A Private Duel with Agent Gunn (The Gentlemen of Scotland Yard) (40 page)

“Shhh!” the shadow in the window admonished. She was absolutely right, this whispered conversation was entirely too dangerous to be having. How could he convince her he wasn’t worth the risk without bringing the guards down on them?

A metal object scraped against the stone wall of his cell. He strained to see in the dark; a string with a key tied to the end was being lowered down to him. Finn reached up with his one free hand, and his fingers barely touched the
dangling key. He stole a glance up and down the corridor to each side of his cell. No guard. He reached up again, and this time he caught the key. “Got it!”

His rescuer above released the string, and Finn went to work on the iron cuff around his wrist. The cuff released almost immediately. The leg irons proved a bit more difficult. “I can’t get past one of the wards,” he whispered.

“Enter as far to the left of the hole as you can. Jiggle the key up and down until you feel it slip in deeper—rather like when you deflowered me.”

Finn angled the key up and down, and he was damned if he didn’t feel it move farther inside. “Now what?”

“Make your turn.” The key rotated.

Finn shook off one leg iron, then the other. He slipped off the bed, and sidled over to the front of his cell. His vision momentarily went black and filled with stars. He held on to the bars until the light-headedness cleared. A good length down his cellblock one of the guards turned the corner and disappeared. They had some time, yet. Standing on the prison cot, he opened the lock on the sash and held up the window.

“I’ve come to rescue you.” Cate adjusted a strange apparatus that extended across two of the iron window bars.

“I believe that is my job, not yours.” Finn stared at her, only half believing it was really Cate, and yet knowing this dark beauty was alive and real. And lurking at the window of his prison cell.

With her brows pressed together and her lips pursed in concentration, she screwed a crank handle onto the cast-iron apparatus—a jack of some sort. “You rescued me once this evening.” She looked up at him and smiled. “My turn.”

“How did you—? What’s holding you up out there?” He was completely enthralled by her. Not only by her
ingenuity, but by her cunning as well. “There’s a grappling hook above, and I made a sling from rope, which my bum isn’t so awfully happy about.” Cate gave the handle a crank and then another—gradually, the vertical bars separated.

“I’m never going to fit through there,” he warned. After a number of turns, Cate removed the device and handed it through the bowed bars. She also tossed him her rucksack. She reached out to him. “Help me.” Moonlight beamed through a drift of mist, long enough for him to catch a glint in her sapphire eyes. The flexible ballerina folded her shoulders together and squeezed through the opening. Finn grabbed hold of her and pulled gently. “More!” she hissed. He gripped harder and yanked. The rest of her slipped through the opening rather easily, with only a slight delay at her sore bum.

Finn held her in his arms off the ground. “I should be angry with you for putting yourself in such danger.”

She placed her hands around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “But you can’t, can you?”

“I shall take issue with all this later—when I toss you over my knee.”

“Promise?” Her lower lip protruded rather provocatively.

“Fancy that . . . I had no idea your were into hot cockles and swivery. Had you mentioned it earlier I might have—spanked you, or—” He grinned, then shrugged. “For now, we move quickly. The guard will be back soon enough.”

Cate removed something small and brass from her pocket. “Remember this?”

He set her down and she placed the key in his palm. “How kind of you to bring Roger along.” He reset the teeth on the key shaft as wide as possible, then reached
around the lock from between the bars. He angled the key past each of the lock’s wards, until he heard it scrape the back of the box. He looked at Cate. “Shall I give it go?” She nodded.

He twisted the key and the door swung open silently.

She returned a few tools to her rucksack and stuffed a bed pillow under the thin blanket on the cot. Finn reached back and she grabbed hold of his hand. They headed down the corridor, hugging the shadows. At the end of the passage he peered around the corner. Yet another corridor with a set of doors at the end, and a stairwell. He nodded her forward and they made their way downstairs. At the landing, he peered over the rail. A door swung open and a worker, kitchen help possibly, descended the stairs to the basement.

Sylvain had indicated the infirmary was in a building that housed both the dining hall and the kitchen. If he remembered rightly, the kitchen was in the basement, which had yet another subterranean level below that. From there, they would need to find the entrance to the underground escape route. “Even if we find this secret passage, we may have to turn back. Sylvain believes they’ve sealed the exit off at the wall.”

“Not to worry.” Cate raised a brow. “I have an anarchist for a brother, don’t I?”

He stared at her. “You’re carrying explosives?”

Her hand cupped his jawline. “I came prepared for anything.” She tilted his chin toward the gaslight flickering above. “They beat you.”

“Guards don’t take kindly to surly prisoners.”

“How are you?”

“A few cuts and bruises—

“I’m talking about your state of mind.”

He stared at her. “A great deal better, now that the shackles are off.”

“Finn, I need to tell you something.”

He glanced ahead. “If you’re going to tell me you love me—don’t.”

She nearly choked on her response. “Why?”

“Because I already know you do.” He grabbed her hand, and they descended the stairs, staying well behind a kitchen worker.

The bustle and clamor of a prison kitchen at full tilt reminded Finn that dawn was something less than an hour away. “Let’s try this way.” He led them down a narrow passage, dodging a line of carts that would carry great pots of breakfast gruel and gallons of tea into the hall. “Someone’s coming.” They ducked under one of the carts as a worker balancing a tall stack of soup bowls swept by.

Finn held her close. “You realize your safety means more to me than—”

“Than what? Your own life?” Cate whispered. “Why is my safety more important than yours?”

“It just is, damn it.” He dipped his chin to peer out from under the cart.

“You’re so stubborn.” She sniffed.

Another pair of trousers scurried past the cart. Finn waited a moment, then pulled Cate out from under the cart. He hit the swinging doors running and they found themselves in a great storeroom. A few wall sconces hissed and sputtered enough light to reveal that the warden kept a well-stocked pantry, chockablock full of large bags of milled grains—flour mostly. A giant cold closet took up a good section of space, along with rows of open shelves laden down with dishware and foodstuffs. The room smelled of pickler’s brine and salted fish.

“It appears we have reached the end of the building.” Finn’s gaze swept the room and came to rest on an angled skylight. It was still dark out. “Now, if we can just find a rabbit hole in the pantry. . . .”

They split up and searched the room. Finn wandered up and down row after row of pantry shelves. “Would a trapdoor do?” Cate’s harsh whisper carried across the room. He found her between stacks of barrels, and helped her roll a few out of the way. Finn yanked on the heavy cast-iron ring, and lifted the door.

Pitch-black.

“Hold on, I just passed a shelf full of lamps.” He returned with one for each. The light from both lanterns revealed a set of wooden steps descending into—blackness.

Her eyes were large and round, and glowed midnight blue. “You don’t suppose there will be rats down there?”

He tilted his chin down. “As large as the ones in the London Underground, I’m afraid.”

Cate pushed him forward. “You first.”

The moan of several horns—all cranking up at once—sounded about the room. Someone had set off the alarm sirens.

He descended the stairs with Cate right behind him. “We’re going to take this passage as fast as we possibly can.” The moment she was down, he climbed back up and closed the heavy door. They were surrounded by rough stone walls and suffocating blackness. Finn held his lantern high and led them down the centuries-old passage. They ran through long dry sections and picked their way through pools of sludge. It felt as though they ran for miles—when in fact, the wall was less than fifty yards away. Finn slowed their pace. “We make a right turn and then come upon . . .” He lifted his lantern. Cate added
hers, stepping up beside him. “Bricked in, just as Sylvain suspected.”

Cate removed a small metal pick from her jacket pocket and tapped on the wall. Holding her finger to her lips, she invited him to listen. Sure enough, three taps answered hers. Finn stared at her. “Sylvain?”

Cate nodded. “Sylvain and Mr. Périgot—a clockmaker in town, and an expert in breaking and entering. He knew my grandfather.”

Finn stared at her. “Your grandfather. No doubt the man who taught you your trade?” He’d be damned if he didn’t catch himself smiling at her.

“I will explain everything—later.” She tapped three times again. “Right now, we must retreat many feet away.”

They backed around the corner. “Plug your ears and close your eyes.” Finn covered her with his body. The blast showered them with brick and mortar dust—but they were otherwise unharmed.

Coughing, Finn helped her up from the ground. “Follow my voice. Don’t wait for the air to clear,” a hoarse whisper echoed through the darkness. They made their way toward Sylvain’s familiar voice, guiding them through the heavy haze. “This way,
mes amis
.” There was light above the passage. Dawn was breaking. Sylvain’s head peered down at them from above.

Finn pushed Cate up the ladder and followed on behind. “Come, quickly—the pasha’s yacht departs any moment.”

They were sheltered by a small stand of trees, but not for long. Finn turned toward a man he did not recognize, an older gentleman who held the reins to Sergeant MacGregor. “You must be Périgot.”

“At your service, monsieur—you and the beautiful
voleur de bijoux
.”

Finn lifted Cate onto MacGregor and tucked himself behind her. “Take care of yourselves.” He nodded to both men on the ground.
“Ce n’est qu’un au revoir, pas un adieu.”

“ ‘Good-bye doesn’t mean forever.’ ” Cate laid her head back. “A rather romantic notion, Finn.” He wrapped an arm around her as he headed MacGregor out of the copse. “Just a few more minutes, Cate, and we’ll be safely away.”

The moment they broke from the cover of trees, shots rang out.

Chapter Thirty-two

“A
rrêtez! Prisonnier échappé!”
Two guards on horseback chased them through the narrow lanes and backstreets of Saint-Martin. Finn turned down a blind alley, guiding MacGregor through laundry lines, around dustbins, and right into a dead end.

“I’m afraid we’ve reached an impasse.” Finn rolled the horse back and headed them directly toward their pursuers.

“Finn!” Cate pointed to a pedestrian walkway between houses—barely room for them to push through. The next lane over was a crowded marketplace. Finn merged them into a throng of shoppers, vegetable carts, and open-air stalls. “Where are we?”

Cate leaned to one side of the horse.
“Excusez-moi, le pilier avec le grand yacht?”
A woman examining an apple pointed the fruit in a northwest direction, over the rooftops of the shops behind them. Several other shoppers pointed in the same direction.
“Merci.”

Finn steered through the open market and as soon the way cleared, he dug his heels in. MacGregor swiftly carried them into a fishpacking district, where they wound
their way through eight-foot piles of sea salt along the quay. They had to be close now, and the yacht moored dockside would be an impressive-sized ship. In a break between warehouses, they caught sight of the steam yacht, along with several of their pursuers following dangerously close behind.

Cate removed Finn’s pistol and handed it back to him. “You might have mentioned we were armed, darling,” he said. He steered them down the alley between storehouses and came up behind their pursuers. “Drop your guns and spur your horses out of here. Otherwise I will not hesitate to shoot you.”