Page 32 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

T he late September morning threatened rain, and a fresh breeze blustered at Catherine’s back as she turned into Horse Guards Road, her heels clicking on the grey pavement.

Thank goodness for the black umbrella she carried.

Following a steady flow of people heading to other government buildings, she wove herself into the stream of women entering the Treasury, her identity card ready.

The first Royal Marine waved her through with barely a glance.

As she headed downstairs to the War Rooms, the heavy weight of dread rose in her gut, as it always did nowadays.

At the second checkpoint, when the Marine guarding the entrance glanced at her, she might as well have been caught red-handed stealing the Crown Jewels, as her thoughts immediately flicked to Daniel.

Placing a hand over her stomach to stifle the surging queasiness only made it worse.

The Marine examined her papers more carefully before allowing her to enter.

She tried to focus, typing the next piece amid the endless clatter of keys, walls pressing in from all sides. After completing that letter, she placed it in the out tray, and reached for the next file, glancing at the heading as she prepared a fresh carbon copy.

Confidential. Prime Minister’s Visit Confirmed.

Her breath caught and she read on before she could stop herself.

Location: Woolwich Arsenal, Building 17 — Ammunition Depot.

Date: Friday. Time: 1400 hours.

She blinked, heart thudding. Today was Wednesday. A munitions site, right in London. And Churchill himself going into a war zone. No wonder the message was marked Restricted Circulation . Catherine gathered the papers, forcing her hands not to tremble. No one noticed. No one ever noticed a typist.

***

At four o’clock , her shift ended in a haze of mental exhaustion, those words still searing behind her closed eyes.

The cool breeze outside offered a moment’s respite, fresh air washing over her face like a small mercy.

The dark clouds of that morning had vanished, leaving white streaks floating in a cerulean sky, and she inhaled.

Catherine pulled her coat tight as she hurried to the pre-arranged meeting place.

St James’s Park beckoned. She strolled towards the lake where waterfowl huddled along the banks.

Victory gardens had overtaken the flowerbeds and spiky rows of broccoli and parsnips stood where roses once bloomed.

Life, still growing amid the ruin, the rich scent of damp earth all around.

Striding beneath the plane trees, she passed Duck Island Cottage. An elderly man tipped his cap from his patch of kale, and she managed a smile in return, and it hit her how achingly normal it all seemed. As though the world hadn’t tilted beneath her feet. Then she saw him.

Daniel leaned against the bridge rail, coat collar turned up, fedora low across his brow, a cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. Still as a silhouette. Watching.

He reminded her of a character from a spy novel, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run to him or turn away. The cold in her chest loosened when he smiled, but not entirely.

‘You’re late,’ he said, in a tone that was quiet but edged.

‘I just finished my shift,’ she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. A habit now.

He flicked the cigarette into the lake and it hissed briefly as it sank. ‘And?’

She hesitated.

‘Do you have anything for me?’ he asked, voice low and warm.

Catherine exhaled, the words slipping out. ‘Woolwich Arsenal. Building Seventeen. Friday. Two o’clock.’

Daniel’s smile sharpened, becoming wolfish. ‘Woolwich,’ he said, nodding. ‘Makes sense. It’s usually a short visit when he’s due back at Whitehall by three.’ He caught her glance and smiled faintly. ‘It’s just how the man works. Clockwork, most days.’

She said nothing but the unease lingered.

‘Finally, some useful information. I was beginning to think you’d switched sides.’

She stared at him, heart hammering as she gazed into his narrowed brown eyes that were darker than chocolate. He had doubted her loyalty, and she wondered how long he would have waited before testing her. Still, he loved her, didn’t he? She shook the negative thoughts away.

‘I never get important memos, they usually go to the more experienced girls, but one of them was absent today.’ She gazed at her feet, wishing the ground would open up, and then he took her hand in his.

‘You’re a marvel, Cat. And this is perfect timing.’ His voice was silk and stirred her heart as he tipped her chin.

Cat . His pet name for her. How could she object?

He was handsome, brilliant and so kind when he wanted to be.

When he smiled like that, whispered promises in the dark, she could almost believe the things he told her.

That she was stronger than the others. That the men in Westminster, even Churchill himself, were just birds in a gilded cage.

Some of them are exotic, some are as plain as pigeons. But you, Cat … you circle them all. You see what they can’t.

She’d flushed at the time, half shy, half thrilled as his fingertips traced her spine.

Now, standing near Birdcage Walk, she wasn’t sure why her heart twisted so painfully at the memory.

But his words worried her. Perfect timing for what?

Churchill would have aides, security – surely Daniel couldn’t get near him. ‘What are you going to do?’

He stepped closer, tilting his head as if sharing a secret.

‘Remove an obstacle,’ he whispered. ‘Britain’s bleeding itself dry. Churchill’s pride will kill more of our friends and family than the bombs ever could. If we end it now, we save millions. Britain can’t win this war. You see that, don’t you?’

She wanted to believe him. God help her, she wanted it so badly. But the words of protest withered in her throat.

His hand brushed her arm. ‘This is how we win peace, my love.’

She nodded, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, then kissed her; his breath warm, tinged with whisky, his cheek grazing hers with familiar softness.

‘I’ll see you soon,’ he murmured, then strode away into the mist.

She watched him leave, then sat on a wooden bench to clear her head.

An odd sensation bloomed in her chest: not grief or fear.

A weightless kind of quiet, like her soul had stepped outside for air and not yet returned.

She tried to conjure memories of before the war, when life had been filled with sunlight and safety.

Now it was all darkness. The cold had soaked into her bones.

It was time for home, though it no longer felt like a place where peace would wrap around her like an old friend.

***

The flat was warm when Catherine slipped through the door. Lizzie’s laughter spilled from the sitting room along with Ellie’s elegant chuckle. The smell of stew hung thick and comforting in the air, and for a moment, the muffled joy beyond the hallway felt like a wall she couldn’t pass through.

‘You’re back!’ Lizzie called. ‘Come have a drink! We were just saying how you always miss the fun.’

‘I’m not feeling very well. Headache. Think I caught a chill.’

Ellie appeared in the doorway, brows pinched. ‘Hmm, you do look pale. Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ Catherine said quickly, avoiding her gaze. ‘I just need to lie down. Too much stale office air, that’s all.’

Ellie hesitated, eyes scanning her face. ‘Did something happen? You look—’ She stopped herself, but the question hung there.

Catherine looked away. ‘I’m just worn out. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be right as rain. Honestly.’

A beat passed before Ellie nodded, too slowly. ‘I’ll bring you tea later,’ she said, her voice gentler than usual, almost cautious.

Catherine murmured thanks and slipped away to her room, easing the door shut behind her.

Then she leaned against it, breath shallow.

They still trusted her – and that was what made it worse.

She’d thought she would feel stronger, handing over the information.

Instead, she felt hollow. A ghost in her own skin.

And Daniel’s words kept echoing. Clockwork, most days .

How did he know so much about Mr Churchill’s movements? How long had he been watching?