by Merry Farmer
It was solely because of Patrick that they managed to catch up with Adler near the far corner of the carnival’s fencing, just as he was about to leap over the edge and escape into Brighton. Without a word of warning or triumph, Patrick grabbed Adler by the back of his collar and wrenched him away from the fence. He had the man on his back, pinned to the ground, so swiftly that Everett ached with jealousy—not for Patrick’s strength and agility, but with the wish that he was in Adler’s place pinned under the handsome copper.
It was Everett who announced with ridiculous bravado, “We’ve got you now, Adler. Your days of getting away with kidnapping and debauchery are over.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adler panted. He attempted to fight his way out of Patrick’s grasp, but gave up. Even a devil like Adler knew when he wouldn’t be able to overpower his adversary.
“There should be Brighton police nearby,” Patrick said in a calm voice, though he was panting with exertion. “Fetch them to help.”
The absolute last thing Everett wanted to do was to leave Patrick’s side, particularly when everything about Patrick—from the strain of his muscles to the fierce set of his jaw—was so captivating. Everett blessed his good fortune when he glanced around and spotted two, uniformed officers patrolling the fence line nearby.
“You!” he called to them, projecting as though on stage in Hyde Park, attempting to be heard by the residents of Kensington Palace. “Over here!”
The Brighton policemen noticed Everett waving at them and immediately rushed forward.
“What’s all this about?” one of them asked as they drew near.
“This is Officer Patrick Wrexham of the Metropolitan Police,” Everett announced with a sudden, broad smile, swimming with pride. “We’ve apprehended a suspect that Scotland Yard has been chasing for months, and we need your help securing him.” He had no idea if that was strictly accurate, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“He’s lying,” Adler gasped. “These men accosted me. They’re thieves.”
“If you would hold this man, I can show you my credentials,” Patrick said in an even voice.
One of the officers secured Adler long enough for Patrick to stand and take a small wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket. He showed the paper inside to the second officer, who nodded and grunted, as though everything were in order.
“How can we help, Officer Wrexham?”
“What charges do you have against me?” Adler protested. “What authority do you have here in Brighton?”
Ever one for the drama of performance, Everett stepped forward, reaching for the buttons of Adler’s jacket. He undid them, then tore Adler’s shirt open, revealing a crude tattoo of a Lion on his breast.
“You see?” he told Patrick with a wide grin. “Here he is. The man with the lion. Just as Miss Logan said.”
Adler burst into laughter that set Everett’s teeth on edge. “That’s why you’re treating me like a dog in the gutter?” He sneered at Everett the way he had time and time again, years ago, when Everett was a sore and bruised child, begging to be rescued. “You’re the dog, mate.” Adler turned to Patrick. “And you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
Patrick scowled, moving to stand toe-to-toe with Adler. He didn’t say a single word.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to. Adler shrank away from him and said, “If it’s the man with the lion you’re after, it ain’t me. You’ve let this sodding fool lead you on a merry chase. He’s the one you should be arresting, you know. For lewd acts of the most abominable sort. Let me go and I’ll make sure you have enough information to lock him away forever.”
Adler was the sodding fool, as far as Everett was concerned. Though the tiniest part of Everett worried that Patrick was so angry with him that he’d actually consider turning him in for gross indecency, as hypocritical as that would be.
Instead, Patrick grabbed the front of Adler’s unbuttoned shirt and growled into his face, “You think only one charge can be brought against you?” His voice was low and menacing. It made the hair on the back of Everett’s neck stand up almost as much as his prick threatened to. “We’ve been tracking you for years, Adler,” Patrick went on. “Scotland Yard has a list of charges against you as long as my arm, lion or no lion.”
Adler looked as though he might soil himself. “Please. Let me go. I’ll tell you anything, give you any information you want.”
“You’ll do that anyhow,” Patrick said. He glanced to the officer who held Adler’s arms behind his back. “Are you willing and able to take him into custody at a Brighton jail until transportation to London can be arranged?”
“Yes, sir.” The officer nodded.
Patrick nodded back, then turned to Everett. “Return to the hotel and pack our things. Meet us at the train station as soon as you’re done. I’ll find a telegraph office and let Scotland Yard know we’re coming in this afternoon.”
“Right. Yes, sir.” Everett felt as though he should salute Patrick instead of merely nodding. His heart ricocheted through his chest, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He turned to go do as he’d been told, but at the last minute, he twisted to call over his shoulder, “Do be careful.”
It was a maudlin way for the two of them to part, especially under the circumstances, but when Patrick responded with a faint smile and a nod, Everett was over the moon. Perhaps he hadn’t ruined everything between him and Patrick after all. Now that they had Adler in custody, perhaps they could put their fears aside for good and come to an understanding that would satisfy them both.
Chapter 10
Patrick hadn’t pursued a life in law enforcement accidentally. He’d known long before he was old enough to leave the orphanage and strike out on his own that he would dedicate himself to helping the helpless and bringing criminals to justice. The sense of satisfaction he had from apprehending Adler and returning him to London to face charges was deep enough that it overrode his continuing confusion over Everett and whatever was happening between the two of them, which was saying a lot.
“You’re a bloody fool for wasting your time with me,” Adler grumbled as the train from Brighton rolled into Victoria Station late in the afternoon. “I’ll have the last laugh in the end, you’ll see.”
“Shut your ugly face, Adler,” Everett snapped, unusually petulant. “Your sins are legion.”
Patrick eyed Everett sideways. Everett sat at the far end of the seat beside him in their first-class compartment, arms crossed, scowling. They’d already purchased the first-class fare before nabbing Adler—who sat on the seat opposite, flanked by two Brighton policemen. The journey was likely the most luxurious Adler—or the two Brighton policemen—had ever taken. Even Patrick had to admit he was enjoying himself immensely. The only one who wasn’t pleased with the way the situation had unfolded was Everett.
“Still bitter about the past, eh, Jewel?” Adler sneered.
Everett’s eyes flared wide. “Bitter is hardly the word.”
Adler laughed. “You settled into your life quite nicely, I see. Everyone knows how much you enjoy it. You should fall on your knees and thank me for brokering that deal.”
Patrick promptly stood up, lunged forward, and punched Adler across his leering face.
Adler didn’t see the blow coming. It jerked him to the side. A tooth flew out of his mouth, landing in the lap of one of the Brighton officers. Both policemen and Everett were stunned to the point of freezing. Without meeting any of their eyes, Patrick sat back down, relaxing his shoulders and massaging his hand, as though nothing had happened.
Inwardly, he blossomed with satisfaction as he watched blood ooze from Adler’s mouth and nose. The man deserved far worse for what he’d just admitted. Patrick would have kicked him repeatedly in the balls before garroting him with his own shoelace if he could have gotten away with it.
But underneath the murderous satisfaction of the moment, a far more visceral thought consumed him. No one would ever hurt Everett again if he
had anything to do about it.
They all remained silent as the train came to a stop. Evidently, Scotland Yard had communicated with the station ahead of time. The porters kept the passengers in their cars and compartments for a moment as four armed officers met Patrick on the platform. Adler was wrenched out of their compartment and handed over to those officers before anyone else was allowed to disembark.
“He attempted to escape,” Patrick lied when one of the Met officers glanced askance at Adler’s state.
That was enough of an explanation for the man, and Adler didn’t argue the point. He cowered away from Patrick instead, putting up no resistance when the Met officers grabbed hold of him and marched him along.
Patrick started after them, intent on seeing things through to the end, but Everett stopped him.
“I have to go to the theater,” he said, a strange mix of reluctance, pride, and anxiety in his eyes. “It’s one thing to allow my understudy to go on for a single performance, but they’re not paying me to skive off.”
A hollow feeling filled Patrick’s chest. “Do what you have to do.” He nodded. “Once I find out which jail they’re taking Adler to, I’ll send someone to the theater with a note.”
“I’ll join you there after the performance,” Everett said.
For a moment, they stood there, face-to face, a wealth of unspoken emotion crackling in the air between them. Patrick was filled with the undeniable certainty that Everett wanted to kiss him goodbye, no matter how dangerous the simple gesture would be. The mad thing was, he could barely restrain himself from doing the same. It felt as though hardly anything had happened between them in the thirty or so hours that they’d been together—aside from what they’d shared the night before—but it also felt as though the world had tipped on its axis and begun spinning in a different direction.
The longer Patrick lingered, the more suspicions would be raised, so he nodded to Everett, then turned and marched after the police officers escorting Adler. He thanked the Brighton policemen for their service and made certain they had fare for their journey home, then accompanied Adler and his entourage out of the station and into London.
Patrick was as surprised as Adler when he realized he was being taken to Pentonville.
“The order came from Lord Clerkenwell himself,” one of the officers murmured to Patrick as Adler was loaded into a police carriage. “Clerkenwell thinks the man knows a great deal about a great many things, and that he’s more likely to sing if he thinks his fate is sealed.”
Patrick nodded. Lord Clerkenwell was probably right.
He stayed with Adler through the trip to Pentonville, as he was processed, and still, once he was assigned a cell and locked away tightly. The hour grew late, and as the sun went down, Patrick’s stomach grumbled with hunger, but he didn’t dare to break into his stashed bread and sausage. He’d been far hungrier in his life. It wasn’t time for desperation yet.
“You seem like a sensible man,” Adler said from inside his cell as Patrick stood against the far wall, contemplating his hunger and wondering when Everett would get there. Patrick turned to him, keeping his expression as bleak as stone. “I’m surprised a man like you would be taken in by a queer like Jewel.” There was a cunning glint in Adler’s eyes that made Patrick want to punch him again.
All the same, prickles broke out down Patrick’s spine. He stared silently at Adler, knowing that a villain like him wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut for long.
Sure enough, Adler pressed himself up against the bars of his cell, beckoning to Patrick. “I can tell you things,” he whispered. “Things about Jewel and the sins he’s committed. Sins stretching back to his wicked youth. Wouldn’t you like to be the man that brought down one of London’s most infamous actors?”
Patrick crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at Adler, daring him to go on.
“He’s a sodomite, all right,” Adler laughed. “But more than that. He’s been a darling of a certain set of perverted noblemen for years. You wouldn’t just be bringing Jewel down, you’d be tumbling some of the most powerful men in this kingdom at the same time.”
Patrick’s heart raced. He could feel his face heating, which was a terrible tell.
Adler must have sensed he was provoking Patrick in some way. His grin widened. “Don’t think that those men are too well-protected either,” he said. “It’s a funny world we live in. The highest in the land can get away with murder, rape, and pillaging, but call a man out for being a fag and it won’t just be the law that will take him down, it will be his nearest and dearest too.”
Adler bit his lip, as though trying to figure out whether he was getting through to Patrick. Whether he believed he was or not, he went on.
“I can give you names,” he whispered. “Names of men who bought what I was selling and paid good money for it. Not just in the past, but now.”
The hair on the back of Patrick’s neck stood up. Adler could be the key they needed to bring Chisolm and the others down. But was the word of a petty criminal and pimp truly enough to stand against peers of the realm? He doubted it. Justice was far from blind when faced with a class system that had protected the undeserving for centuries. But Adler’s information, if added to everything David Wirth and Lionel Mercer already had, might just be enough to achieve the impossible.
“Let me go,” Adler whispered seductively. “Or give me some sort of reprieve. I’ll tell you everything, as long as I go free.”
Before Patrick could answer, a commotion from the far end of the hall broke the tension. The door flew open, and Everett marched into the room as though making a grand entrance of operatic proportions. He still wore stage make-up from the performance he’d run off to do. The sight of his enhanced beauty made Patrick weak in the knees.
Everett wasn’t alone, though. David and Lionel charged in behind him, David looking determined and excited, and Lionel as cool and commanding as a winter wind. Alistair Bevan, Lord Farnham, and Joe Logan followed them.
“Well, well.” Adler pushed away from the bars of his cell, stepping out of arm’s reach of anyone not in the cell while pretending to have courage. “Isn’t this a lot of motley fools. Queers, every one of them.”
Still, Patrick kept his mouth shut, in spite of the fact that Adler glanced to him as though he would be shocked and use the situation to his advantage. He was grateful that Adler didn’t have a clue that he was cut from the same cloth as the rest of them.
Patrick’s moment of smugness was dampened as Logan said, “That’s not him.”
Everett suddenly looked crestfallen. “But it is him. Adler is as guilty as sin.”
“I’m sure he is,” Logan said. “But he’s not the man with the lion.”
No one aside from Everett looked surprised. Even Patrick wasn’t entirely shocked. He’d figured there was a good chance Everett was pursuing Adler for personal reasons and not just because he was convinced Adler was the leader of the kidnapping ring.
Adler burst into cruel laughter. “Didn’t I tell you? Fools, the lot of you.” He snorted.
“I’d be careful about who you choose to call a fool,” Lionel said, sliding menacingly toward the cell.
Adler flinched slightly, but recovered, trying to appear unimpressed. “And you,” he sneered. “Swanning about, thinking you’re better than everyone else, simply because you’ve had more important dicks up your arse than anyone else in London.”
Lionel’s eyes flashed with malice, but he absorbed the insult, standing straighter. “Men talk when they’re balls-deep in a willing partner.” He moved closer to the bars. “Some of them say things about inconsequential swine when they’re in the throes of passion. Things that would make that swine squeal as he dangles from the end of a rope.”
Adler blanched and backpedaled to the far side of his cell. Lionel’s countenance was enough to make Patrick wary as well. A man who wasn’t afraid of his sins was the most dangerous creature imaginable.
“You…you can’t keep me locke
d up if I’m not the man you’re looking for,” Adler stammered, one last attempt to wriggle out of the trap he was in.
“You’re exactly the man we’re looking for,” Lord Clerkenwell said as he strode into the room.
A pair of hulking officers followed him, though Clerkenwell’s presence alone was enough to part the rest of them. Patrick had never seen men as strong as David Wirth or Lord Farnham step out of the way so fast. Even Lionel nodded graciously to Clerkenwell and moved to stand by David’s side, as far away from Everett as he could get.
“Barnaby Adler,” Clerkenwell announced. “You are officially under arrest, charged with pandering, theft, kidnapping, fraud, and probably murder too. Anything we can find to stick to you will be stuck, mark my words.” Clerkenwell didn’t wait for his reaction. He turned first to Patrick, then to the others, nodding at them. “Thank you for your help, gentlemen, but this is a matter for Scotland Yard now.”
There was nothing they could do but shuffle out of the room as Adler burst into sobs and begged for his life. Patrick couldn’t decide if he felt vindicated or disappointed as he showed the others to a small, mostly empty room one hallway over. It was generally reserved for prisoners to speak to their advocates or families, but it would allow them to speak without being overheard.
“I was so certain Adler was the man with the lion,” Everett hissed, rippling with disappointment, as soon as Patrick shut the door, giving their group privacy. “The man is evil. He’s been exploiting children for decades.”
No one disagreed with him, though Lionel and David exchanged a wary look. Patrick fought the urge to step into Everett’s path to stop his pacing by sliding an arm around his shoulders. He hadn’t attempted to comfort anyone since he was a lad of twelve, doing his best to stop the younger girls at the orphanage from crying when every last morsel of supper had been wrenched away from them by the larger, stronger children.
