Playing God (Helford #2)

(5) Saint

"I've killed people," I huffed. "I've tortured numerous more. And I don't think that any of that damns me as much as this does."

"Don't tell me you haven't dug up a grave before," Meade said with fake surprise. "I thought this was part of the job-got to make sure the assassinated are dead, right?"

"Go to Hell."

"I'll see you down there, doll face. Save me a seat."

I hissed out a breath as I used the shovel to send a mound of dirt in the direction of where he stood at ground level, leaning on his shovel like the gravedigger in Hamlet and smirking as he watched me work tirelessly. He jumped out of the way in just enough time and I turned away from his glare and back to the dirt below me, growling as I dug the shovel into the dirt.

Meade had pretty much waited as long as he could to spring it on me that the "I suppose" he said about Krantz jumping ship was because the guy toppled over with a convenient heart attack not long after the information came into the open. By the looks of it, Helford had been behind it, but MI6 hadn't gotten a good look at the body before it was buried six feet under.

When asked how he thought the papers would be with the body, Meade had simply shrugged and said, "The widow told me that he swore he would take them to the grave."

And, somehow, that had us here, in the middle of the night smack-dab in the middle of a cemetery outside of London, digging away at a freshly dug grave only at the slightest inkling that what we were looking for would be at the bottom.

I wasn't happy; I wanted to get away from Meade as soon as possible-something about him really made me uneasy, and everything he said to me made him sound like devil's advocate, luring me back into a life of death and shadows. I had been in his presence for only hours, but my heart was already thrumming nostalgically, reminding me of the only times in my life I had enjoyed. He reminded me too much of the temptation of Helford.

I didn't want to trust him, but there was a blazing loyalty about him despite being a heavy rebel, and I knew we were ultimately on the same side.

Still-I was going to be relieved when out shovels hit solid wood, and when I may never have to see Meade again.

With that thought in mind, I struck the shovel back into the earth, heaving a new chunk of soil out of my way and over the edge of the gravesite. Meade watched me, looking like he was trying to think of something, and he could not remember what it was for the life of him.

"Alright, princess," he called down to me when I continued to tear into the dirt. "How about you take a little break?"

I had been hoping he would ask that-my arms felt like Jell-o, more used to gymnastic training than actual weight training. I threw the shovel up and heaved myself up next to it. We had made a lot of progress over the last hour and a half, and we had to nearly be five feet deep by now. I lay prone on the ground, not caring about appearance or the like anymore, and groaned quietly over the aching muscles in my arms, back, and legs I rarely used, bending my fingers in the hopes of being able to feel them again.

The only sound in the night was the constant thumps of Meade's digging, so rhythmic that I could have fallen asleep if I was anyone other than Caitie Alastair-and, because I was, I found my eyes constantly glancing around at the shadows, restlessly waiting for one of them to move and come alive.

I wasn't expecting Meade to speak, so I jumped when he did. "Parker told me that you were quite the operative-you two met on a mission, right? Somewhere in France?"

Somewhere in France. A ballroom, burning to the ground. The halls of an academy, ringing with the voices of students, glowing with the light of his smile. His home, filling with smoke and flashing with red alarms, Parker's presence looming in the shadows just to let me know he was onto me. A rooftop, the tears, the blood; a final goodbye.