Page 15 of Dancing With Danger

“Where’s that?” Felicity asked.

“The loo at the zoo.”

“Pardon?”

“I heard them talking, and while my French isn’t perfect—”

“Your French is atrocious,” Prudence teased.

Mercy ignored her. “They said they were going to meet someone named Marco in front of the loo at the London Zoo.”

“They’re not going to meet at the toilet.” Felicity remained distracted until she realized she’d said something out loud and then snapped her lips shut.

Mercy lunged, seizing her shoulders and shaking them. “What? Felicity, what do you know?”

Her sister gulped. “What will you do if I tell you?”

“What Detective Sharpe would do. Obviously.”

“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.”

Prudence cut in, resting a motherly hand on Mercy’s arm. “This isn’t a storybook caper, Mercy, these men are lethal. You should tell Morley where they’ll be. He’ll find out about them for you.”

“I will,” Mercy vowed. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you where they’ll be.”

Felicity gulped, squinting at her for a different reason than her blindness. This time, it was true suspicion. “In French, the word spelled l-o-u-p is pronouncedloo.”

“And?” Mercy pressed.

“It means wolf.”

Mercy’s heart sped. “There you have it. They’ll be at the wolf exhibit at the zoo at three o’clock.”

Prudence reached into her vest and pulled out a dainty watch. “It’s half five. We’ve missed them.”

For once in her life, Mercy kept her mouth shut.

She’d also kept her promise. She’d told them where Raphael Sauvageau could be found.

Just not exactlywhen.

Chapter 4

A week later

It turned out to be a beautiful day to plan a war.

Raphael Sauvageau loitered by the den of wolves at the London Zoo, idly watching across the way as two delighted children were given rides on the back of a sardonic-looking camel.

The morning had been blustery and grey. Stinging rain blown sideways by errant gusts pelted citizens who were brave or foolish enough to venture out. After luncheon, the rain disappeared as if someone had turned off a spigot in the sky, and celestial pillars of light pierced the late February clouds with the shafts of spring.

By three o’clock, the brick and cobbles of London glittered with gemlike droplets of golden light, and the city came to life, people bustling back into the streets.

The animals kept by the Zoological Society of London were likewise pleased with the changing weather. Zebras frolicked in their pastures and a giraffe licked a treat from out of the hands of a passing boy, who promptly burst into tears.

Adjacent to the zoo, the London elite flooded Regent’s Park, eager to bask in the rare warmth and to hunt for any hint of emerging buds on the winter-bare flora.

Raphael watched the skeletons of the trees with grim detachment.