The Librarian Spy(14)
He held out his large hand. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing his tanned, strong forearms. She gave his warm hand a quick, firm shake, then forced her attention to the newsstand. “I’m afraid I have a few things to gather here first.”
He chuckled, the sound a rich, rumbling timbre in his chest. “Everyone is so concerned with publications these days.”
An awkward silence settled between them as the conversation volleyed back to her. “You should have seen how happy my neighbor was with a copy of Time,” she offered for lack of anything more interesting to say.
Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt. The quote from Abraham Lincoln rushed at her in that moment, and she wished she could snatch the words back from the air like pages caught on the wind.
Lukas’s eyes narrowed. “American magazines are a rare find here in Portugal.”
He said it in a way that suggested she might have done something wrong in giving it away.
“I can only imagine he was elated with such a gift.” The shrewd expression eased into a smile once more. “I hope I may see you around, Miss...”
“Harper.” She flicked a glance up and wished she hadn’t when she saw the interest evident in his handsome gaze.
He nodded to himself, pleased as he backed away from her, still watching with an appreciation she should find offensive.
A dark-haired gentleman stood near her in a black suit with a robin’s-egg blue tie, his stature diminutive by comparison and the corners of his mouth elevated in an amused smirk at the exchange.
She turned away from him and lowered her head to the publications that should have been the whole of her focus. A fool indeed.
“I don’t recall that Americans are ones for fraternizing with Nazis.”
She startled and found the dark-haired man beside her. British, judging by his clipped accent.
“What?”
“That man you were speaking with.” He indicated the direction where Lukas had disappeared, melting into the crowd.
“He’s not a Nazi.” She sniffed and examined a page of the Evening Standard without focusing on the text. “He’s Austrian.”
“Let me guess...” The man put a finger to his chin, his expression deeply pensive. “He arrived here five years ago as a refugee to flee the Nazis? And whom Portugal has somehow kindly allowed to stay this long without kicking him out despite the people they arrest daily for such an offense as expired visas?”
Aware he had made his point, he lifted his dark brow.
But there was no rejoinder Ava could offer that would cool the heat of her humiliation, especially when she was so unfamiliar with Portuguese laws.
“If it makes you feel a modicum better, they do say that to all the American women.” He offered her a genuinely apologetic bow. “And all the American women fall prey to them.”
Ava stared hard at the various publications in front of her. Had she done so from the beginning, she would not be in this mess.
“I should like to start again.” He cleared his throat. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am James MacKinnon. You are Miss Harper, correct?”
“You heard my name mentioned to...the Austrian.” She caught herself before calling him Lukas. If James was right, Lukas was doubtlessly not his name.
“While I confess I did receive confirmation of your identity from accidentally overhearing your exchange, I actually happen to know much about you.”
“You do?” Ava studied his long face. He had a large nose that gave him a look of self-importance, but a spark in his eyes that suggested he didn’t take himself too seriously.
“I’ve been eager to meet the librarian everyone has been talking about.” He lifted his fedora half an inch from his head. “I look forward to seeing more of you as we run in the same circles, Miss Harper.” He dropped his hat back into place and was absorbed into the crowd before she could summon a sufficient response.
As she searched through the sea of unfamiliar faces, worry nipped the pit of her stomach.
Whatever her role was in this war, she clearly had already failed the first step.
FOUR
Hélène becomes Elaine
Two weeks passed before Hélène began to think of herself as Elaine Rousseau. After a lifetime of one name, it was not easy to conform to another. However, the desire to ensure Claudine’s safety and to belong to the Resistance spurred her determination.
Elaine pushed through the heavy door on Rue Saint Jean as the sun sank in the distance. The address was the last that remained on the list she had memorized. A courtyard filled with letterboxes greeted her. In the one marked with Chaput #4, she dropped the sealed envelope into the open slot above the locked box.
The message was the last of her cargo to be delivered. Immediately the tension at her shoulders ebbed. If she were caught now, the Nazis would have no evidence to use against her.
Familiar with the area, she followed the winding passage that connected the buildings, going through open courtyards to echoing tunnels toward the exit door on Rue des Trois Maries. Such passages existed all though Lyon though not all were as beautifully crafted as the one she currently made her way through, with its finely arched ceilings and rose-hued walls.
The traboules were used by the old silk workers over a century ago to travel quickly through the steeply slanting streets. The covered passages were still utilized by many to save time. As an added benefit, the winding paths made her steps difficult to trace should someone be following her.