a Touch of Revenge (Romantic Mystery - book 6): The Everly Gray Adventures by L.j. Charles Read Free Book Online Page B

and waited for backup in the form of Tynan Pierce. It was an excellent plan, with almost no chance of me screwing it up, except that my chosen backup hadn’t left so much as a text message in over twenty-four hours.
    Unsettling.
    And not at all like Pierce.

 
    SIX
     
    THE ENGLISH RIVIERA WAS ONE of the nicer surprises I’d had recently. Maybe the only nice surprise. And, even better, I’d snagged the last available room in Mrs. Brumley’s lovely bed and breakfast. There were quaint side streets to explore, graceful sailboats moored in the harbor, and old-fashioned lights lined the streets, casting a soft glow over the sidewalks.
    It should have been relaxing, but I was vigilantly tense from waiting for Tynan Pierce to show up. It wasn’t like him to leave me hanging on the brink of trouble. Or maybe he wasn’t concerned because he already knew this lead on Mitch’s boss was a dead end that would keep me out of trouble until we went after Eamon Grady together.
    Had he been thinking the reason behind Mitch’s spying was for my protection? It made sense. There’d be no reason for Pierce to rush after me if he knew I was perfectly safe. It pissed me off, though. He could have let me know. Still, that interpretation didn’t feel quite right, but…hell, there wasn’t anything for me to do here but play tourist and ask questions.
    Tourists took in the sights and ate, and since food was something I could get into, I wandered along the street, following the scent of fish and chips. It would be the perfect way to celebrate my first evening in the UK, and the pub looked cozy and warm, a perfect hideout from the cool, foggy evening. Besides, I loved the name. The Moon and Star.
    My server appeared to be in her early twenties with dark brown, almost black, hair and a welcoming smile. “What will it be this evening, Miss?”
    “The fish and chips please.” I glanced at her name tag. “And if I could have a light beer with that, Cait, it would be perfect.”
    Her deep blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “A yank are you, then?”
    “I am. And do I detect a bit of Irish beneath the Brit?” She sounded a little like my one-time mentor, Whitney Boulay, and there was a smidge of Tynan Pierce coloring her accent.
    “Scottish, actually. On my father’s side. Would you like the mushy peas or the tartar sauce with the chippies?”
    I ran my tongue over my lips, thinking. “Mushy peas, unless the tartar sauce is heavy on the capers.”
    Cait wrinkled her nose. “Too light on the pickle, capers, and horseradish, and too heavy on the mayonnaise. So, mushy peas it is. Anything else, Miss?”
    Another table had been seated in her section, and the manager gave her a raised eyebrow. I motioned toward the newly seated party of four. “Go ahead and take care of your other customers, but I’d love some sightseeing advice when you have a break.”
    She winked, then hustled off. I lounged into the corner of the booth and absorbed the atmosphere. If I didn’t nag Pierce soon, he’d probably worry, so I sent off a quick text. Where are you? I’m in Torquay. Without backup. Not that I needed any backup if Connor turned out to be a friend of my mom’s, but Annie and Whitney had trained me well, and I felt naked without it.
    Sliding my phone into my handbag, I ran through a few questions that had been churning since I left North Carolina. If Connor truly was Mitch’s boss, why did he live in the UK? Mitch was US-based, and had worked almost exclusively for the government. True, the States had a working relationship with Britain, but to have his boss based out of the country? This had to be something my mother set up before she was killed. But that was so far beyond bizarre it made my skin itch.
    The bartender served my beer, and promised the food would be out shortly. I sipped. It was a crisp, light lager that would go well with the fish and chips. Cait popped over to my table a few minutes later with a steaming corrugated-cardboard