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The investigation had been painstakingly slow for days, but now the shit had hit the fan. He needed to stay focused on his mission—find and apprehend Alicia.
He repeated that over and over, a way to remind himself that the reason they were chasing after Sylvia was because she’d made contact with the target. This was a manhunt, not a mission to rescue Sylvia.
The timing was too coincidental—they were in Charleston for days and nothing happened. But not long after they made contact with Sylvia, Alicia called her.
Hugo picked up his cell phone.
“She’s not going to answer,” Lancelot said, his eyes still on the road.
“I know.” Hugo shrugged. “I was just…” His words faded as he twisted in his seat toward Lancelot. His sudden movement had Lancelot jerking as well.
“What is it?”
“Merde. I know why Alicia called her.”
“What? Why?” That question had plagued both of them since they’d started this race to Florida.
Hugo turned the phone toward Lancelot, allowing him to see a sketch that Sylvia had posted on her Instagram. It took him a couple glances, his eyes traveling from the phone to the road, then back to the phone. “Is that—”
“Poetry without words,” Hugo said, reading the words Sylvia had used to describe her drawing. “I saw this sketch in Sylvia’s room. Yesterday morning. She must have drawn it during the night. I didn’t think anything more of it. Didn’t realize she’d shared it.”
“When did she post it?”
Hugo checked the time. “One day ago. Right after…”
“That solves that mystery. Alicia obviously saw it, saw my tattoo, and started putting the pieces together.”
“If this is true, then…” Hugo didn’t finish his thought. He didn’t need to. If Alicia knew they were in the Masters’ Admiralty, knew they were using Sylvia to find her, then Sylvia was in even more danger than they’d feared.
They’d stuffed up this investigation right from the beginning. Telling Sylvia his whole name had been an epic mistake on his part. Anyone with knowledge of the Masters’ Admiralty would immediately know that someone with the name “Lancelot Knight” was most likely a knight for the territory of England. He wasn’t even sure why he’d done it. It wasn’t like Lancelot was his true moniker or had any special meaning to him.
It was just…her. The ways she’d talked about his family tree and the giants. When she’d offered to call her poem “Lance and the Giants,” he’d wanted to offer her the better alternative.
It had been stupid. A miscalculation. If the fleet admiral had been there, he probably would have pulled out a gun and shot him on the spot, just to put both of them out of their misery.
This trip was turning out to be far from simple. And they certainly hadn’t been circumspect. They’d let their attraction to Sylvia—and each other—override their common sense. Sleeping with one of the Trinity Masters’ recruits was a violation of their agreement with the American secret society, though perhaps they could claim they didn’t know who Sylvia was. It would depend on Juliette Adams’s willingness to believe in coincidence. If the situation were reversed, Lancelot knew the Masters’ Admiralty leadership would be less than willing to accept that explanation.
With a burst of violence, Hugo hit his fist against the dashboard. “We should never have gone to Sylvia. She is innocent, and now, because of us, she is in danger.”
If Sylvia told her former teacher about the two foreigners she’d met, one of whom had an oh-so-distinctive name, it would confirm Alicia’s suspicions as to who he and Hugo really were—agents of the Masters’ Admiralty sent to hunt her down.
“We should have warned her that Alicia was dangerous,” Hugo continued.
“How?” Hugo was being emotional, not logical. “How could we tell her that without revealing our motives for being with her?”
Hugo ran his hand through his hair. “She doesn’t know what Alicia is capable of. If Alicia thinks Sylvia’s betrayed her… Derrick Fredrick’s death was a terrible, cruel thing.”
Lancelot had read the reports about the murder of the Spartan Guard. Alicia killed Derrick in a sex club with a modified electric collar. It seemed like Hugo had more firsthand information. “How do you know it was cruel?”
Hugo hesitated for a moment. “An acquaintance was there. Was a witness.”
Lancelot let that information sink in. There was clearly more to the French professor than met the eye. “Who?”
Hugo stared out the windshield at the road ahead. “I can’t tell you.”
Lancelot had been part of the crew who’d helped cover up the murder, keeping Derrick’s body out of the hands of the Scotland Yard. Three people had been there that night, and Lancelot was left to wonder which of the three Hugo knew well enough to have heard such a story from.
“What did they see?” Lancelot had only read the report, not spoken to anyone involved.
