the 24
Tess Gerritsen
main road and keep going. You can’t miss the turn. It’s a private drive, flanked by elms—quite tall ones.”
“I’ll watch for the elms, then.”
She remounted Froggie and gazed down at the man.
Even viewed from the saddle, he cut an impressive figure, lean and elegant in his tuxedo. And strikingly confident, not a man to be intimidated by anyone—even a woman sitting astride nine hundred muscular pounds of horseflesh.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asked. “It looked like a pretty bad fall to me.”
“Oh, I’ve fallen before.” She smiled. “I have quite a hard head.”
The man smiled, too, his teeth straight and white in the twilight. “Then I shouldn’t worry about you slipping into a stupor tonight?”
“ You’re the one who’ll be slipping into a stupor tonight.” He frowned. “Excuse me?”
“A stupor brought on by dry and endless palaver. It’s a distinct possibility, considering where you’re headed.” Laughing, she turned the horse around. “Good evening,” she called. Then, with a farewell wave, she urged Froggie into a trot through the woods.
As she left the road behind, it occurred to her that she would get to Chetwynd before he did. That made her laugh again. Perhaps Bastille Day would turn out more interesting than she’d expected. She gave the horse a nudge of her boot. At once Froggie broke into a gallop.
Richard Wolf stood beside his rented MG and watched the woman ride away, her black hair tumbling like a horse’s mane about her shoulders. In seconds she was gone, In Their Footsteps
25
vanished from sight into the woods. He never even caught her name, he thought. He’d have to ask Lord Lovat about her. Tell me, Hugh. Are you acquainted with a black-haired witch tearing about your neighborhood? She was dressed like one of the village girls, in a frayed shirt and grass-stained jodhpurs, but her accent bespoke the finest of schools. A charming contradiction.
He climbed back into the car. It was almost six-thirty now; that drive from London had taken longer than he’d expected. Blast these backcountry lanes! He turned the car around and headed for the main road, taking care this time to slow down for curves. No telling what might be lurking around the bend. A cow or a goat.
Or another witch on horseback.
I have quite a hard head. He smiled. A hard head, indeed. She slips off the saddle—bump—and she’s right back on her feet. And cheeky to boot. As if I couldn’t tell a mare from a stallion. All I needed was the right view.
Which he certainly had had of her. There was no doubt whatsoever that it was the female of the species he’d been looking at. All that raven hair, those laughing green eyes.
She almost reminds me of…
He suppressed the thought, shoved it into the quicksand of bad memories. Nightmares, really. Those terrible echoes of his first assignment, his first failure. It had colored his career, had kept him from ever again taking anything for granted. That was the way one should operate in this business. Check the facts, never trust your sources, and always, always watch your back.
It was starting to wear him down. Maybe I should kick back and retire early. Live the quiet country life like Hugh Tavistock. Of course Tavistock had a title and estate to keep 26
Tess Gerritsen
him in comfort, though Richard had to laugh when he thought of the rotund and balding Hugh Tavistock as earl of anything. Yeah, I should just settle down on those ten acres in Connecticut. Declare myself Earl of Whatever and grow cucumbers.
But he’d miss the work. Those delicious whiffs of danger, the international chess game of wits. The world was changing so fast, and you didn’t know from day to day who your enemies were….
He spotted, at last, the turnoff to Chetwynd. Flanked by majestic elms, it was as the black-haired woman had described it. That impressive driveway was more than matched by the manor house standing at the end of the
Tess Gerritsen
main road and keep going. You can’t miss the turn. It’s a private drive, flanked by elms—quite tall ones.”
“I’ll watch for the elms, then.”
She remounted Froggie and gazed down at the man.
Even viewed from the saddle, he cut an impressive figure, lean and elegant in his tuxedo. And strikingly confident, not a man to be intimidated by anyone—even a woman sitting astride nine hundred muscular pounds of horseflesh.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” he asked. “It looked like a pretty bad fall to me.”
“Oh, I’ve fallen before.” She smiled. “I have quite a hard head.”
The man smiled, too, his teeth straight and white in the twilight. “Then I shouldn’t worry about you slipping into a stupor tonight?”
“ You’re the one who’ll be slipping into a stupor tonight.” He frowned. “Excuse me?”
“A stupor brought on by dry and endless palaver. It’s a distinct possibility, considering where you’re headed.” Laughing, she turned the horse around. “Good evening,” she called. Then, with a farewell wave, she urged Froggie into a trot through the woods.
As she left the road behind, it occurred to her that she would get to Chetwynd before he did. That made her laugh again. Perhaps Bastille Day would turn out more interesting than she’d expected. She gave the horse a nudge of her boot. At once Froggie broke into a gallop.
Richard Wolf stood beside his rented MG and watched the woman ride away, her black hair tumbling like a horse’s mane about her shoulders. In seconds she was gone, In Their Footsteps
25
vanished from sight into the woods. He never even caught her name, he thought. He’d have to ask Lord Lovat about her. Tell me, Hugh. Are you acquainted with a black-haired witch tearing about your neighborhood? She was dressed like one of the village girls, in a frayed shirt and grass-stained jodhpurs, but her accent bespoke the finest of schools. A charming contradiction.
He climbed back into the car. It was almost six-thirty now; that drive from London had taken longer than he’d expected. Blast these backcountry lanes! He turned the car around and headed for the main road, taking care this time to slow down for curves. No telling what might be lurking around the bend. A cow or a goat.
Or another witch on horseback.
I have quite a hard head. He smiled. A hard head, indeed. She slips off the saddle—bump—and she’s right back on her feet. And cheeky to boot. As if I couldn’t tell a mare from a stallion. All I needed was the right view.
Which he certainly had had of her. There was no doubt whatsoever that it was the female of the species he’d been looking at. All that raven hair, those laughing green eyes.
She almost reminds me of…
He suppressed the thought, shoved it into the quicksand of bad memories. Nightmares, really. Those terrible echoes of his first assignment, his first failure. It had colored his career, had kept him from ever again taking anything for granted. That was the way one should operate in this business. Check the facts, never trust your sources, and always, always watch your back.
It was starting to wear him down. Maybe I should kick back and retire early. Live the quiet country life like Hugh Tavistock. Of course Tavistock had a title and estate to keep 26
Tess Gerritsen
him in comfort, though Richard had to laugh when he thought of the rotund and balding Hugh Tavistock as earl of anything. Yeah, I should just settle down on those ten acres in Connecticut. Declare myself Earl of Whatever and grow cucumbers.
But he’d miss the work. Those delicious whiffs of danger, the international chess game of wits. The world was changing so fast, and you didn’t know from day to day who your enemies were….
He spotted, at last, the turnoff to Chetwynd. Flanked by majestic elms, it was as the black-haired woman had described it. That impressive driveway was more than matched by the manor house standing at the end of the
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