Downtime by Tamara Allen

Not every raid was going to go as smoothly as clockwork. Suspects sometimes shot at you and you had to defend yourself. “You know, there’s only so much specific information I can give you about the future. In fact, I probably shouldn’t have given you as much as I have already.”
     
    He nodded, but I had a funny feeling he saw right through that evasion. “Are there any other sights you’d care to visit? We do have some with a less distressing history behind them.”
     
    He’d had enough of ghosts for the day. Not a good attitude for someone intending to conduct a séance later on. “Yeah? You’ll take me wherever I want?”
     
    “I suppose I might.”
     
    The guarded answer made me grin. “The Tower of London?” I said, helping myself to another sandwich.
     
    Ezra choked on his coffee. “You have an incorrigible sense of humor. And I suspect I’m not the only one who’s told you so.”
     
    “No Tower? So where can we go that’s ghost-free in this country?” I was beginning to doubt there was such a spot. If Ezra knew of one, he didn’t get the chance to tell me. Two men had come into the café and they were heading to our table. The taller of the two stood as broad-shouldered as a football player and moved with the same natural grace. His buddy was slimmer and hustled at his side with the sort of nervous energy that comes from too much coffee—or something more potent. He greeted Ezra with compassion usually reserved for the recently bereaved. “I hear you’re engaged, dear boy.” He cast an eye over me with open appreciation. “The best of both worlds, eh?”
     
    The taller man offered me a gracious smile. “You must forgive Sidney. He spends far too much time in the more disreputable part of town.”
     
    Sidney’s wide mouth curled with wicked humor. “One never knows when one may find roses amid the trash.” His brown eyes strayed back to me. “Or the coffee shops. Aren’t you going to make the introductions, Ezra dear?”
     
    There was apology in the look Ezra gave me, but for what, I wasn’t sure. “Morgan, may I introduce Mr. James Francis Montague and Mr. Sidney Dasset. James, Sidney, this is Mr. Morgan Nash of New York.”
     
    “New York!” Sidney exclaimed, taking a seat without being invited. “I detected something of the adventurer about you right away. He has the look of a hero in one of those novels they sell at the train, doesn’t he, Jem? My dear Mr. Nash, it is a pleasure.”
     
    Jesus, where did they find this guy? I noted Ezra seemed torn between amusement and embarrassment. He nodded for Jem Montague to take the other empty chair and Jem did, ignoring Sidney completely. “How long have you been in London, Mr. Nash?”
     
    It was starting to seem like forever. “Just a couple of days. And call me Morgan,” I added, hoping the invitation would not send Sidney into new paroxysms. Some guys were way too obvious.
     
    “Morgan.” Jem smiled and I returned it with interest. I hadn’t realized there were so many good-looking men in the nineteenth century. You might not guess it from old photographs. Jem Montague was a big guy, but he had the gentlemanly air these guys all cultivated, and a killer smile.
     
    “You ask the wrong question, dear Jem,” Sidney said. “How long are you staying in London, Morgan?” He said my name as if he could taste it on his lips.
     
    “Just through tomorrow,” Ezra answered for me. “Have a sandwich, Sidney.”
     
    “I will, thank you.” Sidney further helped himself to a cup of coffee. “We were just on our way to the park and lo, we saw you in the window and we had to come in and offer our condolences.”
     
    Ezra raised an eyebrow and Jem sighed. “Our congratulations, Ezra. I take it the marriage will return you to your father’s good graces.”
     
    “The engagement has accomplished that,” Ezra said, and I wondered if the money was that important to him.
     
    A mouthful of sandwich didn’t slow Sidney