The Last of August

From behind his hands, he groaned.

“So you’re providing agents to serve as his . . . bodyguards. It would have to be bodyguards. But how did it come to pass? Hadrian would never approach you, not unless he’d gleaned that August was working for Greystone, and I imagine that if that were the case, we’d have seen some fallout already. Unless Leander’s disappearance is the fallout—but no, he’d have gone for me directly. From what I’ve heard of Hadrian Moriarty and his six-thousand-dollar watch, he’s not particularly subtle. No. You approached him.”

Milo sipped his coffee.

“But why on earth would he agree? Even if he doesn’t personally want me flayed and hanging on his wall, his older brother does, and I can’t imagine Hadrian wanting to rock the boat without a good reason. What could you have offered him? You don’t appeal to a Moriarty’s better angels. Sorry, August”—August groaned again—“but you don’t get traction that way, not really, and so you had to make him afraid.” She read some invisible cue in her brother’s face. “No. You didn’t. You appealed to something he was already afraid of.”

“Leander,” I said, putting the pieces together. “He’s afraid that Leander will expose his forgery ring.”

“But he wasn’t investigating Hadrian directly—oh. Leander was deep undercover. He might have kicked up some stray information that led back to Hadrian. And if no one in the government is paying any attention to art swindlers—”

“And then a Holmes comes along with a boatload of information, and takes it to the press—”

“—even if the government never goes after him, his international reputation is ruined,” Holmes finished neatly. “No more lining his piggy bank with cash from plundered treasure.”

August looked up. His eyes were miserable. “So you’re feeding my brother information about Leander’s investigation, you do his private security. And your men report back to you about what Hadrian is doing.”

“Peterson,” Milo called. “Please get these three some gold stars.”

Maybe I was getting better at this. Maybe I was just the only one who was properly afraid. “Are you so morally bankrupt that you’re willing to gamble with your uncle’s life?” I demanded.

“The information runs both ways,” Milo said. “I told Leander how to keep safely out of Hadrian’s way. I told Leander how to avoid Hadrian. It was the only way to keep abreast of the situation. It’s a lesson of my father’s—it’s always worth sacrificing safety for omnipotence.”

“It isn’t your safety you were sacrificing,” I told him, and he set his jaw.

“So it can’t be Hadrian who has Leander,” August was saying, with palpable relief. “Or Phillipa, the two of them are inseparable. You’re saying they’re not involved?”

“Insofar as I can tell,” Milo said, “no.”

Holmes looked down at her hands. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t upset. For a brief moment, she looked . . . crestfallen. As though she’d known, absolutely known the solution to Leander’s disappearance, and had that surety taken away. I’d wondered why she hadn’t been more outwardly worried about her uncle. Here was my answer. She thought that finding him would be as easy as tracking down August’s brother.

She wasn’t used to being wrong.

Scowling, she leaned forward to study Milo’s security feeds again, as if the answer were there. Maybe it was.

I turned back to Milo. “Hadrian knows the details of Leander’s investigation. And you don’t think he’s responsible for his disappearance.”

Milo sniffed. “Leander wasn’t anywhere near Hadrian’s operation, not until very recently, when he ended up working a source—a dealer who also represented Moriarty interests. Hadrian heard about it, so I heard about it. And as soon as I did, I phoned my uncle up and told him to leave the country. To go stay with my father, who had connections that could shed new light on the investigation from a distance. It was enough time for the dealer to go to ground before Leander returned. Everyone happy. Everyone unharmed.”

“Hadrian could have had agents in England,” I said.

“He wouldn’t dare. I have every inch of our house surveilled.”

“And Phillipa—”

“Lottie has her own plans there. I imagine.” He frowned. “Either way, it’s not as though you’re in any danger. I’ll send along a sniper or two.”

“A sniper or two,” August muttered. “You’re all the same.”

Beside him, Holmes moved her hands up and down in front of the screen. Nothing happened.

“Excuse me?” Milo said. “I’m juggling a number of flaming clubs here, one of which is you. I’m more than happy to find you a position in Siberia, August.”

“Thank you. Really. I’m sure Leander appreciated this kind of meddling, too.”

“Oh, yes,” Milo said blandly. “He was thrilled.”

“Hold on,” I said. “If he wasn’t hunting down Hadrian and Phillipa, what exactly was Leander investigating in the first place?”

With a small sound of triumph, Holmes jerked her wrist to the right. All twelve surveillance screens changed: a series of views of the Sussex home’s front door. Her left hand made a sharp diagonal, and they all began to rapidly rewind. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">