Page 1 of The Bachelor Spy
Prologue
MAY7, 1915
Stephen Blake had been trailing the presumed spy most of the voyage—first to secure his target, and then … to strike. Every clue pointed to the fact that the gregarious businessman Donald Leaman was none other than Albert Stein, a German informant ferrying English war secrets straight to the fatherland.
Unfortunately, every opportunity Blake had found to confront the man had been thwarted: too many watchful eyes, too much pomp and luxury for a clean cornering. With theLusitania‘s transatlantic voyage ending in less than a day, his time to complete this mission was slipping away.
Worse, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being followed himself.
Only a limited few knew of his operation to uncover a ghostlike informant who’d used their “ordinary” position to gain extraordinary intelligence—from transfer stations, casualty clearing posts, even a general’s bunker at the Western Front. The spy had proven maddeningly elusive, slipping through every trap British intelligence laid with almost theatrical flair.
But what did they know? Stein was the spy’s last contact. And Blake was tasked with finding out what he knew.
TheLusitaniawas hardly Blake’s first ship, but certainly it was the grandest. It felt as though Claridge’s, the famous hotel in London, had taken to the sea, complete with its extravagant marble floors and its crystal chandeliers, with champagne in the air and ease all around.
Just after luncheon, Stein had excused himself early and started down the grand staircase toward the lower decks. An odd choice for a first-class passenger, especially so near the end of the trip and with his companions urging him to remain for cards.
So, of course, Blake followed.
Deck by deck, corridor by corridor, until the music and chatter faded into the deep measured thrum of the engines.
Occasionally, Stein cast a look behind him but never appeared concerned enough to stop his descent. This was certainly a planned meeting.
The elegance of the upper floors gave way to simpler decor, narrower corridors. Second-class accommodations. Stein stopped before a cabin door. His knock held an unnatural rhythm—three quick raps, a pause, two more. After only a beat of silence, a murmur from within responded.
Stein’s immediate whispered answer? “Octavia.”
A code word, no doubt.
The door opened. Stein slipped inside, but before the door could click shut, Blake rushed soundlessly forward and caught it with his fingertips.
Perfect.
He released a self-satisfied grin and then pressed himself against the corridor wall, listening through the crack over the hum of the ship’s engine.
The cabin was small—voices carried easily in the confined space—and the faint scent of cigarette smoke drifted through the opening.
“You’re late.” A man’s voice, crisp and impatient. Something about the cadence nagged at Blake’s memory, but he couldn’t place it. English, certainly. Kentish?
Blake frowned. He could overpower Stein easily—the man was more socialite than combatant, the sort who’d probably never thrown a proper punch in his life. But this unknown fellow, clearly in charge and confident enough to smoke a cigarette while conducting treason? That suggested either experience or exceptional stupidity. Blake hoped for the latter but suspected the former.
“It was difficult to get away without raising suspicion,” Stein replied, his accent thickening into full German. “Blake is on this ship.”
Blake’s pulse quickened. So Stein knew he was being followed.
“I know.” The other man’s tone didn’t waver. A long exhale followed, as if he were breathing out smoke. “We’ve been watching him to ensure he didn’t wreck things.”
We?
Who?
Blake’s mind raced through the passenger manifest, through his team members, through every face he’d seen on this voyage. That voice …
“But with that in mind, we need to move quickly,” the Englishman continued. “What do you have for me?”
A rustle of papers. “The Midnight Angel’s next assignment. She’s to embed herself in a convalescent hospital—but not in France this time. There is too much interest in her there.”
Blake’s breath caught. She was called the Midnight Angel? The informant they’d been hunting for months. Andshewas a woman.
