Page 40 of Assassin's Prey
And far too close to the times I remembered my parents going out in the evenings. Leaving us boys with a babysitter. This was their world, their people. And here I was, pretending I was worthy to enter the sacred space that had once been theirs.
“Abby!” A young woman in a neat nun’s habit, hair buried beneath a black veil, rushed to meet us as we entered the lobby. Someone from St. Mary’s, I presumed. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for inviting me, Sister Katherine.”
The nun’s warm smile stretched to encompass me. “There are cocktails being served in the reading room. May I show you the way?”
But Abby waved Sister Katherine on. “You have much more important things to attend to. We’ll find it.” She leaned in, exchanging a brief but heartfelt hug. “Will I see Margaret later?”
“She wouldn’t miss seeing you,” Sister Katherine said, then hurried off.
“Margaret?” I asked as we walked through the museum lobby.
“The head of St. Mary’s.” A hollow look filled her eyes before she blinked it away. “Margaret knew my mother for a short time.”
I wanted to stop, to drag Abby to one side of the wide hall and kiss her until that look was a thing of the past, until pain was a distant memory. But I couldn’t have what I wanted, not right now, not with the crowd surging around us. All these people made it difficult to determine threats, to position myself so I could protect Abby if I needed to. It kept me on alert, tense. I’d never had social niceties to begin with, but now… The men here might seem more civilized, but they knew a threat when they saw one, and gave me a wide berth.
The women were another matter altogether.
“I told you there might be a mob,” Abby murmured as I handed her a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
Women in all directions were glancing our way, some covertly and some without an ounce of shyness about the hunger flaring in their eyes as they settled on me. I was tempted to suck back my entire glass but limited myself to a small sip; I didn’t, however, resist the need to tug at my tie. “It’s warm in here, isn’t it?”
Abby chuckled.
To our right I caught sight of an older woman in a blue sequined gown, white hair gently curling around her head, gliding toward us, arms outstretched. Abby broke into a wide smile. “Mrs. Davenport, what a pleasure to see you again.” She reached for the older woman’s hand, real affection in her voice.
Nancy Davenport. A former governor’s wife, and from what Abby had told me, the only one of her father’s acquaintances to take a motherless girl under her wing when Abby first stepped into the role of her father’s hostess.
“Darling Abby, it’s so good to have you back with us.” She enveloped Abby in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and air-kisses.
“Oh, I’m not back, Mrs. Davenport,” Abby assured her. “Simply a visit for my favorite charity.”
“I know they find you a blessing, my dear.” She leaned back, her faded green eyes seeming to take in every detail of Abby’s face. “You’re doing well.”
A statement of fact, not a question. A soft smile answered her. “I am.”
I held back the denial that wanted to escape me. How could Abby say that? She’d lost her home, someone was trying to kill us, and she was shackled to a man whose emotional growth had been stunted in childhood. It was amazing she was still sane.
And yet that smile didn’t lie, nor did the hand that reached for mine.
Mrs. Davenport’s gaze latched on to the move, then trailed up my chest to my face. “And who do we have here?” she cooed.
Red tinged Abby’s cheeks, a soft blush that made me want to kiss her. I took Mrs. Davenport’s hand instead, her papery skin soft against my calluses. “I’m Abby’s boyfriend, ma’am. Levi Agozi.”
Her eyes went wide. “My my my, you are a handsome one, aren’t you?” She winked Abby’s way. “You are one lucky girl, my dear. And deserve every moment of it.”
“I believe I am the lucky one, Mrs. Davenport,” I said and meant every word.
An actual twinkle lit the older woman’s eyes. “Why you— Wait, did you say Agozi?”
“Yes.”
Friendly speculation slid over me again. “Any relation to Nathaniel Agozi?”
My breath caught in my throat. “My father.”
The words came out gruff, but I don’t think Mrs. Davenport noticed. She was turning to scan the room, a light laugh escaping her. “That scamp! I can’t believe Redding didn’t tell me you were here.” She turned back to us. “He knows how close I was to your dear mother.” Her scrutiny this time was more personal. “How in the world did I miss it? You have your father’s face. And definitely his looks.”
