Page 66

London

Wednesday afternoon

Elizabeth’s fist knocked on the beautiful black-lacquered door. She felt Rome’s hand on her shoulder.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

Tommy looked her up and down. “Mother told me you were attacked close to Darlington Hall, like she was when they tried to kidnap her. What are the police doing? And MI5? Do they have any idea who’s behind this insanity? I’m sorry, Elizabeth, of course you’ve already been answering all their questions. And you’re hurt. Please come in and sit down, both of you, rest.

Rome looked around. “Where’s your friend Al?”

“Al? He’s in and out, but I haven’t seen him today.”

“Rome, again, I want to thank you again for watching over my sister, here and in the United States.”

“I hope I can meet him and shake his hand.” He gave a boyish grin so like his father’s, a grin she’d seen on his face since he was a toddler and she his big sister, always looking out for him. “Hey, maybe you should get a distress alarm yourself.”

He cocked his head at her, smiled, but said nothing.

Tommy cocked his head at her. “Why are you saying all this, Elizabeth?”

“I should have continued to push you into rehab, but I didn’t. I should have cut off your money, but I didn’t. I loved you and I kept making excuses for you. I convinced myself you’d stop taking drugs when you realized you weren’t really living your life, you were existing, and only for your drugs.

“I stopped that day. I refused to see Mother for weeks. You know all about what withdrawal is like for me, you’ve seen me go through it in rehab. Honestly, at the beginning I thought I’d rather die, and I wanted cocaine so badly I would have robbed the king himself, but I didn’t, I stuck to it. And now it’s over.” He gave her his grin again. “You’re here and you’re safe, both you and Mother, and you both say Father just might be coming around to welcoming me back in the fold, might be ready to trust me, finally.” He paused, cocked his head. “I know you’re supporting me. Let me swear to you, I will never go back to cocaine.”

He shrugged. “I told you, I made up my mind a few days after you left. Why?”

Rome pulled out his phone, scrolled through photos, handed his phone to Tommy. “Do you know this young woman?”

Tommy studied the photo, slowly shook his head. “It looks like she’s on a hospital bed. Who is she?”

“You knew you couldn’t ask your drug dealer Carlos to help you find people to kill Elizabeth. He liked her, probably had a crush on her. So where to go? And then you remembered the last imam was involved in Samir Basara’s plot to blow up St. Paul’s with your sister in it. Surely there were other jihadists there who would want to make a statement, kill an aristocrat, and make money as well. And if they failed, the mosque would take the blame, not you. I imagine you chanced to meet Adara there. She was young, beautiful, newly graduated from Oxford, smart as a whip, and the daughter of wealthy Syrians, above reproach. You didn’t approach the imam, no, you approached her and you had a plan.

Elizabeth slowly pulled her hand away from her brother’s. Her voice was emotionless. “We showed Adara’s photo to your doorman, Clyde Bettin, when we came in. Of course Clyde is loyal, but with the encouragement of a gratuity, he told us he’d seen you with Adara going out the delivery entrance several times a week since you moved in. He admitted he wondered why you seemed to be hiding her. He told us he saw the two of you laughing and kissing outside a café just down the street one afternoon. He said you broke apart when you saw him, and he appreciated the ten-pound note you palmed him later that day.”

They heard the front door open. Al’s voice called out, “Tommy, we’ve got trouble. Come here!”