She stood, closed her eyes, wet her hands, and ran them over the clay, feeling it, testing it, shaping it, allowing it to tell her what it was to be transformed into. It had been so long since she had sculpted based on her passion alone, so long since she had looked at it as art rather than work.
But today, she needed it.
So she released all of the feelings, all of the thoughts. She let go of Maxfeld. Of Bennett. Of Drake.
And she sculpted.
Marshall greeted Drake at Bow Street with a nod. “I have news.”
“Oh?”
“You’re about to be very happy with me.”
“Am I, now?” Drake said with a raised brow, causing Marshall to chortle. Drake was never happy with him.
“I’ve found something out,” Marshall said, his smile fading, and Drake’s heart began to stutter at his now-grave expression. “We had an informant come forward.”
“From where?” Drake said, not wanting to get his hopes up, but unable to tamp them down completely.
“From the timberyard. The Hawk Club.”
“And?”
“The man says no names. Wants to be released, helped out of the city. It seems he’s the father of the young girl who gave you information the other day. She told her father what she did. Luckily, he’s the sort that, at the very least, didn’t do anything to the girl, but he’s smart enough to know what’s best for him and his family.”
“What did you tell him?”
“It’s with the Magistrate, but I have the information.”
“Which is?”
“I know who killed your parents.”
Drake’s heart completely stopped then, until finally it resumed, booming so loudly in his ears that it nearly drowned out everything else Marshall said. “He’s the owner of the timberyard.”
“Lee Fowler,” Drake said, and Marshall nodded in surprise.
“You knew?”
“My uncle told me the name of the man who led the smuggling ring,” he said bitterly. “It was a guess. Where is he now?”
“At the timberyard, I would suppose,” Marshall said with a shrug, and Drake had already turned and was halfway out the door when Marshall rose and began to come after him.
“Where are you going?”
“Where do you think I’m going?” Drake said gruffly when Marshall finally caught him, trying to pull him back.
“What are you going to do?” Marshall said. “You can’t just run down there alone. Will you take on him and the entire gang with your bare hands?”
“If I have to.”
“That is ludicrous!” Marshall said. “I’ll go back for some help. Will you wait for me?”
“Yes, go,” Drake said, becoming impatient, but the moment Marshall left, he took off himself, fetching his horse from the stables so that he could be on his way quickly.
This was not the work of Bow Street. He had to take this on himself.
The dock workers had finished their shift by the time Drake returned to College Street. He ignored Castleton Stone as he passed, instead making his way to the timberyard. He was not going to shy away from what awaited him, and so he walked right up to the door and knocked.
A tall, burly man opened the door to him.
“We’re closed,” he said, beginning to shut the door, but Drake stuck his foot in it so that he couldn’t do so.
“I’m here to see Lee Fowler.”
“Not in.”
Drake took the man by surprise when he stepped forward with his shoulder and heaved the door open. The man fell back slightly and with the advantage of surprise Drake fit through the gap in the door.
The room wasn’t much, but held a desk in one corner and a glimpse of a hallway to the back.
“Where is he?”
“Not here, I told you.”
“It’s all right, Anderson.” A voice emerged from the recesses of the room. “Let him in.”
Drake turned slowly to face him.
“Do you know who I am?”
“I do… Drake.”
“I need to speak with you.”
“I’m not in the habit of speaking with Runners.”
“I’m not here from Bow Street. Not today”
“Oh?” Fowler raised an eyebrow. “Well, then, come right in.”
He crooked a hand at him, and Drake knew it was not wise to follow alone into the other man’s space upon a sarcastic invitation, but he no longer cared. It didn’t matter what happened to him anymore. Madeline wouldn’t want him. His aunt and uncle would miss him, sure, but they didn’t necessarily need him.
While he needed this. He needed revenge. He needed to make things right.
With any luck, Marshall and the other detectives would be here soon, but first, Drake would find the truth.
Fowler led him down a set of stairs, into darkness, and when Drake heard the splash of water, he knew exactly where he was. They were nearing the opening to the Thames.
He also suspected what Fowler intended to do with him.
“So tell me, Drake, is this what you are here for?”
Fowler lit a lantern and allowed light to flood over the room, illuminating cases and barrels and crates, full of what Drake was sure were illegal, smuggled goods.
“This is what Bow Street wants. What the Crown wants,” he said.
“But not you?”
The lantern shone on Fowler’s smug expression, and Drake slowly shook his head.
“I want something else.”
“And just what is that?”
“Justice.”
“Justice?” Fowler laughed, the light-blond hair on his head hardly moving. “For what?”
“You know for what,” Drake practically growled. “For my parents.”
“Your parents?” Fowler said, as though he had to think hard to remember them. “Ah, your parents. That’s right. I thought the name Drake was familiar. Your father… he was a good worker. A partner.”
“And you killed him.”
Lee folded his arms across his chest, allowing his jacket to open as he did so, showing Drake the firearm at his side.
“What do you think about loyalty, Drake?”
Drake said nothing. He didn’t have to share any of his thoughts with this man.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I think,” Fowler said. “Your father was going to betray me. I couldn’t have that. There is nothing worth more than loyalty.”
“And my mother?”
Fowler waved his hand in the air. “Wrong place, wrong time, and all that. I didn’t know she was here until it was too late. Seemed she followed your father in, wanted to see what he was doing. Well, she saw too much.”
Drake growled as Fowler reached into his jacket. “Unfortunately, Drake, you’ve gotten yourself into the same situation.”
As Fowler began to lift his hand, Drake didn’t hesitate.
He lunged, not needing a weapon, for his rage alone was enough to carry him through.
Drake’s fist met Fowler’s face with such sickening ferocity that it nearly surprised himself, and Fowler went flying backward.
He managed to take two more swings on the man before he was grabbed from behind, pulled backward by men that he hadn’t even noticed, just as the door burst open.
“Drake!”
It was Marshall, along with Georgie, looking back and forth between Drake and Fowler. Luckily their guns were drawn, and Fowler’s had been knocked loose in the scuffle. He was now holding his nose, dripping blood down his shirt.
“This man assaulted me!” Fowler said, pointing at Drake, who shared a look with Georgie and Marshall as Georgie rolled her eyes.
“If he did, you deserved it,” she said. “Let’s go, Drake.”
She gestured to the door.
He hesitated. Fowler deserved to suffer much more than a bloody nose.
But what he had to do, he would do alone, without bringing Marshall and Georgie into this.
Drake did as she said, but the look he cast over h
is shoulder told Fowler that he would be back — and that things were going to end much differently next time. Of that, he was sure.
Chapter 22
Madeline didn’t know what time it was.
She did know she was alone. Thomas had laid a gentle hand on her shoulder a few hours ago and told her that the rest of them were leaving for the night. She had nodded, promising that she would be just a few more minutes. Thomas told her that he would let Bennett know that she was still here, to make sure she wouldn’t remain at the factory alone.
Her rumbling stomach was the only reminder of how long it had been. She finally lifted her head, rolling her neck and her shoulders, which had become cramped from remaining in the same position, bent over the sculpture for so long now.
She stared down at it.
And looked into Drake’s face.
She sighed, dropping her head into her hands, rubbing her eyes with the heels of them.
She had wanted nothing more than to come down to the factory, to return to what she loved, and completely forget about him. But instead, she had carved him into her new stone. He wouldn’t leave her mind no matter what she did.
Finally, she allowed her thoughts to return, and they began to wander over all that he had said, all that he accused her of, all that he had mercilessly hurled at her.
And she began to wonder. Did he really think such things? Or was he only trying to drive her away?
She had thought that she was finally breaking her way through the walls she knew were firmly in place around him. At least she had learned why he had erected them in the first place.
But in the process of her offensive, she had left her own subject to attack.
Those barricades she had so carefully put into place, to keep herself from ever being hurt again — he had found his way in, through holes that she hadn’t even known were there.
Then he had taken advantage of his position and he had destroyed her.
She hated him for it.
And yet… the only reason he had been able to hurt her so was because of how much she loved him.
She shouldn’t. She should be glad that he was gone, should despise him with every fiber of her soul for the things he had said to her.
Except… Drake hardly ever showed emotion. Ever. Yet when he said those things to her, it wasn’t anger or malice that lurked behind his eyes.
No.
It was pain. He was as hurt as she was by his words.
So why, oh why, had he said them?
She didn’t know. But she had to find out. And there was only one way to do so — to ask him.
Madeline looked down at the sculpture in front of her.
“I’ll get through that thick head of yours, one way or another,” she whispered, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as she stood and threw her arms out, stretching her stiff muscles.
Then she turned, opened her eyes, and screamed.
Drake had nearly fought Marshall and Georgie as they led him out of the timberyard.
“What are you doing?” he asked, wrenching himself away. “I had him. The man who murdered my parents.”
“And what were you going to do to him?” Georgie asked, throwing her hands out to the side. “You had no weapon out, and they outnumbered you at least four-to-one.”
“The three of us could have done something,” Drake grumbled.
“Yes, we could have,” Marshall said, his mustache quivering in his ire, “if you had only waited for me.”
“Now they know we’re onto them, and sure enough they are likely loading up all of the stolen goods in their warehouse and will have them on a boat within hours, leaving us nothing to find, nothing to come after them for.”
“Then we strike now,” Drake insisted. “It doesn’t have to be according to what Bow Street says. This is personal.”
Georgie tilted her head as she looked at him. “We understand what this means to you. We’re your friends, and we want to be there for you. But—”
She and Marshall shared a look, and she bit her lip as she turned back to him. “We’ve been told that we are to bring you back to Bow Street to speak with the Magistrate.”
“About what?”
“Well,” she exhaled audibly as she placed her hands on her hips. “He feels this has become too personal for you. He wants you to take some time.”
“Time?”
“Time away. Away from the case. Away from work,” she said.
Fire began to race through Drake. “Never.”
“We’re not going to forcibly bring you in, Drake,” Georgie said softly.
Drake looked around as he ran a hand through his hair.
“I’ll go on my own,” he promised. “But I suggest that you get some help, and then return and take them down now.”
“He’s right,” Marshall said to Georgie before turning back to Drake. “Do you promise to leave?”
“No,” Drake said, shaking his head. “But I will not go inside. I will wait and watch until you return.”
“And if anything happens?”
“I’ll send one of the urchins to come and get you.”
Marshall eyed him suspiciously, but finally shrugged.
“Very well.”
They turned to go, when Drake suddenly whipped his head back toward Georgie.
“Where’s Madeline?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Georgie said. “Likely home by now.”
“Likely?”
“Well, Marshall came to get me to come help you. Madeline had been sitting in the factory for hours at that point, working on some sculpture. She was surrounded by everyone who worked with her, so I figured she was less at risk than you were.”
Fear began to claw at Drake’s throat.
“Who was still there when you left?”
“I don’t know,” Georgie said defensively. “A couple of the sculptors and her cousin.”
“Her cousin?” he burst out. “Georgie—”
But he stopped. It wasn’t Georgie’s fault. She had no idea that Bennett might be part of it. And, for all he knew, he was wrong. He had never proven Bennett to be connected at all. He let out a breath.
“Very well. Thank you, Georgie.”
“Are you all right, Drake?” she asked, looking at him with concern, and he managed a quick nod.
“Fine.”
“We’ll be back,” she promised. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
The sun was just beginning to set, and Drake ran his hands through his hair. It seemed like everything he did these days fell into that category.
He had promised not to go into the building — but he had never promised not to venture into the timberyard. He could only hope that Madeline would be home by now, that she had left and all would leave her alone. She had never stayed after sundown before, so he couldn’t see why she would choose to do so tonight.
He crept over the yard, hiding in the shadows as he did. He finally made it to the edge of the riverbank, breathing through his mouth so as to not smell the Thames up so close. He crept over, listening hard as it was difficult to see in the dark.
“Hurry,” he heard Fowler’s voice urgently. “They’ll come back, you know they will.”
“On what grounds?”
“Drake, the son, he saw it all. He may not convince them to see to his own vendetta, but the Crown will certainly care about the stolen goods. But if there’s nothing here when they return—”
“Then he’ll look the fool.”
Drake’s head snapped up at the voice. He knew that voice. Had heard it far too often.
Bennett. He had been right. His pride, however, was soon tempered by how he knew Madeline would react to such news.
“Can we move it over to your factory?”
Bennett snorted. “It’s not my factory yet. But it will be soon.”
“Oh? I thought the woman wasn’t letting you in.”
“She’s thinking about it,” Bennett said confidently. “I’ve made things go poorl
y enough for her that she won’t have much choice if she wants her father to think she has any capability remaining.”
Drake had to hold back a snarl at Bennett’s words.
“I’m done with waiting,” Fowler said. “I’m taking care of it myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever heard of a man named Karl Maxfeld?”
Drake’s blood ran cold.
“Of course,” Bennett said, and Drake could hear the surprise in his voice. “He’s the man Madeline married last year — or, thought she married.”
“Right,” Fowler said. “He was in Newgate, about to be hung. He escaped.”
“So what about him?”
“He wants revenge. I want Castleton Stone, and you aren’t getting the job done.”
“What are you suggesting?”
It seemed Bennett finally realized he was in over his head.
“Maxfeld is going to do it for me.”
“Do… what, exactly?”
Even Bennett sounded trepidatious.
“What do you think?”
Drake was already pushing himself up, scrambling to his feet and away from the bank. He wasn’t going to take his chances any longer. He no longer cared about justice for his parents, no longer cared about the smuggling operation. He only cared about one thing — and that was saving the woman he loved.
The woman he loved.
For yes, he loved her. He loved her with all of his heart. That was the reason he had pushed her away, why he had tried to keep her safe. But in pushing her away from him, he’d only put her in further danger.
He had made a huge mistake. Now it might cost him Madeline. And she was everything.
He had to get to her before anyone else did.
He had to get to her now.
Chapter 23
“Now, now, love, that’s no way to greet me.”
Madeline placed a hand on her racing heart, attempting to take back control of her breath.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, trying not to look up at the staircase in hopes that Bennett would appear once more.
Risking the Detective (The Bluestocking Scandals Book 6) Page 17
