by Bec McMaster
Garrett paused in dragging on a clean, white shirt to glance at her as she entered his bedchambers. The color suited him. They were so often in black, but white highlighted the bright blue of his eyes and his gleaming chestnut hair. He swiftly did the buttons up over his broad chest, then started on the cuffs. “Sent a message to who?”
“Doyle.”
A smile touched his lips. He was struggling with the buttons at his cuffs. “I take it you are clean and dry.”
“And fed, watered, and scolded,” she added, crossing to his side. “Here. Allow me.” Her bandaged hands caught his wrist, tugging the button through the material. The hard flex of his forearm bunched beneath her grip. “My hands are healed already, courtesy of the craving, but he insisted on slathering on some foul-smelling concoction.”
“Doyle doesn’t have any daughters. So be gracious.”
“You’re not my father, either,” she reminded him.
“Not even remotely. And don’t try to categorize me as a brother or cousin.”
A heavy silence fell between them. Full of a liquid awareness. Perry let go of his other sleeve, her cheeks flushed with heat. “I see you’ve been redecorating.”
He followed her out into the remnants of what had once been Lynch’s study. The bookshelves were swept clean and the desk, which had always overflowed with paperwork, was spotless. Someone had brought in a pair of red leather-studded sofas and a Turkish rug. They rested before the enormous hearth, with the faded square in the wallpaper above it indicating where a map had once hung.
Garrett tugged open a desk drawer and removed a dark green bottle and a pair of wineglasses. He shrugged, kicking the drawer shut. “It seemed time. I was growing weary of all the books. They’re not mine.”
There was more to it than that. Perry eyed his nonchalant expression and then the bottle. “Blud-wein?” In her state, it would go straight to her head.
A rare delicacy for a rogue blue blood. The sort of thing the Echelon drank, but supplies would be short now, what with the closure of the draining factories.
Garrett shot her one of his more devastating smiles. “One of the few things I kept from Lynch’s stock. He owes me a decent drop.”
She felt tired, glassy. Every so often she caught herself staring and knew she was ready for sleep. The shock of the day had torn through her like a knife. A long day, trying to settle Ava and Alice. Still it was nice to know some things hadn’t changed. She and Garrett often relaxed together like this after a horrendous shift on the streets. And she needed it right now. Almost as much as she’d needed his arms around her at the factory.
Slumping into the corner of one sofa like a marionette with its strings cut, Perry tucked her feet up in front of her and wrapped her arms around them. Best not to think of that. After the horror of the day, Garrett had been there, the way she knew he would be. But it didn’t change this awkwardness between them. And it seemed her past was starting to catch up to her.
She had no proof, nothing to go on but the little voice in her head that wouldn’t leave her alone. You know it’s Hague. He’s back. And his methods have evolved.
But how could she point Garrett in the right direction without revealing all of her own tangled secrets? And if she did, would he somehow trace Hague back to Moncrieff? That was the last thing she wanted. The Moncrieff wouldn’t hesitate to cut Garrett down. Indeed, if the duke had any inkling of her feelings for Garrett, he’d relish the opportunity.
Garrett set the bottle and glasses down on the carpet. Grabbing a lap rug, he draped it around her shoulders and tugged it tight around her, his hands hovering on the edges of the rug as if he didn’t want to let go. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired.” Exhausted. “What’s wrong?”
His mouth tightened. “You were the one who was trapped down there. I should be asking you that.”
“Yes, but you’re acting strangely. I’m not.” Perry tipped her chin up, refusing to let him see how much today had shaken her. Garrett knew she was capable, but she couldn’t afford to have another moment like that one today. The men would expect it of her, and she’d fought too long and hard for her reputation over the years to lose it now.
Garrett laughed, more of an exhale really. “You like to make things difficult, don’t you?”
She wasn’t used to this. Not at all. Perry tugged the rug tighter around her. “I don’t know what you mean—”
“We need to speak about today.”
“I told you—I’m fine.”
“I’m not.” Tension ran in stiff lines through his body. He rubbed one hand over the other. “I was frightened.”
The words stole her breath. “You? You’re never frightened.”
“I know that we lose Nighthawks on occasion. It’s one of the hazards of the job. It’s expected. But…not you.” Those stormy eyes met hers. Locked on her tight. “I thought, for a moment, that I’d lost you.”
Her breath caught. These were uncertain waters. Garrett was always cool and in control. Tonight was different. Something darkened his eyes, a sense of revelation. And whatever he saw, he didn’t like it. “But you didn’t,” she replied, trying to make sense of it all.
“I thought I did. I’ve had the thought before—that time three years ago when I lost you in the tunnels beneath the theater—but not like this. And I can’t—” His voice roughened. “I can’t lose you. Things are…becoming a little complicated for me.”
Well. She sat in stunned silence. How many times had she longed to hear those words over the years? Her heart clenched in her chest. No. She couldn’t deal with this, not at this moment. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t.
For a second, she thought she was going to suffer another attack.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you to go with Byrnes,” he admitted. “I should have been there for you, should have—”
“The floor swallowed me up,” she said quickly, digging her nails into her palms. It helped take her focus off her breathing. “You being there wouldn’t have made any difference.”
“Yes, but…”
“You’re feeling guilty,” she said. “I don’t blame you for what happened, and this isn’t Byrnes’s fault, either. If it’s any consolation, I believe he’s probably going to find it difficult to get any rest tonight, if only because he’ll be worried you might try to strangle him in his sleep.” She forced her voice to remain cool and calm. Inside she was trembling. “Now, could you pour me some blud-wein? I must admit that I am particularly craving a glass right now.”
Garrett stared at her. “Your sheer practicality is almost cold-blooded at times. You know that?”
Perry sank back into the sofa. She wasn’t cold-blooded, not at all. Today would haunt her, but not now when she was safe, clean, and dry. She’d learned a long time ago to appreciate these moments in life and not dwell on the others. She couldn’t. Or she’d be a gibbering mess. “We saved two girls. We also have a strong lead on the Keller-Fortescue case. I’m so tired right now that I just want to…not think about it.”
“It’s so easy for you not to think about it, isn’t it?”
“It’s something I’ve learned over the years. From an excellent teacher, mind you.”
Garrett shot her a rueful look. “That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because usually…” He gestured helplessly. “It’s just different.” Going to his knees on the rug, he popped the cork on the wine bottle and poured her a glass. She was suddenly ravenous, her vision flashing through myriad shades of dark.
The fireplace crackled and he cleared his throat. “Drink up. Here’s to merrier thoughts. Like revenge.”
His glass clinked against hers, then he pressed it to his lips, his irises going black with hunger. A little flush of answering need swept through her and she drank greedily, trying to assuage it. Not that blood would ever slake this thirst.
“Revenge?” Perry asked, lowering her empty glass.
“Do you remember how you drove me
insane following the Falcone attack? Not letting me out of bed, fluffing my pillows, fetching me blood and wine and anything else I needed.”
“I don’t know how you suffered through it.”
He smiled, purely diabolical. “I suffered your smothering ministrations because I knew that you cared. Just as I do.”
Perry sat up straighter. “You are not confining me to bed rest.” Not with a madman out there who might—or might not—be Hague. She needed to be on this case. She had to know if her nightmares were coming true. “Don’t you dare.”
“This case is getting dangerous—”
“That’s not unusual.”
“Yes, but—”
“Garrett!” she snapped. “If you take me off this case I shall…I shall make you regret it.”
“I shiver at your inventiveness.”
“You should,” she growled, snatching the bottle of blud-wein from him. “I can be hellishly inventive when I set my mind to it.” It wasn’t enough. She could see it in his eyes. Her voice softened. “You asked me once why this case bothered me. It’s personal this time, Garrett. I can’t just sit back and watch. I won’t.”
The instant she said “personal,” his gaze shot to hers. “Why?”
A mistake. He’d never let up now. “Because I know what it’s like to be powerless like that.”
“Perry.” He reached for her.
“Don’t.” She brushed his hand aside and poured herself another glass of blud-wein. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She held the bottle out to him. “I didn’t choose to become a blue blood. And the man who did this to me… He wanted me to be able to heal from what he intended to do…for the hurt he intended to cause. I was less than a woman to him.”
The sleepy lassitude of the blud-wein was working its magic, stealing through her veins and smoldering deep in her stomach. Letting her reveal something that she’d never spoken of to anyone before.
Garrett’s face hardened. “He hurt you.”
Soft, dangerous words. Perry looked up, surprised by the blackness sweeping through his irises. He’d drained one glass. He shouldn’t be craving another so strongly.
“It was a long time ago.”
Garrett’s face was so expressionless that he might as well have been carved of stone. But stone didn’t radiate fury and menace like that. Stone didn’t look like it wanted to kill something. Badly.
“Garrett?”
“Is he dead?”
The harshness of his whisper bothered her. “Y-yes.” Or at least she’d thought so. She wasn’t so certain anymore.
“D-did he…? What did he do to you?”
She thought she understood. Garrett rarely spoke of his mother, but Perry knew that the poor woman had been molested before her throat had been cut. He’d spoken of it once when he was drunk. “Not that,” Perry hastened to assure him. “The man—he wasn’t interested in me as a woman. Only in pain, in… He liked to cut.” Bile rose in her throat. “Please don’t ask me any more.”
Hastily she drained her second glass. She needed it. Warmth spread through her, a slow seeping drug that swept away some of the nausea speaking of Hague resurrected.
Garrett slid his hand through hers, lacing their fingers together. “I wish that I could have been there.”
“You were there for me,” she replied. “You were there when I needed you. When I couldn’t bear the thought of another man even touching me, let alone living among dozens of them. You taught me to trust again, when so many men had let me down.”
His fingers squeezed hers. “I still wish I’d been there…when it happened.”
“Then don’t stop me now. If you want to help me, don’t take me off this case. I want to catch this bastard.” Particularly if it was Hague. “Before he hurts some other young girl.”
“Fine. You’ll work the case. With me.”
She’d be lucky if she was allowed out without three armored guards after this. Still she gave him a shy smile and slipped her hand from his, reaching for the blud-wein. “Thank you. Let’s go over what we know. I don’t think I could sleep just yet.”
For the next hour, they talked about the case. Garrett created a map on the carpet, using the wine bottle as the draining factory and small copper pennies to indicate areas of interest. One copper penny for the man who’d mentioned Steel Jaw, another for Tolliver, another for Sykes.
“I almost forgot,” Garrett said. “I’ve solved one mystery, at least.”
Perry leaned her head back against the sofa arm sleepily. “Oh?”
With another of those devastating grins, he ducked behind the desk and returned with a small brass box with what looked like reams of transparent ribbons attached to the top—the same type of ribbon that was used in the ECHO to record sound. “I have found our ghost,” he said, setting the device on the table and turning it on. “It was in the laboratory.”
Vision flickered over the nearest wall, pale and muted from the competing light from the fire. But it was enough for her to see a woman dressed in white turning toward the projecting device, her eyes and mouth opening wide in a scream.
“What on earth…?”
“It’s not perfect, but in the near dark, it would be enough to scare away anyone who stumbled across the killer’s laboratory.” Garrett flicked the switch off. “Humans are a superstitious lot.”
“A bloody ghost.” Perry shook her head. “What next?” Taking another sip of blud-wein, she relaxed again. “So, who do you think is behind all of this?”
“Sykes,” Garrett murmured. “We still need to locate him and question him. There’s been no sign of him since Monday. Almost as if he’s vanished.”
“Not unusual, once he knew we were looking for him,” she reminded him. “Sometimes people run.”
“Only those with something to hide.”
Perry sipped her wine. “I’d like to look through his home, if I could. See if the scent trail matches anything I picked up in the laboratory at the factory.”
“Tomorrow,” he agreed with a frown. “We both need sleep or we’re going to start making mistakes. Sykes had to have created that laboratory. It had to be someone who had access and could come and go at will.”
“Garrett, there are dozens of tunnels beneath that section of London. It could be anyone.”
“Yes, but there’s also a constant ebb and flow of workers above. Someone must have seen something unusual—unless…unless it wasn’t unusual for them.” People rarely noticed others coming and going if it was a regular occurrence.
“But how would Sykes have met Miss Fortescue or Miss Keller?” Perry argued. “We’ll need to question the factory workers.”
“The men have started, but it will take days.”
“Then get more men on it. You don’t need to do all of this by yourself anymore.”
Another slow smile. “I’m still getting used to this position, I suppose.” He shifted a handful of shillings toward the factory. “Those can be Nighthawks. Hayes is good at questioning people. He can be in charge.” He frowned. “Why is he taking daughters of the Echelon? That’s the part I can’t figure out. They’re not prostitutes or women whose disappearance wouldn’t be remarked upon.”
“They have to have come into his sphere somehow, and maybe…maybe he sees them and wants them for his collection.” She thought of Hague. “Some men—or monsters—are like that. They fixate on women they’ve seen.” Her. Perry swallowed. The duke had told her after Hague first found her trying to free girls from his laboratory that she was safe. That he had a deal with Hague. Hague would do the duke’s work, and the duke would look the other way when it came to some of Hague’s…peccadilloes. That was the word he’d used. In return, Moncrieff’s thralls were not to be touched.
Only she hadn’t been safe. For days after the aborted escape attempt, Hague had watched her every time she moved around the Moncrieff’s mansion, desperately writing to her father to break the thrall contract. The moment the duke was gone for the evening, Hague had
drugged her and she’d woken up—
Perry forced the memory back into its locked box in her mind.
“What else?” Garrett mused, not noticing her discomfort.
“Someone needs to question Ava and Alice.”
Silence fell. Perry drained her glass, letting the warmth of the blud-wein soften the tension in her muscles. I’m not going to think of that. Not tonight.
“We’ll let them rest,” Garrett replied. “Alice won’t let anyone near her except Doyle, and Miss McLaren is still…unsettled. I’m not going to force that on either of them. Not yet.”
“You could let Byrnes question Miss McLaren,” Perry suggested. “She seemed to trust him.”
“We’ll see.”
Perry curled up along the sofa. She was feeling deliciously relaxed now. “This is a most excellent wine.”
“Perhaps you can send the duke your regards,” Garrett replied dryly, draining the last of his glass and placing it aside. Leaning forward onto his hands and knees, he swept up the pennies and shillings.
The view was most excellent too, Perry thought, staring at his arse. Leather did all kinds of wonderful things for the male anatomy. A hot flush pooled low in her belly, igniting all sorts of wicked ideas in her head. Or perhaps that was the amount of blud-wein she’d consumed. It left her flushed and relaxed and contemplating things she probably shouldn’t.
Slowly she closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth from the fireplace. Garrett cursed under his breath as he gathered up the rest of the pennies, the monotony of it lulling her even further. She felt utterly safe here, knowing that he watched over her.
“Perry…”
A presence loomed. She reached out to stop it, but then warm arms slid beneath her and the scent of Garrett’s familiar cologne filled her head. “Never could hold your wine, Perry. Come on, I’ve got you.”
Strong arms. She thought about insisting that he put her down, but she was tired, the world was hazy, and if she were honest with herself, she quite liked being here. Her fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, her head nestling on his shoulder. The world spun as he straightened and Perry let it, nuzzling in closer.
