waved a hand carelessly around the room as though another person with surgical skills was lurking somewhere there.
“You, Leona. I know how you put it in me. If it’s taken out incorrectly . . .”
Her dark face turned noticeably paler. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Dirk Lundrell, Leona, remember him? He tried to have his removed. They still haven’t found all the pieces.”
“Lundrell came to me too. And I told him the same thing I’m telling you. No!”
“What if Frank approves it?” He cocked his head at her. “What then?”
“You think Frank would okay something like that?” she scoffed. “I have heard he and you still don’t get along.” She smiled. “And retiring? You don’t retire from your line of work, Shaw.”
“I’m getting married. Two more jobs, I’m done.”
“You, married?” she said incredulously.
“Yeah. What, you don’t think people like me get married? I’ve spent six years of my life nearly getting killed. I’m tired. I’m done.”
“I know what you have done these last six years,” she said more calmly. “I know well the risks you’ve taken.” She paused to study him. “What is the woman’s name?”
“What?”
“Your fiancée? What is her name?”
“Anna.”
“I was married once.” Leona looked down at her hands. “You love her very much?”
“I wouldn’t be marrying her if I didn’t.”
Leona was silent for a long moment while Shaw simply stared at her.
“If Frank approves it, I will take it out of you.”
“And I’ll still be alive when you’re done?”
“Surgery always involves risk,” she began. But then she added, “You will live.”
He rose. “That’s all I needed to know. I’ll be in touch.” He turned to leave.
“Where is this Anna from?”
“Germany.”
“German women make good wives, or so I’ve heard.”
Shaw closed the door softly behind him. Now all he had to do was convince Frank. And survive the next few days.
Three hours later, he was on a high-speed catamaran crossing the Irish Sea to England. Normally he would’ve just flown to Edinburgh from Dublin, but his instructions had been clear. Take the ferry. And then, at Holyhead, an express train through Wales to London. And from there an overnight sleeper to the Scottish capital. He would arrive in the wee hours, whereas a direct flight from Dublin to Edinburgh would’ve taken less than an hour.
In the lounge of the catamaran, Shaw sat at the third desk from the right set along one wall. There was a light on the desk. He turned it off, on, and then off again in accordance with the instructions he’d been given.
While he was waiting he opened the book to read Anna’s inscription to him. Her message was written in French, but his language skills were sufficient enough to translate. It was short, simple, and hit him like a sledgehammer.
Love without trust is nothing.
As Shaw slowly closed the book he instinctively glanced up.
Tipped off by his signal with the lamp, a man was coming his way. They always were.
CHAPTER 17
S HAW ARRIVED IN EDINBURGH and walked from the train station to the Balmoral Hotel at one end of the North Bridge. Anna’s inscription in her book was seared across his brain. Love without trust is nothing. Around three in the morning he fell asleep, thoughts of a possible life and family with Anna drifting through his mind.
And maybe that’s why it began. Again.
“Mudder? Where’s Mudder?”
“Shut the hell up, you dumb shit. You ain’t got no mum!”
The little boy, just awoken from a nightmare, cried louder, “Mudder!”
One of the older boys mimicked the child’s speech. “‘Mudder, where’s Mudder?’ Mudder’s dead. That’s why you live in an orphanage, you idiot.”
Another older boy chuckled and said, “Mudder’s dead. Mudder’s dead. Mudder is absolutely, positively dead.”
Then they all heard the slow footsteps and the room grew quiet save for the little boy’s choking
D M Midgley
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