The Last Illusion by Rhys Bowen Page A

who lived on the ground floor, and have the meal all ready for him in his meat safe when he returned. I had just tapped on his door when I thought I heard voices. The voices stopped and footsteps came to the door.
    Daniel opened the door. “Yes?” he demanded impatiently, then he saw me. “Molly! Is something wrong?”
    “Not at all,” I said. “I’ve come to make amends for my behavior last night. I come bearing gifts—or rather the ingredients to make you a nice meal.”
    He gave a rather embarrassed smile. “Why, that’s good of you. Much appreciated. Unfortunately I’ve got company at the moment or I’d ask you in.” He held out his hands to take the basket from me.
    “Don’t leave the little lady standing outside, Sullivan. Invite her in, for God’s sake. I’m anxious to know what kind of young woman comes to cook for you.”
    Daniel’s face flushed red. “This is actually my intended, Mr. Wilkie. Come on in, Molly, and let me introduce you.”
    I stepped into the room. A pleasant-looking man with light brown hair and neat mustache was seated in Daniel’s leather armchair. He was probably in his forties and had a distinguished air about him, but he rose to his feet as I came in and gave me an encouraging smile.
    “So you are the young woman who has finally managed to rein in the wayward Captain Sullivan, are you?” He held out his hand. “John Wilkie. A pleasure to meet you.”
    “Mr. Wilkie, this is Molly Murphy, my future bride,” Daniel said.
    Wilkie chuckled. “So you’re marrying an Irish lass. That should make for a lively household.”
    Daniel smiled. He was normally the sort of man who was supremely self-confident. There was a swagger about him as if he knew he held an important position and expected respect. To see him so deferential and embarrassed reinforced my own feelings that this was indeed an important man. I was curious to find out who he was and what he was doing in Daniel’s rooms at breakfast time.
    “Do you live in New York, Mr. Wilkie, or are you just visiting?” I asked.
    “I’m up from our nation’s capital,” he said. “Captain Sullivan is aiding me in a little matter of forged banknotes. You’ve heard about it, maybe?”
    I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to have heard about it or not. “I believe I read about it in the papers,” I said cautiously.
    Wilkie threw back his head and laughed. “She’ll make you an ideal mate, Sullivan. Not going to divulge a thing. Well done, my dear.”
    “In truth Daniel really doesn’t mention many details of his work to me,” I said. “Just as I don’t confide details of my work to him.”
    I saw a flash of annoyance or warning cross Daniel’s face.
    “You are a working woman then?” Wilkie asked.
    “Yes, I run a small detective agency,” I said.
    The smile faded. “Good God—pardon the profanity—but you have to admit that yours is not a usual occupation for a young woman.”
    “Nor one I fully approve of,” Daniel said before I could answer. “Shehas put herself in harm’s way too many times. I, for one, shall be glad when we are married and she can settle to more normal female pursuits.”
    “Please take a seat, Miss Murphy.” Mr. Wilkie offered me the armchair and perched on an upright chair himself. “I find this most intriguing. Sullivan, I wouldn’t say no to another cup of your good coffee.”
    “With pleasure, sir.” Daniel shot me another warning glance as he retreated to the kitchen. “Don’t say anything that might prove embarrassing to me.” I heard the words as clearly as if he’d spoken them out loud.
    “So what kind of cases do you handle, Miss Murphy? Or do you just do the paperwork and have men out on the streets doing the actual detection?”
    “No, I’m actually an agency of one at the moment,” I said. “And I handle all kinds of cases. Nothing criminal, of course,” I added hastily, even though this wasn’t quite true. “Anything from locating missing persons to