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“Ah, my friend, they are a start.” Hugo rose. “And now, to Charleston?”
Lancelot led the way out of the conference room. “I’m driving.”
Chapter Three
They’d rented a BMW X3 at Logan Airport. After leaving the Boston Public Library, Charlie—no, Lancelot, he needed to think of himself as Lancelot during this op—claimed the driver’s seat while Hugo plugged their destination—the Trinity Masters’ property—into the onboard GPS. They had nearly a thousand miles ahead of them. It was late afternoon and tacking a sixteen-hour drive onto the already long day that had started at the crack of dawn in London was more than either of them were up for. They agreed to put a few hours behind them before finding a hotel off the highway to rest for the night. They would finish the journey tomorrow.
“It’s a bloody big country, isn’t it?” Lancelot observed as he considered the drive. They’d eschewed the idea of flying because they wanted time to discuss the investigation in private.
Of course, travel in England was less daunting, considering a person could travel from top to bottom in less time than it was going to take them to get to South Carolina.
“Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer for me to drive? I am accustomed to driving on the right side after all.” It was the second time Hugo had made the offer.
“No, thanks,” Lancelot said. “I like a challenge.”
Hugo looked nervous. “I’ll take the next turn.”
Lancelot chuckled, enjoying the other man’s discomfiture. “We’ll see.”
While they’d stowed their luggage in the back of the vehicle, Hugo had tucked his briefcase behind his seat. Once they hit I90, Hugo twisted around to pull it onto his lap, withdrawing a manila folder.
“This is all the intel we’ve managed to gather on Alicia Rutherford.” Hugo flipped the file open. “Sadly, this information is based on her life prior to Derrick’s murder. Since then, there’s been no trace of her.”
“It seems unlikely she’d return to her home. She must know there are people looking for her.” Lancelot had foolishly made the same observation to the vice admiral, Lorelei, and gotten an earful for his efforts, starting with, “You may not be a true knight, but even so, when I give you an order, you follow it,” and ending with, “If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.”
As a security officer, he answered to England’s security minister, Lennon Giles. However, the fleet admiral had asked Lorelei to supply him with a cover story as far as his role as a knight. Mercifully, Hugo was part of the territory of France, and unfamiliar with exactly who the knights of England were. It had been unlikely the Frenchman would realize Lancelot Knight had only recently—yesterday—come into service.
Hugo sighed. “We will not, of course, walk into Alicia’s home and find her on the couch, watching television. However, if she fled England unexpectedly, perhaps she returned home, and in her rush to leave again, was unable to dismantle all records. Or perhaps she never returned home at all, in which case she didn’t have a chance to hide or destroy any sensitive information.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her,” Lancelot said. “I hope she puts up a fight.”
Hugo gave him a sideways glance. “Alicia is to be brought back to the Isle of Man for questioning.”
“Nothing says she can’t be a little busted up, mate. Her husband killed my former admiral, and given her actions in that BDSM club, it’s safe to say his cause was hers. I want a pound of flesh.”
Hugo shook his head. “That will have to come after the fleet admiral is finished with her.”
Lancelot scoffed. “If the Viking does the questioning there won’t be anything left once he’s done. Best to get my blows in first.”
Hugo didn’t bother to disagree. They both knew that was true. What Hugo didn’t know, and would never know, was that Lancelot would probably be the one doing the questioning.
Lancelot changed lanes as Hugo started flipping through the pages in the folder. “We’ve a long drive. We might as well put the time to good use. Give me details.”
Hugo started reading directly from the dossier provided. “Alicia Angelica Moore Rutherford. Born in the American state of Vermont. An only child. Both parents are deceased. She taught at Exeter Academy, a private school in Charleston, South Carolina, for eighteen years. She married Griffin Rutherford, who was considerably younger than her, ten years ago. No details about how or where they met. Griffin was a member of the United States military, in particular a sniper in the U.S. Army. They were both believed to be members of a BDSM club near Columbia, where there is a military base.”
“Sex club. You ever been to one of those, Hugo?”
Hugo smiled. “I have no need. Frenchmen are naturally the best lovers in the world. You?”
Lancelot snorted, but grinned. “A gentleman never spanks and tells.”
Hugo laughed.
Initially, Lancelot had some reservations about this assignment, due in no small part to the fact that his partner was a civilian. A professor, for fuck’s sake. But he wasn’t stupid enough to question the fleet admiral’s orders—even if that order had been a “request.”
When Lorelei called him to finalize the details of his cover, she’d asked him to choose a knight name. It was tradition for those who became knights to take on the last name “Knight” or equivalent. In France, their last names became Chevalier.
But in England, knights also changed their first names, taking on the name of one of the Knights of the Roundtable.
