The Queen's Accomplice (Maggie Hope Mystery #6)(93)

As the door opened, she called, “Yes?”

But no one was there. Must have been the wind.

—



Hours later, well after midnight, Maggie knew it was time to go. The Blackout Beast—if he was even there—wasn’t making his move in the hotel, at least that night.

Feeling equally disappointed and relieved, Maggie took the aging elevator down to the ground floor and nodded to the officer working the lobby. She exited and walked through the moonlight in the biting cold wind to the unmarked van where she knew Durgin and his officers were waiting, along with May.

“He’s not going to show,” Maggie told Durgin. “I want to leave.”

Durgin gave an explosive exhale. “Well, we gave it a shot,” he said. “I can’t say I’m sorry this has all come to naught. Let’s get you home. Do you want a lift back to your house?”

Maggie nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“You’ll be safe there. I’ll have my men in place by the time you arrive. There will be one inside the house to greet you—George Staunton, you’ve met him at the Yard—and then leave. And then the rest in the shrubbery, waiting.” Durgin turned to May. “And you, you’ll be all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, pulling her coat around her. “I’ll make sure everything’s in order and then lock up.”

As Maggie and Durgin drove off, May walked into the hotel and went directly to the front desk, picking up the telephone receiver. She dialed the numbers of the public call box and waited until the connection was established, looking around to make sure none of the officers were still there.

“Yes, she just left for her house,” May whispered to the person on the other end of the line.





Chapter Eighteen


Locking her front door behind her, Maggie flipped on the lights and shrugged off her coat as she walked toward the closet, looking for Detective George Staunton. Well, at least I’m not blindfolded this time, she thought grimly, ignoring the tension in her neck and jaw. And at least Chuck and Griffin are safe. Chuck and her baby had been evacuated, and were spending the night at the Savoy Hotel, with Scotland Yard guards right outside their door. Even K had been evacuated. The thought of her cat enjoying the Savoy almost—almost—made Maggie smile. She glanced around the shadowy foyer, expecting to see Staunton.

But instead, Mark stepped out of the shadows. Mark? He’s not part of the plan. Maggie hadn’t even seen him since he’d gotten drunk and, well—

“You?” Maggie managed, her voice sounding overly loud in the eerie quiet of the deserted house. “Where’s Staunton?”

“Plans change.” Mark’s breath was hot and reeked of alcohol. Has he been drinking again? Maggie took a step back. “And he’s only a Met officer. I’m MI-Five.” Mark reached behind him to pull out a gun from the waist of his trousers. “You’re better off with me.”

Then, “This is some place you have. It’s all yours?”

“Yes,” Maggie said, in no mood for conversation. “Inheritance. Long story.”



“Still, it’s awfully big for an unmarried woman, alone.”

“I have flatmates.”

He saw how her eyes darted up the stairs and into the shadows. “I’ve already checked it out, cellar to attic. There’s no one here. And the Beast won’t get past the officers stationed outside—we’ll get him before he gets you.”

Maggie drew in a trembling breath. At the front door, Mark turned back at the last second, as if he were going to say something. Instead, he shook his head and opened the door, letting the light shine out, letting his voice carry, and making a big show of leaving.

Using her as bait in her own house was their backup plan if the Beast didn’t come to the hotel. If he followed her, which is what they all hoped, the Met police would get him before he even set foot inside.

And so, with any luck—if that was the word—the killer was watching Mark leave, too.

When he was gone, Maggie fumbled with the locks, which slid into place with loud, echoing clicks. She hooked the chain on the door. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

She wandered the rooms, flipping on lights, looking in closets and behind furniture. Why wasn’t the telephone ringing? Why wasn’t Durgin calling to tell her they’d arrested him, that she was safe now? She sat down on a wing chair in the library, waiting, tensed, listening to every creak and scrape the old house made, sounds like trolls under a bridge.

She decided to go upstairs, to her bedroom—she’d lock the door and feel safe there. With one last look around her empty library, she stood. She checked the lock on the back door and rechecked the front. Then she maneuvered up the steep steps in the darkness.

In her bedroom, Maggie pulled open the blackout curtains, and looked out into the night. The moon was glorious—full, bright, and almost blue against the night sky. Where were the surveillance officers? She knew they were probably hiding in the shrubbery, maybe even in one of the tall trees, but still. She couldn’t see them.



What if the Blackout Beast had killed them?

No, of course not. She shut the drapes. But even with the blackout curtains in place, the moon was dazzling enough to sneak slivers of light into the room through the cracks.