The Lover Switch (The Star Elite's Highwaymen Investigation Book 4)

by Rebecca King

  “We can’t just kill him. How do we get him out of there?” another, decidedly younger voice demanded. “We can’t just ask him to step outside so we can kill him.”

  “Look, he is one of them,” the older man snarled. “Do you want them poking their nose into what we are doing?”

  “Of course I don’t,” the young lad cried. “But people are already wary about what’s going on around these parts. You know what this sodding place is like. It is full of curtain twitchers and old people with nothing better to do with their lives than watch everyone else. Nobody can do anything without someone watching. Now everyone knows that the highwaymen are in the area, people are even more watchful. Someone will see what we are doing and will tell the magistrate.”

  “Archie has told us to make sure that our target can’t join his colleagues. He has to go no matter who sees us.” The man coughed and spat.

  “Bob-”

  “Don’t get scared, boy. You know that we have got to do this. We are too involved to walk away now. Come on, lad. It will all turn out all right. We have avoided the Star Elite this far, haven’t we? As soon as we have a bit more, we can take our cut and leave the others to it. Nobody need ever know that we have been helping them. What will your mother say when she sees how much money you have earnt, eh? She will be ever so proud of you, lad, won’t she?”

  “Not when she learns how I earnt it,” the young lad moaned. “She is going to string me up by my innards. I shouldn’t be here with you now. She hates me hanging around with the older men in the village. She always says that I go home with more bad habits than I should know about.”

  The man called Bob chuckled. “You can’t stay a mother’s boy all your life, lad. It is natural that you take up a few manly pursuits, eh?” The man muffled his laughter when he realised how loud he was being.

  “I don’t want to do this, Bob. Stealing is one thing but to kill someone in cold blood-” the young lad whispered, clearly horrified by the job he had been tasked with helping Bob to carry out.

  Bob clapped the young man on the shoulder. At nineteen, Mark, had his whole life ahead of him or would have had had he not become embroiled in the highwaymen’s robberies and murders of travellers up and down the Great North Road. Now, after many deaths and hundreds of pounds in money and valuables having been stolen, the highwaymen were the most hunted criminals in England. Further, the Star Elite were close-by, and had already killed and arrested some of the gang in their quest to stop the thefts. Mark knew that his days were numbered. Their boss, Rointon, did too which was why he wanted one of the Star Elite murdered.

  “The boss needs us to do this,” Bob pressed when he saw that Mark still looked unconvinced.

  “The boss lives in that great mansion, Rointon Hall,” the young lad replied. “Why doesn’t he do it if he wants the job done? He can take the man to his estate and kill him there.”

  “Now don’t you go spewing that when we are out and about like this. Anybody could hear you.” Bob glanced furtively around the empty yard.

  The voices became muffled once the men had stepped deeper into the building, but Ruth could still hear what was being said – or thought she could. Determined to hear whatever else they were planning more clearly, she edged closer to the side of the building.

  “I have arranged for that young Carolann to help us,” Bob informed his associate.

  “Carolann Bowers?” The young lad sounded worried. “She is a whore. How can she help us?”

  “She is going to lure one of them upstairs,” Bob informed him. “She is going to drug his drink and get him into one of the bed chambers. Once he is out cold, we are going to carry him outside. We can take him into these here woods and do the job. Alfred won’t give a shit about what we do with him just so long as we don’t kill him inside the tavern.”

  “The Star Elite won’t pay for whores,” Mark snorted, wondering which fool in the group had come up with this plan. It sounded unworkable even to him, and he was no expert in visiting whores or the Star Elite. “Besides, what makes you think he is going to be attracted to Carolann?” As far as he was concerned, Carolann was pretty enough but was too sly to be appealing. There was a cocky snideness about her that was decidedly unattractive. He couldn’t understand why any man would be tempted by her much less pay for her services.

  “He will when she is persuasive,” Bob snorted.

  “I thought the bawdy house had been closed down,” the young lad muttered.

  Bob grinned. “As far as any of the locals are concerned, a newcomer has bought the place and it is now a respectable tavern. It’s not much better than it was inside, but at least it is open. Only a few regulars know that it is still being run as a bawdy house.” Bob tapped the side of his nose and winked at Mark. “Maybe we can get you initiated while you are there, eh?” This, Bob seemed to find hilarious.

  Mark looked appalled. The idea of having to touch Carolann in any way was simply horrifying. “I don’t want any part in killing one of the Star Elite. They work with the War Office, don’t they? God, they will slaughter us when they find out who killed him.”

  Bob’s mirth died instantly. It was rare that Bob was solemn but when he spoke next, his tone was dire. “Yes, Mark, the Star Elite work for the War Office, which is why we don’t have to just get the man out of the tavern, but we will have to make him disappear as well.”

  “How?” Mark was appalled.

  Bob huffed an impatient sigh and clapped the young boy on the shoulder while he repeated slowly: “Carolann is going to get him upstairs. You know, by luring him into accepting her services. If he refuses, we will have to drug him and carry him upstairs. He will go to sleep in the bed chamber, and we will make sure that none of his friends are in the area. We will then get him out of the tavern and into the woods where we kill him and bury him so nobody can find him. Don’t ask any more questions. You don’t need to know anything else. It isn’t up to you. The boss knows what he is doing. We just do as we are told, all right? It happens tonight.”

  “How does the boss know that the Star Elite will be in the tavern tonight?” Mark demanded, still unconvinced.

  Bob sighed. “Because the boss has made sure that the damned fools from the War Office receive a ‘tip off’ that the highwaymen will be in the tavern tonight.”

  “What happens if they all turn up?” Mark pressed.

  Bob started to look angry. “One of them is going upstairs with Carolann. We don’t care which one it is. Any one of them will do. This will work. Just make sure you are at the tavern for when the sun goes down.”

  “Why?” Mark asked. “Why does the boss want to kill one of the Star Elite?”

  Bob scowled when he contemplated that. “This is about firing a warning shot at the Star Elite that the highwaymen aren’t to be messed with. If the bastards don’t heed the warning and stop probing into what we are doing, we will take another man off them and another and another. Rointon is mad, boy. He wants revenge for the deaths of Winger and Martin.” Mark remained quiet for so long that Bob began to worry that the boy was going to back out. “You have no choice in this, boy. You are far too deeply involved in this to quit. Now that you know all the details you must go along with it. If you don’t-” Bob slid a grubby finger horizontally across his throat leaving Mark in no doubt that if he didn’t do as he was told there would be two graves dug tonight. “Be at the tavern at six tonight, boy,” Bob added as he ambled toward the door. “And don’t speak of this to anybody.”

  Ruth was physically shaking from fear and cold by the time she heard the crunch of Bob’s boots as he made his way to the village. Because she was visible from the road where she was standing, she squatted down between the wall of the building and the hedgerow. Once Bob had gone, Ruth contemplated whether she should wait until Mark had left too.

  But I am cold. If he is still in the building, he probably won’t notice anything unusual if I pretend that I haven’t just overheard him and Bob plot someone’s death.


  Visibly shaking, Ruth forced herself to stand up and retrace her steps until she reached the path she had been using. Once on the road, she didn’t even glance at the building Mark was still inside of. She thought she saw him staring at her as she ambled past, but didn’t look up or acknowledge his presence. Instead, she ducked her head and hurried on her way.

  If I pretend that everything is all right, there is no reason for him to think that I know anything.

  Deep inside, though, Ruth was wondering what she was going to do to try to stop a member of the Star Elite from being murdered in cold blood tonight. Her first thought was that she should tell the magistrate, but with the snow as bad as it was doubted that she would be able to make the journey on foot, and the public coach wasn’t due for another two days.

  “What do I do?” Ruth breathed, but when her breath fogged out before her, she winced and clamped her mouth closed.

  “Hello.”

  Ruth visibly flinched when she heard that now familiar voice. She knew who it belonged to before she even looked at him.

  “Hello,” she replied simply because anything else wouldn’t squeak past her lips.

  Ruth struggled to behave casually when all she wanted to do was glare at the young boy and warn him of the consequences if he was foolish enough to try to go ahead with his plan. She was horrified that someone could casually discuss ending a man’s life like Mark and Bob had. Now, she had to decide what to do about it.

  It would serve him right if I made him sleepy for the evening so he couldn’t go along with it.

  That thought was enough to make Ruth slide a worried look at the young man beside her. Having heard what she had she didn’t even want to be seen out on the street with him, especially because there was every likelihood that he would succeed with his mission tonight and become a wanted criminal.

  “What?” she demanded when she realised that he was staring steadily at her.

  “You heard that, didn’t you?” Mark asked simply.

  “What?” Ruth frowned as if confused.

  “What I just said to Bob,” Mark replied conversationally. He had yet to take his eyes off her.

  Ruth made a show of looking up and down the street as if in search of him. “Bob? You mean, Bob Nottingham? What about him?”

  Mark frowned and began to look uncertain even though his eyes still glinted suspiciously. “We were just talking.”

  “Oh? And why should that concern me?” When Mark opened his mouth to tell her, Ruth placed a gloved hand on his arm and offered him a false smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Do excuse me, I must go and post these letters.” With that, she scuttled off.

  As she crossed the road and hurried toward the posting office, Ruth forced herself not to look back and see if Mark was still watching her. But she looked for him as soon as she reached the posting office. The problem was, she wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or worried to find that Mark had disappeared.

  I hope he doesn’t retrace his steps and look at the footsteps around the building, or he will know that I was listening to every word.

  With her problems mounting by the second, and no idea how to resolve any of them, Ruth smiled at the posting officer as if there was absolutely nothing wrong and set about posting her letters. She then moved on to the grocery, and then the baker, and then the butcher. As she went through her morning, for once uninterrupted by the problems, queries, and demands of the village’s other residents, Ruth was troubled by the pressing issue of how she was going to get news of the highwaymen’s plans to the magistrate.

  “Mr Atchison? Can you tell me if any of the public coaches are running today?”

  “I am afraid not, my dear,” the butcher replied. “I believe that nearly all of the roads in to and out of the village are blocked. Why, I think the only way into the village is on foot, or on a large and very determined horse through the fields and even then, I wouldn’t stand anybody’s chances of getting here alive.”

  Ruth forced herself to smile her thanks but was now inwardly panicking. With no possibility of contacting the magistrate she was faced with having to stand outside the tavern and wait for the Star Elite to turn up. The problem was that she had no idea what any of the Star Elite looked like, or the highwaymen for that matter. The last thing she wanted was to try to warn the wrong group of men about the murder.

  The highwaymen would kill me too.

  “But I have to help. I have to warn the Star Elite somehow.” But how, and when, she had no idea. Ruth had to try, though, because one thing was certain; if she failed, an innocent man was going to die.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Later that night, Elias stepped into the smoke-filled tavern and immediately felt his lungs clog with a fetid stench that made him feel sick the instant he sucked in his first deep breath. The air within the dingy room was rancid; a mixture of unwashed bodies, stale ale, and tabaco smoke together with soot from the roaring fireplaces on either side of the long tap room, and other indefinable smells the likes of which he couldn’t identify and didn’t want to.

  “God, I hate taverns like this,” he growled to Morgan, his colleague, who stepped into the room behind him and reluctantly closed the door on the fresh air outside.

  “Let’s get the information we want and get out of here,” Morgan growled, shuddering at the sloppy mess one of the serving wenches created when she slapped two tankards of ale onto an old, battered table teetering precariously between two bleary-eyed customers. Curling his lip in distaste, Morgan lifted his brows at Elias. “Rum?”

  “As long as it comes in a bottle,” Elias muttered, side-stepping out of the way of a drunkard who stood up to go to the bar only to find that gravity was against him. A few staggered steps made him lurch clumsily into the table the maid had just served. Sensing a fight was brewing between the drunkard and the now thirsty customers at the table, Elias forged a way to the bar.

  Before he could speak, the inn keeper slapped two tankards in front of Elias and Morgan and immediately began to fill them with ale. Elias glared at the inn keeper. “Rum,” he barked, shoving the tankards back across the bar. “In a bottle.”

  The almost feral glare the inn keeper levelled on him made Elias reach for his gun. Once he had placed it onto the bar in silent warning, and then lifted his jacket to show the inn keeper the second gun he had tucked into the waistband of his breeches, the inn keeper removed the tankards.

  “I don’t want no trouble in here,” Alfred growled with a worried glare at both men.

  “Then don’t cause any,” Elias warned, glaring challengingly at the grubby inn keeper whom he suspected ran the disreputable establishment for someone else. “Who gave you permission to open this place?”

  Elias knew the man didn’t have permission because the magistrate had already told the Star Elite that he wanted the tavern to remain vacant for a few years to stop the bawdy house’s regulars from returning. It was therefore surprising to find it not just open again, but also operating as a poorly disguised bawdy house. While he waited for the inn keeper to reply, Elias turned to study the couple Morgan was watching.

  A young woman of indefinable age was perched on an elderly gent’s lap, whispering, and giggling into his ear. The jiggling of her barely concealed breasts held the lecherous man’s lustful gaze as the young woman coaxed him into sampling her favours. He didn’t take much persuading either. The couple were so engaged with each other, they barely threw the other patrons a glance as they abandoned the table and slid through a door that led to the back stairs of the tavern.

  “What’s that got to do with you?” the inn keeper demanded, side-stepping to block Elias’s view of the stairs, and the eager couple racing up it.

  Elias reached across the bar and grabbed the inn keeper by the shirt. “It has everything to do with me. I have the power to shut you down. Give me a bottle of rum and make sure that this is the last time you open this tavern, understand?”

  The inn keeper, far from being shaken by Elias’s a
ggression, reached under the bar while glaring defiantly at Elias.

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Elias warned silkily. “Or you will end up behind bars for the rest of your sodding life.”

  “What do you want here? This ain’t no place for the likes of you,” the inn keeper snapped, sliding a sneering look from Elias to Morgan and back again.

  “What do you know about ‘the likes of me’?” Elias drawled, lifting an arrogant brow at the beer-stained potbelly of the slovenly man across the counter.

  He raked the ‘inn keeper’ with a questioning look. He suspected that the real ‘inn keeper’ was none other than Lucius Rointon, the head of the lawless gang of highwaymen who were murdering and stealing from unwary travellers on the Great North Road. Given how disreputable Rointon’s estate now was, and how desperate the man was for money, Elias was in no doubt about where the funds had come from to purchase the tavern; the building the highwaymen were also using as a meeting place.

  “You know nothing about us,” Morgan drawled. “How do you know that we don’t work with the magistrate?” He straightened when he saw the inn keeper slide a look to a group of men who sat huddled around a table in the corner of the busy tap room.

  Both Elias and Morgan looked at them. Elias instantly recognised Lucius Rointon. While his expression didn’t change, and he made no attempt to venture anywhere near them, he memorised as much as he could about each man Rointon was with. He suspected the heavy-set thug who sat in the corner of the room with his jowls rattling like a skeleton’s bones was none other than Archie Hammond, the murderer Rointon used to kill the highwaymen’s victims. The smaller man beside him was Stuart Torwin, a rather nondescript fellow who was small in stature but had sinewy biceps lurking beneath his turned-back shirt sleeves which hinted at an unexpected strength. Elias didn’t doubt that the man could be like a terrier with a bone if he set his mind to attacking an opponent. The man seated beside him, Brian Balding, was someone who none of the Star Elite would suspect as being involved with highwaymen. The seemingly innocuous looking gentleman was of middle-age and appeared mild mannered and out of place amongst the assorted thugs and disreputable sorts in the tavern. Elias wondered if he should open the door and shoo him out before he got hurt.