Desire Me (11 page)

“The military,” Justin answered grimly.

“Exactly,” Max said.

“If I’m correct, then this murderer is following the prophecy, twisting it so that the seven rings represent seven generals.”

Max’s own enthusiasm dimmed a bit as he realized that the new discovery did not involve Atlantis.

“Five of whom are already dead,” Justin said.

Max listened, but said nothing. This entire scenario seemed highly improbable.

“Who are the three that the prophecy refers to?” Justin traced a line of the prophecy through the glass.

“Justin, as far as I’m aware, very few people know anything about the existence of the prophecy. People have seen my map”—Max
shook his head—“but I doubt they notice. It took me a long while to discover it.”

“Perhaps it is printed elsewhere,” Justin offered.

It was plausible, but none of Max’s research had ever suggested that the prophecy was a warning about the future. Granted,
he’d never found the exact wording of
the prophecy printed anywhere else. Whether or not there was a connection, there were
still lives in danger, and Justin was right, their queen needed to be warned.

“Who else would know about any of this?” Justin asked. “Any other Atlantis experts I could question?”

Sabine’s lovely face appeared in Max’s mind. She had arrived out of nowhere asking questions about the map. Did she have something
to do with these murders? Max wanted to get answers from her before Justin had the chance. “I’ll see what I can find out for
you,” he said.

Justin stepped back around the desk. “They’ll be missing this out of the evidence room.” He pocketed the note. “So I need
to get it back. I should be going. My apologies for interrupting you so late this evening.”

Max nodded.

“Let me know if you discover anything,” Justin said.

“There is no time to delay with something such as this,” Max said. “Tomorrow morning, we can try to see her majesty. Meet
me at the palace.”

Justin nodded. “Appreciate it.”

Max continued staring at the map long after Justin had left. He would definitely have to pay Sabine another visit. Whether
she was ready or not, it was time to share those secrets of hers.

Spencer looked up from his desk to stare at the girl. She was new, inexperienced and terrified. “What?”

She flinched. “There are two gentlemen here to see her majesty,” the maid said.

“Who are they?” He stood and walked around his desk to lean on it. “You always need to know who they are before you come in
here. I know you’ve been told that before.”

Her chin quaked, but she did not cry. “Yes sir, Mr. Cole. It’s an Inspector Salinger from Scotland Yard and the Marquess of
Lindberg.”

“Inspector Salinger.” Cole thought on the name for a moment, but he did not recognize it. “That is not who we normally communicate
with at the Yard.” And the marquess. Interesting pair. Spencer knew little about the man other than that he was a member of
that ridiculous club, Solomon’s, foolish gentlemen who fancied themselves treasure hunters. But Spencer did know the marquess
had the map of Atlantis. Once he had tried to break in and steal that map, but had failed. The security had been rather sophisticated.
And he’d been young and foolish and inexperienced then. Everything was different now.

Had the inspector gone to the marquess as an Atlantis expert to consult on the case? “Show them in,” he said.

The maid bobbed a sweet curtsy, then left the room. A moment later, the two men entered the waiting chamber. Just outside
her majesty’s offices, it was the closest one could be to the queen.

The inspector appeared to be of a similar age to Spencer, while the marquess had perhaps five years on them. Perhaps if he
had been raised in a traditional fashion, they would have shared times at school. “Please sit,” he offered. But the men made
no move to take the offered chairs. “It’s my understanding that you requested a visit with her majesty,” he said.

“We did,” the marquess said. “The inspector here”—he motioned to the other man—“has some official business to discuss with
her.”

“I am afraid that her majesty is not feeling well today.” Spencer smiled. “Nothing to be alarmed by, though, I can assure
you, but she asked that I take her meetings and
then report back to her. What is it that I can assist you with today, gentlemen?”

The inspector eyed the marquess cautiously, but the marquess nodded, urging his friend to go forward.

“It would seem that someone is making sport of our military officers,” the inspector said.

Ah, so that was why they were here. The Yard had finally paid attention. Had it been his note to the guardian that had made
them take notice? Or perhaps this inspector was more clever than the rest. “Making sport?” Spencer asked, feigning ignorance.

“Killing them, sir. Five of them thus far.” The inspector’s concern clearly showed in his furrowed brow. “I thought it prudent
to notify her majesty so that she might take the proper precautions. Alert the officers that they should be on guard,” the
inspector said. “Perhaps offer extra protection.”

“You are certain these haven’t been accidents? They are military men, after all,” Spencer countered, merely for his own amusement.
“I have heard of countless accidents on the field of battle and even in their own homes. Cleaning a gun, perhaps.” Of course,
he, as the Chosen One, would never try to convince them the killings hadn’t been murders. Still, he couldn’t resist toying
with these two men, if only for a little while.

“No, we know for certain the deaths are connected,” the marquess spoke up.

So the marquess had been brought in to assist with the investigation.

“There’s more,” the inspector said. “There is evidence at this last scene indicating that her majesty could be in danger.
I wanted to warn her. Her security is of our upmost concern at the Yard.”

“I can assure you, Inspector, that the security for Queen Victoria is quite thorough. But we will take your suggestion under
advisement,” Spencer said.

The inspector pulled a card out of the inside of his jacket and placed it on Spencer’s desk. “If you could pass this along
to her. Should she have any questions, I am at her service.”

“Splendid.” Spencer tucked the card into his own jacket. “I will be certain to tell her majesty of your visit and your concerns,”
Spencer said. “Rest assured that we will do whatever is necessary to protect our military officers. It would be devastating
to our country to lose any more of them.”

The men said their good-byes, then left. Spencer waited another moment, then lit a match and held it to the inspector’s card.
The flame ate at the paper, consuming the letters of the man’s name, first in black then in ash. Victoria knew about the murders;
she was kept informed. But there was no reason to notify her of this particular visit.

It was laughable that Scotland Yard had contacted the marquess for assistance—as if he were an expert on the subject of Atlantis.
The man had found a map, but he was a treasure hunter, nothing more. All the same, perhaps it would behoove Spencer to investigate
this marquess.

Unlike the bloody nobleman who was merely obsessed with the lost land, Spencer had Atlantis in his blood, beating within his
heart. He was from a long line of great warriors, and it was past time for them to regain power and finish what his ancestors
had started.

Max and Justin made their way into the main room of Solomon’s. For a Friday afternoon, more people than
usual filled the area.
A familiar face smiled from the right-hand corner and waved the two of them over.

“Fielding,” Max said as they approached the table. They shook hands.

Fielding folded up the newspaper he’d been reading and set it on the table.

It had only been a few months before that Fielding and his new bride had taken refuge at Max’s house during a dangerous adventure,
and now they were both members of the exclusive club. “Where’s the wife?”

“Shopping.” Fielding looked over at the door. “She was supposed to meet me half an hour ago. She’s late, as usual.”

“You know Justin Salinger, right?” Max asked.

“We’ve met once, I think,” Justin said. The two of them joined Fielding at his table.

“Have you heard from the Raven?” Max asked Fielding.

Fielding leaned forward and tapped two fingers on the table. “The thing about my uncle is, he never makes his presence known
until he either needs something or is setting a trap.” Fielding smiled. “I don’t suspect he’ll hide forever, though. There’s
too much treasure out there waiting to be claimed.”

Max nodded. “He’s been causing problems for the men of Solomon’s for years. More than likely we haven’t seen the last of him.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Fielding said.

A moment later, two more gentlemen stepped inside. Max knew them all and waved.

Nick Callum and Graeme Langford sidled over to the table and took seats; Nick flipped his around and straddled it.

“It’s a compulsion with you to be different,” Graeme noted, pointing to Nick’s chair.

Nick cursed Graeme in response.

“Children,” Max chided, then laughed.

“How goes the Atlantis search?” Graeme asked.

Max shrugged. “New research of late, but I’m not certain it will lead to anything.”

“He got shot,” Justin added.

“Not the first time,” Fielding said.

Max chuckled. “I forgot I told you that story.”

“It was a woman that shot him,” Justin teased.

“Who was it this time?” Fielding asked.

“What the devil, Salinger, if you tell all my bloody secrets, I’ll tell yours,” Max said. It was unlikely he’d share official
police business, especially if her majesty was in danger, though any of that information would be safe here among these men.

Then Esme Grey came in, wife of Fielding and the only female member of Solomon’s. Inviting a woman to join their infamous
roster had never been an option until Esme. She and Fielding had been offered membership the previous summer after saving
the crown jewels, not to mention Pandora’s box. Max had wholeheartedly approved of the addition of the Greys to Solomon’s.

“Hello, darling,” she said as she swooped down to kiss Fielding’s cheek.

Nick grabbed a chair for her from the next table.

“Thank you,” she said, plopping herself down next to her husband.

“Did you spend all of our money?” Fielding asked.

She gave a dainty shrug. “Perhaps.” Then she began digging into her shopping bag. “I know you will all be delighted to know
I have purchased a new pair of gloves,”
she said, placing them on the table, “a new hat,” again, it went onto the table, “and
some fancy face crème.” She set the jar down as well.

“I knew if we allowed a woman in our midst, she’d start bringing in fancy-smelling whatnots,” Nick said with feigned annoyance.

“I’ll have you know that none of this is for here, this is all for me,” Esme said teasingly.

Max looked down at Esme’s treasures. Normally he wouldn’t have given much thought to anything a woman had bought. Shouldn’t
normally care about a lady’s trinkets or toilet items. But just as he was about to look away, something caught his glance.

He snatched up the jar of crème for a better inspection.

“See there, you’ve already ruined Lindberg,” Nick said.

Max shook his head, then he looked up at Esme. “Did you buy this at the little shop in Piccadilly Square?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes. A friend suggested it, said it’s all the rage right now. It’s supposed to remove unwanted lines from
one’s face.” She smiled brightly. “Perhaps we’ll use some on you right here.” With her finger, she smoothed the skin between
Fielding’s brows.

He swatted her hand away. “Those lines make me look distinguished. Otherwise I’d be just as pretty as Nick here.”

“Why do you ask?” Esme turned to Max.

“I had the opportunity to meet Miss Tobias recently,” he said.

“Isn’t she utterly charming? And so beautiful,” Esme said.

“Charming and beautiful,” Justin repeated. “You never mentioned that.”

“So she’s the lass who shot you?” Graeme asked.

“Not exactly,” Max said.

“Honestly, Max, you must be more careful,” Esme warned.

“I will endeavor to be so. Now if you would all excuse me, I’m going to see if Marcus is here.” He stood.

“Research library,” Fielding said. “He came in about an hour ago looking as stern and focused as ever.”

Max nodded and left the table.

He didn’t know Marcus Campbell well, only that he generally kept to himself, quiet and intently focused on his own particular
research. That and he was building a unique machine that could be quite beneficial to Max.

As Fielding had said, Marcus stood behind a table in the research library poring over two large maps. He walked from one to
the other, jotting notes in his notebook as he went.

“Marcus,” Max said as he entered the room.

Marcus didn’t acknowledge Max’s presence initially; he simply continued writing in his book. When he finished, he looked up.

“Ah, Lindberg, it’s you.” Marcus looked back down at the maps.

Max took a seat. “How goes the submersible boat, Marcus?”

Marcus looked up from his map. “I told you that you may not borrow my design.”

“Yes, you did. But you did not say whether or not I could actually borrow the boat.” Max shrugged. “Once it’s finished, of
course.”

“For this Atlantis escapade?” Marcus set his notebook down. “I would need proof.”

“And more funding,” Max noted. “I heard the Americans
are having another contest, awarding the winner two million dollars.”

Marcus scoffed. “They want war machines with torpedoes. What I am building”—he jabbed his finger onto his notebook—“is for
scientific exploration.”

Max knew for certain that the plans for said machine were in that notebook—drawings, dimensions, and all of Marcus’s well-developed
research. “Precisely why I would like to use it,” Max said, leaning forward. “I can assist with funding.”

Marcus was quiet for several moments before he spoke again. “You bring me proof, and we’ll talk,” he finally said.