Page 4 of Beloved Sacrifice

“We’re not abandoning Rose,” she snapped. A tiny voice reminded her that Devon loved Rose. Maybe loved Rose more than he would ever love her.

She shoved that thought down.

“Then we go in, meet with him, and see what he has to say.”

Juliette nodded, and let Devon lead her into the boutique hotel, the location they’d selected for the meeting with the K&R specialist. The walls were all dark wood paneling, the floor glossy tile and precisely placed rugs. Waxy white flowers were clustered in Chinese vases on marble-topped tables. The lobby was circular, one side of the space sectioned off with Wedgewood tables to create the bar area. It was midnight and the bar was closed, the lobby nearly deserted. Behind the curved reception desk there was an open door, and a bell sat on the counter, waiting to summon the receptionist.

There were three occupants—two agents in training, who had taken seats in the white lobby chairs, positioned so they could see both the door and the only other person.

An Asian man sat at one of the larger tables in the bar. He wore a dark blue suit with a black shirt, no tie. His hair was cut in a clean side-part style. His features were even and symmetrical, with the high cheekbones of a male model, though after studying his face, she revised her mental description from Asian to probably-has-one-Asian-parent. They approached, Juliette resisting the urge to pull her hood lower.

The man rose, looking between them.

Devon stopped a few feet from the table. “Marek Lee?”

“And you must be Devon Asher.” Marek’s voice carried a trace of an east Asian accent, but had the clipped consonants of the British Isles. He turned to Juliette and bowed slightly from the waist. “Grand Master.”

She merely inclined her head. They had decided that she’d stay quiet until they established if this man was who he said he was.

“Please, would you have a seat?” Marek motioned to the table, bowing slightly once more.

Devon pulled out a chair for Juliette and she sat, keeping her hands on her lap, her head bowed slightly. Devon sat beside her.

Marek resumed his seat. Silence stretched.

Marek quirked his lips once, then said, “I’m afraid that I cannot decide if I will help you if you do not tell me what you need.”

“Decide if you’ll help us?” Devon questioned.

“I am not a mercenary, Mr. Asher.”

“If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

“I would prefer you not insult me, Mr. Asher.”

Devon sucked in a breath, opened his mouth—

Juliette put a hand on his knee under the table.

“Mr. Lee.” Juliette kept her voice low and quiet. “I believe your mother was a friend of my father.” It was a testing question. Once Tasha had given them a name, they’d been able to look through their membership records and learn a bit about him. Tasha had been right. Marek Lee had ties to the Trinity Masters.

Marek inclined his head. “My mother attended Harvard and was part of the U.S. diplomatic corps in Singapore, where she met my father, who was assistant to the British ambassador.”

Juliette chose her words with care. “My father attended Harvard; perhaps that is where they met.”

Many members of the Trinity Masters were recruited in college, from one of Boston’s three major universities as well as others.

“I believe your brother went there as well.” Marek’s tone matched hers, each word deliberate.

If he knew that the previous Grand Master—Harrison—was her brother, then he knew more about the inner workings of the Trinity Masters than anyone but the counselors should.

Something in her body language must have given away her tension because Marek’s eyes narrowed and he held up one hand. “Please understand, Ms. Adams, I do not wish you any ill will.”

Devon came half out of his chair when Marek said her name. Once more she laid a restraining hand on his leg.

“It’s okay, Devon.” She pushed back the hood. “Perhaps we should speak frankly, Marek.”

“Frankly and honestly,” he countered.

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