crocodile Dundee,” I replied, my soft Southern accent adding an extra drawl to my voice.
When I’d first met Desmond, I’d dubbed him Crocodile Dundee because of his Australian accent, while he’d called me Numbers because of the calculations he said were always going on in my mind. At first, I’d despised the nickname, but now I loved the extra connection between the two of us.
“Usually, all you cleaners do is make a bloody mess—in every sense of the word,” I continued.
Desmond chuckled at my black humor. As an analyst, my job was to track rogue paramortals, but as a cleaner, Desmond’s job was to eliminate them—permanently.
He was one of Section 47’s top assassins and a powerful galvanist, someone who could control and manipulate different forms of energy, from the electricity humming through the chandeliers to the steam spewing out of the café’s espresso machines to the battery charge in my phone.
“At least you get to be the anonymous worker bee today instead of me.” I sighed. “Although those coveralls look a lot more comfortable than the nutcracker outfit I had to wear at Christmas.”
“Are you still holding a grudge about that?” he teased again.
A few weeks ago, Desmond and I had gone undercover during a Christmas Eve party at Tannenbaum Castle in Germany.
Desmond had attended as Desmond Macfarlane, his undercover alias as a notorious arms dealer.
Me? I’d been stuck pretending to be a waiter, and given the party’s holiday theme, I’d been forced to dress up like a toy soldier from The Nutcracker ballet, complete with an itchy black brimmed hat, a stiff button-up jacket, and knee-high boots that had pinched my feet.
“You would hold a grudge too if you’d had to wear that awful costume,” I muttered.
Desmond chuckled again. “Well, I thought you looked amazing. Then again, you always look amazing.”
The low, husky note in his voice made me shiver.
Desmond and I had been together for a few months, and so far, things had been wonderful between us, despite the trouble we’d run into in Germany.
The couple that spies together stays together.
At least for now. I didn’t know what kind of future Desmond and I might have, but I was eager to find out.
At their respective positions, all three thieves suddenly snapped to attention.
The gardener surged to her feet and looked at the businessman, who’d been checking his watch.
He stood up and nodded to her, as well as to the waiter.
Then all three of them headed in my direction.
Whatever they had been waiting for had finally happened, and now they were ready to get down to business.
I glanced over at Desmond. “Here we go. Wish me luck.”
A smile crooked the corner of his mouth. “You don’t need luck, Charlotte, but I’ll wish it for you anyway, and I’ll be watching your back, just like always.”
Desmond pulled a Caution sign out of the janitor’s cart and stuck it on the damp floor. Then he slid the mop into the bucket and pushed the cart away, whistling a soft tune. Desmond strode right by the fake waiter, but the other man didn’t give him a second look.
Over at the reception desk, Iris murmured something into the landline phone, then set the receiver down. She stared at it a few seconds, then raised her head and gestured at me.
I slid my phone into my pocket, then reached for the briefcase. My fingers curled around the handle, and I blew out a tense breath, got to my feet, and headed toward the other agent.
Time to see if the thieves took the bait.