The Oslo Affair (Shadows of War, #2) by CW Browning (read after .txt) 📗

with a smile to the librarian seated behind the counter. The woman nodded back and Evelyn continued past the desk, looking around the first floor. There were a few patrons, but none of them were Vladimir.

She pursed her lips and hesitated before glancing over her shoulder again. Her eyes fell on the card catalog and she turned suddenly to go towards it. On a hunch, she moved along the neatly labeled drawers until she came to one that was only partially closed. Something like a surge of excitement went through her and she opened it to find a card sticking up, preventing it from closing all the way. She pulled out the card and scanned the title and call number on it, committing it to memory before inserting the card back into place correctly and pushing the drawer closed.

Then, after a swift look around, she turned and strode across the floor to a wide staircase leading to the upper levels. This library was larger than the one in Strasbourg had been, with at least four levels. At the foot of the steps, Evelyn glanced up, her hand on the railing. She was just in time to see a shadow disappear to the left at the top of the stairs.

Catching her breath, her heart thumped against her ribs and her stomach dropped. Was it Vladimir or someone else? She inhaled, forcing herself to calm down. She was simply a journalist from London, visiting the library. There was absolutely no reason for her to be afraid. She wasn’t picking up a package, or dropping one off. There was nothing about her visit that could be construed as remotely suspect.

As long as you ignored who was most likely waiting to meet her.

Evelyn reached the top of the steps and checked the sign on the nearest bookcase. She turned left, moving along the aisle, searching for the row that contained the book from the card. If Shustov was here, in the library, he had picked a perfect spot to meet her and not be seen. Every row that she passed was empty, and the hushed silence was almost deafening.

Her gaze caught the label on the next bookcase and she turned down the row, scanning the spines of books, looking for the one in question. She was halfway down the aisle when a deep voice spoke behind her, making her jump.

“You came faster than I expected,” a man said in Russian.

Evelyn swung around to find Vladimir pulling a book out of the shelf a few feet away.

“I didn’t see any point in wasting time,” she replied.

“Your Russian is very good.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not surprised. Your father said you had an ear for it.” He didn’t look in her direction but flipped open the book instead. “You speak Norwegian as well?”

“No.”

“Ah. That explains the interpreter.”

Evelyn raised her eyebrows in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

He finally turned his head towards her, his lips curving faintly.

“It’s my job to know.” He studied her for a long moment. “You look different from your photograph. Older.”

“Losing your father suddenly does that sometimes,” she retorted, unable to keep the sharpness out of her voice. To her surprise, a laugh leapt into his eyes and he flashed a grin.

“Of course. That was rude of me. I apologize.”

Evelyn exhaled and inclined her head in acknowledgment.

“Do you know why you are here?” he asked after a moment, turning his attention back to the book in his hands.

Feeling as if she should appear to be busy as well, Evelyn pulled a random book from the shelf closest to her and opened it.

“I was told that you would meet with no one else,” she said in a low voice.

“Your father and I used to have wonderful conversations over whiskey,” he said, turning the page in his book. “He told me about your stay in Hong Kong. Did you like it there?”

“It was exciting for a child,” she said carefully, her eyebrows draw together. What was he driving at? “I had no complaints.”

“He told me an amusing story about a childhood friend of yours. He said the two of you were often inseparable and, one day, you ran away from your governess and went to the other side of the town to watch a play. Your friend carried the tale to your father, but instead of punishing you, he bought you ice cream.”

Evelyn’s brows smoothed. He was testing her.

“It wasn’t a play,” she said calmly. “And the ice cream was because I had given my friend a black eye when he tried to stop me from going again the next day.” Her face softened as a smile crossed her lips. “My father said I should never let another person intimidate me. I got ice cream for standing up for myself, then was grounded for three days for disobeying him and leaving the property.”

Vladimir closed the book and slid it back onto the shelf. He turned to look at her, his face softening slightly.

“Your father was an unusual man,” he said. “With unusual ways of raising a daughter. Tell me, do you still practice Wing Chun?”

“Not as much as I would like, but yes.”

“It’s a formidable skill. I fear you will need it more than you think for the times ahead.”

He held out his arm, motioning for her to walk with him. After a moment’s hesitation, Evelyn slid the book onto the shelf and turned to walk with him to the opposite end of the aisle.

“This war is not something that either me or your father wanted to happen,” he said slowly. “Our countries are now enemies. I will be killed if my government discovers that I am talking to you.”

“Wasn’t that the same with my father?”

He shot her a look. “Ah. So you know. Good. That makes things easier.”

“How did you and my father meet?” she asked, glancing at him.

“We met in Zürich three years ago. I was there, well, on business for my government and he was doing the same. As fate would have it,