Page 87 of Beloved Sacrifice

The library was small and absolutely crammed with books. There was barely three feet between the tall two-sided bookcases. The cases didn’t match—some were elegant dark wood, others olive-green metal.

The front desk was exactly that, a large desk, and the man working at it had papers spread all over the surface, giving the impression that he should have been in an office somewhere, but they’d shoved his desk out here so it could do double duty.

Elliot led them through an aisle of stacks to the back of the building. Here, there were large windows that had a glorious view of the water and the boats lined up along the branching piers of the yacht club.

Warm sunlight spilled in, and this seemed like a different place than the cramped, musty front of the library. Under one window was a blond wood table, the surface bleached nearly white by the sun. On it sat two banker’s boxes, a small comb-bound manual, and three old cassette tape players with even older-looking headphones.

“Here you are.” Elliot picked up the comb-bound manual and handed it over. “You said you’re looking for memories from nineteen forty-two. This here is a list of everyone we recorded, and a quick note about what they were saying, and what year they were talking about, if they remembered that.”

Weston took the manual with an internal groan. This was going to take forever. His plan had been to rent a room in Poole and spend a week going through it all. Now he had only hours.

Elliott looked around. “I’ve got three, but I’ll see if I can find a fourth player. It’ll go a mite bit faster with all of you listening.”

Weston’s blood ran cold, and he twisted to look at Marek, Rose, and Tristan. He could be a moron sometimes.

Tristan couldn’t be a part of this. Even if all Weston told him was that they were looking for any information about a Spanish ship that docked here instead of Dover in the early days of the war, that might be enough to pique Tristan’s curiosity.

Tristan could, if he wanted, place a single call and have members of the Masters’ Admiralty, which probably included tons of historians and scholars, piece together the story of the Esperanza. If the Masters’ Admiralty learned the secret, then Weston had no leverage over the purists, because if they knew, they would take action. When he’d been young, he had wanted explosive, wild revenge. But now…now he just wanted to quietly blackmail his parents. If either the Trinity Masters or the Masters’ Admiralty knew, something big would happen. Before now he hadn’t been willing to risk that because Rose and Caden could have, maybe would have, been collateral damage.

But he no longer wanted the Admiralty or the Trinity Masters involved. The safest way, the only way, was to keep the information secret and use it as needed.

Something must have shown on his face, because Marek put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll help.”

Tristan nodded in agreement.

Rose met his gaze and her eyes widened. She understood the very large problem. She winked.

Weston didn’t dare respond, not with Marek and Tristan looking at him.

“I’m not helping,” she declared. “I need real clothes. Underwear. Socks.”

“I can go with you,” Marek said.

Tristan frowned.

“You did tell us we were free to go,” Marek pointed out.

Damn. He needed Tristan gone, not Marek. He trusted Marek. Maybe it was foolish to do so, but he did trust the other man, after what had passed between the three of them last night. Marek’s help might, just might, make this a manageable task.

And right now, Marek was, without meaning to, being a huge pain in the ass.

“Yeah, just give us the car keys, Blondie,” Rose said. “We promise to bring it back.”

“No,” Tristan said.

“Then we’ll all go.” Rose gave Weston a significant look.

It took him a moment to figure out what she’d set up, but he got it. “There’s not enough time for me to do this on my own.”

Rose sighed, “I’m sorry, Wes, but I need…I need to feel normal.”

Either she was a very good actress or that statement was more than just a way to manipulate Tristan. It was true.

“Of course, Brown Eyes.”

“Since you don’t want us taking your car, Blondie, you can take me shopping. And Marek, you help Wes.” She crossed her arms again. “Either that, or I’m going to start walking until I find a place, and then I’ll either have to steal the clothes or exchange sexual favors for jeans.”

Her words made Weston wince and Marek frown, but they were exactly the right thing to say to Tristan. He wouldn’t let Rose go alone.

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