The Librarian Spy(61)

It was also a good opportunity to handle books the way they should be.

But even as she went through the motions of repeated photography, the article in Combat with the typos clung irritably to the back of her mind like a burr.

Ava brought the edition of Combat home with her that night. First, she read through it again, searching the other articles to determine if they also contained typos she had initially missed.

They did not.

Then she set it aside and chastised herself for being ridiculous. But even as she brushed her teeth that night, she still couldn’t shake it from her thoughts.

She stalked out to the dining area where the publication sat on her table, took out a fresh pad of paper, and wrote down every wrong letter. There were fifty-eight staring back at her.

Fifty-eight in a print that never had even one typo was hardly a mistake. No, it was undeniably intentional.

She rearranged the letters, marking them off as she tried to create words in French, but nothing seemed to work. There were too many variations creating too many possibilities.

When the hands of her watch slipped past two in the morning, she resigned herself to give up for the night. The list of letters followed her into sleep, swirling in her brain and teasing at her subconscious. Not that it helped. In the morning she was just as stumped as before.

She woke to a foggy mind and an unresolved mystery. It would be best to put it aside, she knew, and yet could not stop herself from reconsidering those fifty-eight letters over and over in the background of her thoughts.

It was a crisp November day with a full sun overhead, and a breeze brisk enough to rouse the grogginess from her. Alfonso waved as she approached his kiosk.

They chatted briefly in Portuguese as they always did, though now he corrected her translation less and less. However, as they talked, there was a slight tension to him, an uneasiness that made him slide his gaze from hers several times.

“I have your papers for you.” He bent to retrieve the stack. “There is one I think you should see. Just under the latest copy of Das Reich.”

Ava thanked him, but he continued to stare at her. His smile was tight, and he gave her a ready nod, clearly wanting her to look at that moment.

Das Reich sat on top of the pile. She peeled it back to find a note. “The German has been asking about your schedule.”

Ava folded the paper back into place as casually as she could and tried to ignore the unease prickling through her. “That does look interesting.” She smiled and thanked him.

The German.

Lukas.

He gave her a worried wave and shifted his focus to another customer, a mother with a fidgeting toddler.

She glanced about but did not see the Nazi in the vicinity. Perhaps later, she could ask Alfonso for more information, if there was any more to be had. Regardless, the sensation of being watched suddenly crawled over her skin like something living.

A shudder ran down her back.

“Did someone walk over your grave?”

Ava spun around to find James standing behind her, a newspaper tucked under his arm, the word Standard from the Evening Standard just visible at the fold. It was the first time she’d seen him since the kiss, when the PVDE had followed them.

“I certainly hope not,” Ava responded tersely.

He frowned. “Has something happened?”

As much as she hated to admit it, he might know what to do. She waved him to follow her. “Walk with me.”

He joined her without question as she led him toward a café and slipped into a table at the far back. She laid the stack of papers on the rough white tablecloth and lifted it so he could read the note, aware that his Portuguese was strong enough to do so.

“The Austrian?” He arched a brow.

Ava nodded.

“I can join you in the mornings if you like.” He set his newspaper down. “After all, I have my own publications to obtain.”

“Isn’t the PVDE following you?” she asked in a low whisper.

He waved his hand dismissively. “Not anymore. It was a matter that was cleared up. But I never did thank you for your assistance that night.”

Ava’s cheeks went hot as a flame at the memory. “That isn’t necessary, and it won’t be repeated.”

The corners of his lips rose in a hint of a smile. “I would not presume.”

“Good,” she said, feeling suddenly awkward. “Because it won’t.”

He nodded, that grin notching higher. “Coffee?”

“Please,” she said stiffly.

This time he didn’t bother to conceal his chuckle as he pushed to his feet and ordered their beverages.

While he was gone, she opened her messenger bag to deposit the papers when she caught sight of Combat still resting within. She considered it for a moment and turned her attention back on James as he waited for their drinks.

The Allies all worked together, and though she hated to admit it, James was knowledgeable on many various topics. More so than Mike, she had discovered. And James was by far more approachable than Sims.

She pulled the single page of Combat from her bag and replaced it with the stack she’d obtained from Alfonso’s kiosk. The top flap of her messenger bag hung crooked despite her best efforts to cram everything in properly.

James peered at the French newspaper as he returned with their small cups of bica and dumped a generous helping of sugar into the dark liquid. “What’s this?”