A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) by Jacki Delecki Page A

stroll. His natural response was to tackle the man first and then figure out what game he was playing. Sir Ramston’s instructions flashed through his mind. Undercover and discreet. Spying was a cat-and-mouse game and he needed to act like a cat, not the bulldog that he was. Acting the part of a cat didn’t sit well. He slowed his pace to a rapid walk.
    At the first corner, the assailant paused, and then glanced back over his shoulder. He anticipated the move, ducking behind one of the thick oaks lining the street.
    The caped man entered the main boulevard and slowed his pace. The street was empty and there was no place to hide. The dark night afforded little cover since lanterns lit the way.
    He waited, watching the man move further away. His heart raced against his chest. Every muscle tightened and strained to give chase. When the assailant turned the corner, he sprinted after him. Holding his breath, he hugged the building and edged around the corner. The man had disappeared.
    He squinted hard, trying to make the man reappear on the small side street lined only with darkened houses. He swore under his breath and moved down the street. In the middle of the block, tucked between two houses, a narrow alleyway appeared. He bolted down into the smelly darkness to investigate. The slimy cobblestones were as slippery as his adversary. The alley was a dead end.
    Frantic and frustrated, he retraced his steps. He returned to the street, walking back and forth in front of the alley looking for a clue to the man’s disappearance. He was hot, hot from the effort but mainly hot from the fury that seethed under his skin as he admitted the painful truth—he had just blown his first spy mission. His gut twisted in knots with the idea that Kendal might be mortally wounded because of incompetence.
    He strode down the boulevard toward Kendal’s house, trying to figure out a way to determine Kendal’s injury without breaking his cover. Sir Ramston had directed him to keep Kendal ignorant of the intrigue that swirled around him. Sir Ramston believed that Kendal’s naïveté would keep the French from becoming suspicious, but with this evening’s events, all strategies were in the wind.
    Kendal’s house was fully illuminated and a carriage sat outside. Presumably, the doctor was in attendance and when his patient was stabilized, the doctor would depart. When the doctor got into his carriage, Brinsley would have the perfect opportunity to discover the extent of Kendal’s injury.
    Brinsley returned to his post under the tree in the park and waited for the doctor. Rain beat on his head and dripped into his collar during the half hour he waited.
    With his bag in hand, the doctor walked toward his carriage with his head down.
    Brinsley left his position and reached the doctor before he entered his carriage. “Sir, how is my good friend Kendal? I just heard the news and came as fast as I could.”
    The doctor shook his head. “Your friend is very lucky. A few more inches and…” The doctor raised his hand in Gallic fashion. “Unless he develops an infection, your friend will recover but he will be laid up for months.”
    “I’m grateful to hear my dear friend is in good hands.” If the doctor only knew the extent of his gratitude for Kendal’s survival.
    “It would be best to wait to visit until tomorrow. I’ve given him a large dose of laudanum.” The doctor climbed into his carriage. “I bid you good night.”
    “Good night, Sir.” Brinsley exhaled a slow breath of relief as the doctor drove away. But the relaxed feeling didn’t last long. Guilt and self-loathing swelled into his body over his botched job of guarding Kendal and for allowing the assassin to escape.
    How did it come to pass that Kendal was chased down in front of his house by a professional assassin in the middle of the night? Was Le Chiffre behind the shooting? There had been no obvious changes in Kendal’s routines or the household of Le Chiffre. What had