Page 80 of The Bachelor Spy
Now everything was in place for them to solve a mystery or two together.
Everything had felt rather incomplete without her sleuthing partner, but with Frederick home, they could find the answers together.
Even if he couldn’t see.
His brain was in top-notch order.
And heaven knew she had questions that needed answering—about Blake, about Miss Gale, about the peculiar behaviors Brandon had noticed in the west wing.
Questions that wouldn’t wait for Frederick’s eyes to heal.
There was no time to lose.
With Grace’s discovery of Blake and Evie’s spy life, not to mention his current mission at Havensbrooke, Freddie’s little wife had just put herself in potential danger. Blake sighed from his spot by the window in the patients’ quarters, pretending to read a book while two men played cards to his left.
He needed to find proof that Nurse Wilson or Rivers was the Midnight Angel and stop her from passing any further information to Smith or the contact someone was meeting at the old ruins.
Or at least that’s what the evidence suggested from Blake’s early morning reconnaissance of the chapel and the ruins.
Recent footprints. Evidence of a fire with something other than wood burned in it.
Papers. All ash now.
But not old.
Blake had that uncomfortable prickling at the back of his neck—the kind that warned when a mission was about to go sideways. All the unanswered questions, all the dangerous intelligence they’d uncovered—it was building toward something. One more discovery, one careless conversation, and the whole thing would explode.
Especially after he and Evie had spent most of the night exchanging information—and kisses, truth be told.
The mission had grown substantially more dangerous. The Midnight Angel wasn’t just passing along intelligence about troop movements, patterns, and locations.
She was building a kill list.
British agents, officers, anyone who might be a threat to German operations.
Evie had discovered some of the stories through her own research from former contacts. Many “natural” deaths happening around medical facilities, but the pattern and signs suggested foul play. A wounded soldier’s “suicide” with a suspiciously clean gunshot wound. A tragic fall down the stairs by an officer who’d been asking too many questions. A nurse who’d apparently died of fever—except the symptoms hadn’t matched any known illness.
No one questioned deaths in a hospital or casualty clearing station at the Front, especially during wartime.
And Evie feared both of their code names were on the list. Her real identity almost certainly was, thanks to her brother’s betrayal.
If the Midnight Angel matched their names to their faces …
They would go from hunter to hunted.
This needed to end. Soon.
Blake had spent the past three days cataloguing both Nurse Wilson’s and Nurse Rivers’ movements, their interactions, the way each positioned herself in any given room. Wilson moved with confidence and remarkable efficiency, splitting her time between the wards.
Rivers flitted about like a butterfly—always cheerful, always helpful, readily available to the soldiers, especially the younger ones.
He rolled his eyes at that particular observation.
But Wilson’s questioning of the patients came with less fanfare. More sincerity.
Or feigned sincerity.
At the card table near Blake’s position by the window in the hospital sitting room, Lieutenant Hartley started recounting a story about his regiment’s movements near Ypres—nothing classified, just the sort of tale soldiers told to pass the time. Nurse Wilson sat by Corporal Davies’ bed, changing his bandages, seemingly focused on her work.
