In their past Justine DeCabrillac and Adrian Hawkhurst worked together. She was a member of the French Secret Police and he worked for the British. The fighting in France is coming to an end and Justine is determined to prevent a group of orphans from facing the same horror she did when her parents were betrayed to the revolution.
While most of the orphans were freed, some chose to stay behind. When Justine tries to return and save them, Adrian must do all that he can to stop her or they will both be exposed. Justine and Adrian become lovers; trusting each other as far as they trust anyone. The knowledge that their goals aren't always the same makes life that much more exciting.
Move forward to twenty four years to London. Someone is killing former French spies and leaving behind knives that implicate Adrian. Justine seeks Adrian out with information that will change the course of the investigation. On her way to the home that he operates out of, she is stabbed. She barely makes it to the doorstep before collapsing.
While Adrian is thrilled to have her back in his bed, the condition she is in makes it impossible to achieve his desires. As Justine battles for her life, Adrian will become focused on who tried to kill her and why his knives are being left at the site of murders across London.
Continuing her highly successful series. Ms. Bourne has written a highly compelling story with some intricate plot twists. The reader will be kept on the edge of the seat. We learn about Adrian's background as we admire the position he has achieved. We laugh and cry with the two as they battle to discover the truth and fight for each other. This is a moving and emotional read.
Attacked on a rainy London street, veteran spy Justine DeCabrillac knows only one man can save her: Hawker, her oldest friend . . . her oldest enemy. London's crawling with hidden assassins and someone is out to frame Hawker for murder. The two spies must work together to find who's out to destroy them...
Nobody noticed her dying. Every door was closed. Every curtain drawn. She passed low walls, punctuated by stone posts. Then she was at Number Seven. She knew the way even when she couldn’t see very well. The door was painted green. The knocker was a bronze rose. She covered it with her bloody hand and banged down hard and went back to holding her blood in. She leaned on the door, her forehead against the green paint. It is strange that it does not hurt. I have been in pain so many times. This final time it does not hurt at all. Really, she was not ready to die. She had a long list of things to do. The door opened and she had nothing to lean upon. The ground crested upward to meet her. The rug was scratchy on her cheek, surprisingly hard. She felt herself rolled over. She was looking up at a woman, not much more than a girl. She didn’t know this one, did she? Hands pushed her own hands away and came down strong around her arm, at the wound. Someone shouted. She could tell it was shouts from the urgency of it. It sounded distant in her ear. When she opened her eyes again, he was there. Black hair and a thin face, dark as a Gypsy. Serious eyes. She said, "Hello, ’Awker." "Hello, Justine," Hawker said.
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