Latymer by Tracey Devlyn Page B

you can’t find me? What if he—? What if—” His voice broke off on a choked sob.
    Latymer knelt down and grasped his son’s trembling shoulders. “Giles, I’m sorry about Abbingale. One day, when you’re older, I’ll explain what happened.”
    “Why can’t you tell me now?”
    “Because the explanation would take far longer than the few minutes we have.” Latymer cupped his hand around the side of his son’s neck. “Right now, what you need to know—no, what you must believe—is that if I could have rescued you from Abbingale sooner, I would have.” His grip tightened and his throat clenched. “I nearly ripped this city apart looking for you.”
    Giles’s face began to crumble, and Latymer pulled him into his arms. “Lord Somerton’s town house is nothing like Abbingale. I would never entrust your safety to just anyone. The earl is one of the most honorable men I know.”
    His son nodded and buried his face into Latymer’s shoulder. “Can’t we go home? Mama’s probably worried about me.” 
    For a terrible moment Latymer couldn’t breathe. He’d known this moment would come, but he had hoped he could deliver the news in a more private setting. He eased Giles back. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
    Desolation trembled in his son’s eyes. His small world was slowly, inextricably closing in on itself, and Latymer was about to knock down its final protective barrier.
    He couldn’t do it.
    Not here. Not now.
    He would not sever his son’s last thread of hope. “Let us take this one step at a time. All right? First, we must familiarize you with the area around Lord Somerton’s residence. Then we’ll discuss your mama.”
    Giles nodded, cradling his toy closer to his chest.
    Coming out of the shadows, they strolled down Charles Street. Latymer kept his head bent toward Giles as they passed the spy, still propped up under the tree. He could feel the agent’s subtle but acute interest, though he made no move and remained for all the world like a man surviving difficult times. The fact that the young man did not solicit him for money further confirmed Latymer’s suspicions—he was, indeed, a spy.
    Once they rounded the corner of Charles Street, Latymer flattened his body against a building and forced himself to wait ten seconds before checking the agent’s position. The spy no longer reclined against the tree. Heart thundering, Latymer scanned the area swiftly. Movement on the opposite side of the street caught his attention. The agent now sat propped against the wrought-iron railing protecting the servants’ entrance of an adjacent town house, his eyes trained on an approaching carriage. Latymer and Giles had been forgotten.
    Latymer released a pent-up breath and turned away. The Alien Office’s recruits weren’t what they used to be. With a hand to his son’s back, he guided them south toward Green Park and then to the docks. “Tell me what you observed.”
    Giles swallowed. “A white-and-tan dog slept near the front door of number thirty-nine.”
    “What else?” Latymer increased their pace.
    “Lord Somerton’s door knocker is shaped like an S .”
    Latymer lifted a brow. He’d missed that detail. “Third town house to the west of Somerton’s—what color were the shutters?”
    His son’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Red?”
    “That’s right.” His son had always been good with details. “Did you notice anything unusual about the beggar sitting outside Somerton’s house?”
    Giles shook his head.
    “Think back to what you did and didn’t see.”
    “I don’t want to play this game anymore.”
    “We’re not playing a game.” Latymer paused at the intersection of Curzon Street and Half Moon Street. “What one thing about the beggar struck you as odd?”
    His son shrugged.
    Perhaps his son was getting tired. Or maybe he’d sustained too many shocks in the last several days. Whatever the reason, Giles had picked the worst time possible to challenge