London Twist: A Delilah Novella

me enough credit.”
    “I’m sure I don’t.”
    “What I mean is, who do you think was sent to Riyadh to sew up loose ends there?”
    She looked at him for a long moment. Yes, she could believe it. She’d sensed the hardness beneath the humorously urbane exterior. She had no doubt that, were it part of the job, he could kill without compunction.
    She bit off a piece of croissant, slowly chewed, and swallowed, taking her time, the nonchalance deliberate. “And you’re telling me this now why? You want me to sleep with you out of gratitude?”
    He frowned and said, “I’m sorry you would think so little of me.” He paused to sip his tea, then added with a smile, “I mean, I would never expect you to tell me your reasons.”
    The truth was, maybe she should have been grateful. Farid had been a cruel, sick man. Obsessed with her, determined to hurt her. Now he would never be able to do so. Because of Kent.
    And yet she couldn’t get past everything killing Farid had set in motion.
    “And after all,” he said, after a moment, “the op is done. I suppose we’re colleagues no longer.”
    “We were never colleagues, Kent.”
    “No? What, then?”
    She thought of what was going to happen to Fatima’s brother. “Collaborators. And the collaboration is finished.”
    “Exactly my point. If all the dreary professional obligations are done with, perhaps I could take you to dinner. Purely to celebrate your success. Tomorrow night, all right?”
    She wondered what sort of pressing business he must have had that evening if he was willing to delay his hoped-for personal conquest. She didn’t get the feeling that deferring gratification was one of Kent’s strengths.
    “Under other circumstances, maybe. And even then against my better judgment. But I’m afraid I’m done in London. It’s time for me to go.”
    “I understand you have the Notting Hill flat for the rest of the week.”
    She was irritated that he had access to such details, but she didn’t show it. “Yes, and as soon as I’m gone you’re welcome to use it for the duration of the lease. I’ll send you the key.”
    He made an expression of exaggerated hurt. “Why are you so hard on me? I don’t think you can reasonably blame me for being attracted to you, you know.”
    It was actually a fair question, and combined with a nice, direct compliment, too, but she found she didn’t have an answer. Just a sense that Kent, and the Director, and all these men… had put her in a position she wouldn’t soon recover from. If ever. And a foreboding that the weight she already felt from everything she had done was only set to worsen, perhaps more than she could even presently understand. Under the circumstances, his assumption that she might now want some sort of personal relationship with him felt like a calculated insult, though she doubted he really intended it as such, or would even have understood if she tried to explain.
    “I’m not trying to be hard on you. I’m trying to be gentle. It would be cruel to fuel your hopes.”
    “Try me.”
    She finished her tea and stood. “I’m glad the operation was a success, Kent. But I’m quite sure we won’t see each other after this.”
    He stood and offered his hand. “You won’t take me seriously, I know, but that really does make me very… sad.”
    The sincerity in his expression was as off-balancing as it was appealing. But she didn’t answer. She shook his hand and started to withdraw. But he leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks. “I hope you’re wrong,” he said. “About seeing me again.”
    • • •
    Delilah arrived at Fatima’s flat, a walk-up in Covent Garden, at just after dark. She took the usual precautions to ensure she wasn’t being followed, and though she was confident the “after dark” request had been made for discretion’s sake and nothing more, she was extra careful on the final approach. She saw no one out of place. If there were people watching Fatima’s flat, it was from a distance.
    Of course, it wasn’t just the exterior she needed to be concerned about. John would have told her the whole thing might have been a setup, that there could be men waiting inside the flat itself, and if so she would be walking right into an ambush. Her mind gave his professional paranoia enough credence to remain alert as she knocked on the door, but her gut told her the caution was excessive. Besides, she would have taken this risk before the op was done; why would it be