The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(7)

“You’re not French, you wouldn’t get the amounts just right.” They were laughing when Grant Thornton, Kitsune’s husband of three months, came into the open kitchen carrying a platter of grilled lobsters. Mike breathed in. “Goodness, that smells like heaven. Careful, Grant, Nicholas and I might move in.”

“You’d be welcome, but I doubt you’d be here long before haring off on your next adventure,” Grant said. “Smell that lobster. Nothing like local, you’ll see. Where is Nicholas? I thought he’d be back by now.”

Mike said, “I thought he was part of the male grilling party.”

Grant set the platter on the counter. “He told me it looked to him like I had things well in hand, said he had an errand to run. He said he’d be right back.”

“He did mention he needed to call his mom back,” Mike said. “She’s solving a mystery in their local village of Farrow-on-Gray, something she excels at. Our families, his and mine both, seem to take turns calling. Even Horne, his parents’ butler, and Nigel—he’s Nicholas’s butler in New York—and no, please don’t mention Nigel, Nicholas would be horribly embarrassed. They all want to know where we are, what we’re doing, and is my ankle healed yet. My dad’s all into hearing about my scuba diving off Santorini and the Gorgeous Rebecca, my mom, wants more photos of the Palace of Knossos on Crete. And as I said, Nicholas’s mom has this new mystery to solve.”

Kitsune said, “Nicholas told me you looked just like your mother—the Gorgeous Rebecca.”

“Nah, Mom’s a knockout, I’m only a vague copy.”

Kitsune only shook her head and smiled. “What’s his mother’s mystery involve?”

“When he comes back from his errand, whatever that could be, ask him. I don’t have a clue yet. He’s told me he gets his love of solving mysteries from her. She’s quite the sleuth at home.” She grinned, dropped her voice. “Or maybe, Kitsune, Nicholas is off searching out a missing Rembrandt.”

“Sorry, he’ll be out of luck,” Kitsune said, “I never bring my work home. Even the Rembrandts.”

Grant said, “There’s a pity, I’d like to have a Rembrandt on the wall. No, make that a Vermeer.”

Mike laughed and slid off the stool. “I’ll go see if he’s back.”

“Lunch in ten minutes,” Grant called out.

Mike walked through the large main level, open on all sides. She couldn’t help herself and paused to admire the vast sea views. The house itself was four stories of white stucco, built into the Capri cliffside. It was lovely, very private. It was, she knew, their sanctuary as well as their home. She stepped onto the bougainvillea-covered veranda and breathed in the sweet scent and thought about Kitsune and Grant—an international thief and a former Beefeater, now an international security expert—how they’d found each other and gotten married. It boggled the mind.

Mike called for him, but Nicholas was nowhere to be seen.

Now, what was he up to? Giving his mom advice?

Mike made her way back to the open kitchen, retook her seat on the stool, and took a sip of champagne.

Kitsune asked, “Find him?”

“Nope.” She grabbed her phone and sent a text. “Why didn’t I think of this before wandering around?”

Where are you? Lunch is almost ready.

With you in a moment.

Mike said to Grant, “He didn’t say what he was doing?”

“Nope.”

Mike said, “What man disappears from a lunch party with fresh lobster heading the menu to run an errand?”

A man’s voice said from the doorway, “The kind who wants to surprise the wild woman with the nearly healed ankle.”

She turned to see Nicholas holding a bouquet of blush-pink and white roses, peonies, and sprigs of delicate lily of the valley, all wrapped in fine blue gauze the same color as the Bay of Naples.

Nicholas held out the flowers. “For you, Agent Caine.”

“Oh goodness, Nicholas, they’re gorgeous, but what are they for?”

“Our anniversary. One month we’ve slain dragons together, maybe a bit longer, but close enough.”

Their anniversary. But it was more than that, lots more. It had been nearly one month today he’d come to her apartment after they’d survived a hair-raising adventure, and she’d leaped on him. Imagine, she’d only known him for a total of six months, since January, when he’d first come over from London. The Koh-i-Noor was January, and now here we are in July, partners in every sense, sitting on a veranda on a sunny Italian cliff. In six months her life had changed irrevocably. Well, his had as well. He’d uprooted himself from Scotland Yard in England to move to America, joined the FBI, and was now a firecracker agent and the two of them were leading the Covert Eyes team. And her life had expanded and blossomed—

“Where are you, Mike?”

She gave him a manic grin. “Just thinking, remembering. So much has happened, actually to all of us, in the last six months. And somehow, against the odds, we’re here and we’re friends.” She took the flowers and her hand lingered on his. “Thank you for the flowers. Let’s go dancing in Rome, my ankle’s almost one hundred percent. Some place to waltz. Do you waltz, Nicholas?”