Perhaps Margot was wondering the same. She finally changed her expression and lifted her brows. “We were hunted before, for my father’s work. My brother was shot because he was recognized as being the son of Professor De Wilde. Willa was shot and held prisoner trying to help us escape from Belgium. Agents of both the English and German Crown made it quite clear they would do anything to get their hands on his work in cryptography.”

Who was this girl? Or perhaps it was more a question of who her father had been, and if in fact she and her mother had been in possession of his work. He didn’t know yet which question to ask. But he’d dealt in this world long enough to see the sense in her words.

Dot, he granted, hadn’t. She huffed. “Terrible. But years ago.”

“You think the threat evaporated? While the war yet rages on?”

“No.” Drake’s interjection, quiet but sure, had his sister spinning on him, her eyes asking why he was encouraging her friend in what she no doubt thought was a fruitless and unhealthy inquiry. Which it might be.

Or she might be right. And if she were right . . .

He transferred his gaze from Dot to Margot. “Have you mentioned your concerns to DID?”

“Not yet. I only just made the connection last night.”

He nodded. “We should bring it to his attention. I have no evidence to say you could be right, but I have none to say you’re wrong either. I’ll do what I can to remedy that for you.”

Now she moved—her shoulders sagged, just a bit. And she let out the tiniest puff of breath, so small he likely would have missed it had he not been paying close attention. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“I’m really not accustomed to answering to that, given that I have been undercover for all these years. Call me Drake.” He tried for a grin, though it no doubt didn’t look all that charming. And likely wouldn’t faze her regardless. “One of the conditions of my inquiry.”

“Very well.” No, not so much as a pause or a shift to indicate any effect.

“You’re both ridiculous.” Dot stormed between his sofa and Margot’s chair. “I’m going to fetch the potatoes from Mrs. Colton’s oven.”

Silence whooshed in with the closing of the door. Drake shifted to a more comfortable position, absurdly aware of how weak and unlike himself he was just now. He couldn’t ask her if she’d like anything and actually get up to fetch it if she did. He couldn’t rise and amble to the window to fend off any awkwardness. He couldn’t do anything but sip at his tea and wait for her to speak.

She didn’t.