Night Storm (30 page)

The look he sent her said he knew exactly what she had just done. Rather than push the issue, he said, “Good point, though I’m not ready to set aside Winthrop as a suspect.”

Their conversation sputtered out, and a taut silence took its place. She racked her mind for something to fill the gap, but it would seem she’d said all she had to say for the moment.

Cameron’s low, husky voice reached across the distance. A distance that had grown incredibly shorter all of a sudden. “You should have let me leave.”

She swallowed, understanding his meaning went beyond tonight. “I know.” Her words were barely above a whisper.

“Why didn’t you?”

Because I couldn’t watch you walk away again.
“Felix, of course.”

“Of course.”

He rubbed his nose alongside hers. The tender gesture made her insides clench.

“I don’t want you linked to me,” he whispered.

The pleasure-pain he had elicited with his touch twisted into straight, excruciating pain. “To you, or this investigation?”

“Both.”

So much for resurrecting their former friendship. The ache of loss started at her toes and stormed its way through her body, not missing a single inch. She straightened away. “Once Felix is no longer a suspect, we can both resume our lives as if this incident never occurred.”

“Hardly,” he said in an undertone, both hollow and haunting.

Unable to bear his closeness any longer, she moved to the side so he could leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the Scott residence.”

“Good night, Charley.”

She kept her gaze focused on the far wall above his left shoulder. When he slipped out the door, she did not watch him go. When she heard the door latch turn, she did not watch him go. When the door shut, she did not watch him go. When a tall silhouette passed by the window, she closed her eyes.

With the silence roaring in her ears, she flipped the lock and walked away.

Chapter Thirteen

Adair paced the confines of Jules’s elegant yet functional office. Rather than display the masters, his friend chose landscapes by unknown, talented artists. The intricate carpets protecting his floors were of excellent quality, but not Aubussons. His finely crafted mahogany desk fit the space and did not work to intimidate his guests. The best feature of the entire office was the bank of twelve windows that spanned the entire room. Jules did not like to feel caged.

“I’ve been up for barely two hours and am already exhausted just watching you wear a hole in my carpet,” Jules said. “Take pity on me—and the carpet—and sit down.”

Halting near the windows, Adair stared down at the small courtyard that boasted a large fountain, a gravel path winding between gardens that lay silent in the winter air, and several wrought-iron tables, chairs, and benches. A small paradise tucked away for Mirador’s guests. Charley would love it.

He stretched his neck to the left and then to the right, receiving satisfying cracks with each movement. He wished he could crack his heart in the same way to relieve the pressure that had taken hold yesterday and had not given way.

“Have you spoken to Trig?” Jules asked when Adair remained silent.

From the moment he awoke this morning, he had felt strangely alone. Nothing had changed in his routine from one morning to the next—except for the fact that he would likely not see Charley again once he concluded his interview with Felix Scott later.

A large sigh rumbled from behind the desk. “You didn’t talk to Charlotte, did you?”

“Of course, I did—”

Jules held up a hand. “You can play games with yourself. Pretend all you want. But don’t do so with me. If you had spoken to Charlotte, as I strongly recommended, you wouldn’t now be moping about my office like you’d lost your pet puffin.”

“What the hell is a puffin?” Adair shook his head, not in the right mindset to spar with Jules. “Never mind. I’m not moping. I’m thinking.”

“Call it what you will. But the reason behind your present mood remains the same.”

There were few things he hated more than admitting to Jules he was right. “Even though Charley wasn’t physically harmed by the incident with Hermann, I endured all the same wrenching emotions as if she had.” He began pacing again. “The work I do has always had an element of danger. Most of the time it’s petty and inconsequential. But of late, the levels have increased and I could find myself in the midst of an intricate web of murderous intrigue. I don’t want Charley to be caught in the middle because of her association with me.”

“Hermann had nothing to do with you or your business.”

“You’re missing the point,” Adair ground out, at a loss for how to explain the uncontrollable fear that had coursed through him when he saw Hermann lunge for Charlotte. “I caught a glimpse of what it would feel like to lose Charley, and I didn’t like it.”

Jules mumbled something about stubborn friends before he pushed out of his cushioned chair and strode to the window. Keeping his eye on the courtyard, he said, “If you don’t rekindle what you once had with Charlotte, wouldn’t you, in a sense, be losing her?”

“Yes, but she would be alive. A state I could live with far better than if I had somehow contributed to her death.”

“So, rather than lovers, you’ll be friends, or do you plan on avoiding her altogether?”

He had thought avoiding her would be the best route. But a life without Charley in it stretched out bleakly before him. Perhaps they could make a go at friendship, though it might kill him not to experience another one of Charley’s kisses.

To retain his sanity, he had allowed himself to forget the sweet softness of her lips, the innocent taste of her mouth. All those memories had come roaring back the moment he had inhaled her scent, pulled her body in to his.

Their kiss last night had surprised him. Before, when he had kissed Charley, she had accepted his attentions sweetly, modestly. Last night, however, she had taken what she wanted. Passion had replaced sweetness, need had trumped modesty.

Adair’s erection pushed against the restraints of his trousers. He repositioned himself, glad his friend’s back was to the room. “We started out as friends. Perhaps we can return there.”

Jules half turned to look at him. “You’ll be content to watch her marry another and have his children?”

Teeth clenched, Adair demanded, “What did she tell you? Is she considering Murdoch?”

“Lachlan Murdoch’s name did come up in our conversation.”

He stumbled to the nearest chair and cradled his head in his hands. “Dammit, dammit.
Goddammit!
” The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. A hundred times worse than witnessing Hermann’s threat. “She’s dining with the Scot tonight. What if he proposes?”

“What will it matter? She’ll be safe. That’s all you care about, right?” Jules returned to his desk. “Now that we have Charlotte’s future settled, shall we discuss the latest developments regarding your attack and my subsequent brilliance?”

Adair clenched his teeth, said nothing.

For the next hour, Jules relayed the events that had taken place during Adair’s absence the previous day. “According to Trigger, one of his friends lives in the same building as the two assassins sent to kill you. He overheard the two men plotting how they would return to finish you off after they both healed. They were more than a little concerned that their employer would learn about their failure.”

“Healed?”

“Evidently, you managed to incapacitate one of the assassins with your knife, and the other was coughing blood for several days.”

Odd that he could recall so little of the encounter. The bump to his head must have rattled his wits more than he realized.

“Unable to locate you, Trigger brought the matter to me.”

“This is where you’re going to regale me with your brilliance, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, it is.”

“Proceed.”

“I paid the assassins a visit. A rather nasty lot and not just because they were hired to kill you.” Jules shifted his attention to the towering windows. “I found a young girl, not more than fourteen, chained to the wall, naked and beaten so severely, her family barely recognized her.”

“Bloody hell, Jules. Why didn’t you track me down?”

“You had your hands full.” The smile his friend sent him didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Besides, it’s nothing I hadn’t seen before. Once I freed and clothed the girl, I enlisted the help of two elderly women who lived in the building. They took care of her until I finished my other business.”

Adair thanked the Almighty he hadn’t eaten yet. Jules’s matter-of-fact revelation made his stomach heave and his heart hurt.

“My two new friends proved more talkative than a
ton
gossip.”

Adair leaned back in his chair, forcing calm into his body. If Jules wanted to pretend he hadn’t just spent time in hell, Adair would play along. He understood what it meant to block out unpleasant memories. “Do tell.”

“A fortnight or so ago, Lord Freeman’s nephew lost a fair sum of money at the hazard table before moving on to piquet, where he lost double the amount.” Jules paused for effect. “Can you guess to whom?”

“I would not even try.”

“Freeman’s nephew owed a good deal of money to Edward Reading, collector of rare antiquities. Does the name ring a bell?”

Adair whistled. “He’s one of the seven men on my list. The one who has been missing for the past week.” He reached inside his coat pocket to retrieve the missive Jules had given him yesterday. The reverend had provided detailed information on five of the seven men. The other two he hadn’t any intelligence on. Four of the men showed no signs of being involved in any illicit activity. Indeed, they appeared to do little more than work, eat, and sleep. The fifth man was Edward Reading. According to the reverend, Reading was not above operating outside ethical limits.

“Have you utilized Reading’s expertise in the past?”

“No.”

“My guess is that Freeman’s nephew is somewhere around eighteen or nineteen, based on the description I received.” Jules continued, “In over his head, he recalled an old-looking book in his uncle’s study and described it to the collector. Of course, Reading recognized the manuscript’s value and readily agreed to the exchange.”

“Who ordered my attack?”

“Reading. When the nephew learned you’d been hired to locate his uncle’s stolen property, he panicked and demanded the manuscript back. An interesting assessment of your reputation, don’t you think?”

Waving off his friend’s comment, he said, “Given the nephew’s age, I doubt he had prior gambling or debt problems, so the likelihood I would have connected that particular dot would have been slim. Why send assassins after me?”

“An extra precaution to protect Reading’s new trophy, I gather.”

“Where are the two footpads now?”

“Eliminated.”

Adair nodded. Having grown up in one of the poorest neighborhoods in London, he and Jules understood that mercy only worked on the salvageable. Had Jules allowed the two hired assassins to live, they would have come back to kill Adair and Jules and, eventually, discovered Trig and his friend’s involvement.

“The question now is,” Jules said, “what do we do with Mr. Edward Reading?”

“I’ll send Sticky to Reading’s house to confirm the manuscript’s presence.” Sticky White could locate an ant in a knothole for the right price. If Reading had stashed the manuscript in his home, Sticky would find it in short order. The trick was getting Sticky not to take it. “If Sticky can confirm the whereabouts of the manuscript, I’ll inform Lord Freeman, and we’ll take it one step at a time from there.” Adair caught his friend’s eye. “Thank you.”

Jules raised a brow. “For being brilliant?”

Adair smiled. “For that, and for taking care of the girl and for covering my back while I’ve been so distracted.”

“I would expect you to do no less for me—though I can’t ever see myself moping over a woman. I might have for Charlotte, but you got to her first.” Jules’s expression became speculative. “Now that you’ve rescinded your claim, perhaps I should—”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Pure evil tinged his friend’s grin. “If not you, me, or the Scot, then another man will eventually take Charlotte to bed. I hope he’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”

Adair could hear blood pumping in his ears. “I have a strong dislike for you at the moment.”

The fiend’s grin grew broader. “Distraught by your second rejection, she might even throw herself into the arms of a reprobate like Hermann. Can you imagine how miserable her life would be with a man like that? And the children.” Jules shuddered. “Poor things.”

“All right!” Adair’s palm slammed against his chair’s arm. “You’ve made your point, you perverse bastard.”

A satisfied smile replaced Jules’s wicked grin. “What are you going to do now?”

“Damned if I know. I’ll figure something out.”

Jules didn’t allow the silence to stretch into awkwardness. “The Winthrop investigation—how is it coming along?”

“Not well.” Adair rubbed his aching forehead. “The coroner found a thread beneath the baroness’s fingernail. As of yet, I have no leads on where they came from. Likely, an article of the killer’s clothing, but what, specifically, I don’t know.”

“Thread, you say?”

“Yes. Any thoughts?”

“Any idea what color?”

“Something dark like black, deep blue, or brown. The lighting was poor. The coroner is supposed to get back to us.”

“She was killed in one of the passageways leading to the theater, right?”

“Correct.”

“With the temperatures hovering around freezing this past week, I assume her ladyship was wearing some type of outerwear, like a cloak.”

In an instant, Adair could see where his friend’s cunning mind was leading. “I don’t know for certain, but Charley would. Winthrop’s servants had cleaned and redressed the corpse by the time we arrived.” Adair stared at Jules. “Dark outerwear isn’t exactly unique, and the baroness could have grasped anything from the killer’s cloak to his gloves, or even a muffler.”

“True. All the same, it’s something, even if we don’t understand its significance yet.”