by Bec McMaster
There was a decanter of blood on the small table by the bed. Perry’s hand shook as she forced herself to pour a glass of it. Decorum. Still, as it wet her lips, she drank in greedy gulps. Finally the lingering silence caught her attention.
Garrett looked as though she’d kicked him in the cods. His entire face had paled, dark shadows ringing his eyes. For the first time she noticed the strain there. Had he even slept? He looked dreadful. Garrett never looked anything short of impeccable, but now she saw that his coppery hair was ruffled, as though he’d run both hands through it, and his clothes were rumpled so severely that it looked like he’d slept in them.
And then she realized what she’d said to him. Careless, spiteful words. She might as well have used her knife. “Garrett–”
“No. You’re right. You nearly died, and it’s my fault. You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t played out every possible scenario for the past two days, wondering what might have happened if I didn’t turn down that tunnel, where I found you?” His voice hardened. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, Perry.”
The abject misery in his expression stole her breath, and when she reached out, he clasped her hand in his, and cupped it against his face, his lashes curtaining his eyes. The roughened stubble along his jaw grazed her palm, and Perry brought her other hand up to cradle his cheek.
“I shouldn’t have gone after Lovecraft by myself,” she whispered. “I should have waited for you. This is as much my fault as yours.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
He looked up, and the choking blue of those eyes made her heart ache in her chest. Guilt wielded a heavy lash. Perry’s shoulders softened, “I’m sorry too.”
Another moment of hesitation, of doubt, and then he dragged her into his arms, the scent of his clothes enveloping her, and her face tucked tight against his throat. The tight crush of his grip drove the breath from her body, and Perry realized her breasts were pressed hard against his chest. A part of her wanted to stay there, just as she knew that she shouldn’t. Longing ached within her, that horrible yearning she was trying not to let herself feel. Perry closed her eyes and drank in the sensation. Just this once.
And only once, would it be. With a sigh, she pushed at him, but his strong arms only tightened.
“Please,” Garrett whispered. “Just let me hold you.”
Perry gave in, her entire body relaxing into his grip. His cool breath stirred against her cheek, one of his hands sliding down the centre of her back, tracing the indentations of her spine. His breath eased from his body in one long exhalation, and he turned his face into the curve of her throat. The intimacy of the moment was uncomfortable. How she’d longed for something like this – for him to say those words, or for him to hold her. If he ever guessed… The thought was like a wet drip of icy water down her spine, and she cleared her throat. “Garrett? This is indecent. I’m only wearing a nightshirt.”
“Christ, I’ve seen you in your unmentionables before - that time when I didn’t realize you were getting changed and barged into your room. It’s not as though I think of you as a woman, Perry.”
Her heart broke. With a stiff nod, Perry turned away, and poured herself another glass of blood. Of course, he didn’t care. What did it matter if he saw her bare legs? It wasn’t as though she were female in his eyes. Perry knew that. She’d worked hard to never let him know what beat in her chest, or how much it hurt every time she saw him with another woman.
Just once, she’d like to let him know she had needs and desires too. To give into the yearning that burned in her heart... To kiss him...
Instead, she drained the glass. Then another. She couldn’t risk it. What would she do if he laughed at her? Or worse, looked at her with a guilty expression as he tried to carefully explain that he didn’t feel the same way.
Never.
She could never tell him. Just bury it deep, where it didn’t hurt anymore - or if it did, she could pretend that it didn’t.
Garrett, of course, was oblivious. “Did you see who hit you?”
The events were hazy, and Perry shook her head.
That made him sigh, but he reached inside his coat, and removed a long narrow box, tied with pretty ribbon. “I have something for you.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a present,” he said. “People give them to each other. Usually the purpose of the idea is to–”
Perry tugged the ribbon open.
“Oh.” Her breath caught. “It’s–” Exquisite. She lifted the sheathed dirk out of the tissue paper and drew the blade. It was eight inches long and stiletto-thin. The kind of weapon meant to slip between a pair of ribs, rather than a slashing blade. Perry rolled it over her fingers, learning the weight and balance of it.
Garrett took it from her, sheathing the blade. “I meant to keep it until your birthday, but it seemed…” He shrugged. “Here, it’s made to be sheathed inside your corset, so that you can keep it hidden.” He showed her the way the sheathe had been specifically designed for the purpose. Perry couldn’t take her eyes off his face, but he didn’t notice.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s perfect. It’s the most beautiful present anyone has ever given me.”
That earned a smile. “Well,” he drawled. “I thought about ribbons and perfume and fripperies, but then I saw this and realized it’s the perfect accessory for the lady who likes to kill things. But in all seriousness…” Those blue eyes lost their focus again, the smile fading. “It will help protect you, Perry, when I’m not there to do it. Promise me you’ll keep it on you at all times.”
The vulnerability in his gaze made her skin itch. “I think you hit your head,” she said, trying for lightness. “You seem to have mistaken me for some sort of damsel in distress.”
“I don’t mistake you for anything you’re not,” he countered. “But even the most trained professionals can become vulnerable, and I won’t ever allow anything to happen to you again.”
“You can’t protect me from the world.”
“I can try.” Gruff words. He glanced away, as if holding her gaze was too much for him at the moment.
Perry looked away too, fingers toying with the edge of the knife. What to say to that? The conversation had veered rather uncomfortably into areas she wasn’t certain she liked. It only gave her treacherous heart hope, when she knew there was none.
Clearing her throat, she said: “So what have I missed? I assume you’ve been working on finding Miss Tate?”
That made his lips thin. “Actually, we found her...” He filled in the details of the last two days – and how he’d found poor Nelly’s body, discarded in the water with her.
“A blow to the head, according to Gibson, in much the same manner as yours.” Garrett’s expression darkened, and she knew he was thinking of that moment again. “Byrnes and I have been keeping an eye on Miss Radcliffe, though things at the theatre seem to have settled since Lovecraft’s death. We’re not certain if he’s the one who assaulted her in the alley that day, or someone else. They’re starting their run again tomorrow night, so the theatre’s been mostly closed. It’s given Byrnes and I time to examine it.”
“Nothing new?”
“Only one thing. We’ve found a dressing room trunk near the chute, shoved out of the way with some props. There’s blood in it. I need Eliza to look at it, and see if the trunk belonged to Nelly. It’s very similar in design to another in Nelly’s dressing room, and I was wondering whether that’s how her body was removed to the chute without anybody noticing. She might have been unconscious inside it.”
“And... Lovecraft? It was quick?”
“Immediate.” Garrett hesitated. “I know you felt a sense of responsibility for him, but–”
“He had no one else,” she replied, her gaze lowering, and her arms hugging tight around her abdomen. I know what that feels like. To be alone without any hope in the world, and only enemies everywhere you looked...
At least she’d found the N
ighthawks. Lovecraft had never had an opportunity like that, and she felt a guilty little squeeze in her chest. Could she have done more? Heard her attacker coming, perhaps? Or if she hadn’t been so focused on Lovecraft, or distracted...
Garrett caught her chin. His expression was firm. “He was with someone who cared for him when he died, Perry. That’s the least that anyone can ask for. You are not to blame for this. You didn’t shoot him, did you?”
“Who did?” Her memories of the event were so damned hazy...
“Arthur Millington.”
“The stagehand?”
He nodded. “Rommell’s crowing about it as though he held the pistol himself.”
That made no sense. “Millington...” His face swam to mind as the man who’d taken Miss Radcliffe away to see to the lighting. “Why would he have any cause to attack me?”
“He wouldn’t, but there were three bullets that hit Lovecraft. The one through the chest was a .442 - the same bullet as the one that killed Hobbs. The other two shots were fired from a different pistol.”
“So Millington shot Lovecraft twice, just before the murderer added his own bullet?”
“The results came through this morning, so I haven’t had a chance to question Millington about who else was accompanying him.”
“It could be Rommell,” she mused, with a small frown. “He was there too, you said.”
“My money’s on Rommell, though I’m not certain his lordship would carry a Webley - he’s the sort to purchase a more expensive weapon, and we still don’t have motive for Hobbs’ murder.”
“Yes, we do,” she snorted. “Nelly’s easy - she refused to be his mistress, and it’s clear he’s jealous of his possessions. Maybe he discovered that Hobbs was sending Nelly roses? Maybe he realized they were lovers?”
“We don’t know that they were lovers,” he said. “We don’t have any proof. This is all guesswork, Perry, and if it is Rommell, we need cold, hard facts, or the courts will eat us alive. The Echelon won’t like knowing that one of their own is involved in this.”
“That’s true.”
He rubbed at his mouth. “We need to find the link between Nelly and Hobbs.”
“Has Fitz had any luck with the coded diaries in Hobbs’ storeroom?”
“Yes. They’re mostly files on the mech enhancements he’d performed in the last few years. There’s no reference to Nelly, dash it all, but it was a good thought. I’m hoping we’ll be able to get a lead tomorrow.”
“We?”
“Doctor Gibson needs to clear you for duty.” There was a faint hesitation from him. “Lynch intends for us to work together to finish the case. I asked if I could work with Byrnes until it was finished but–”
“What?”
“It made sense. Not only are you injured, but you and I have several things we need to discuss. I’d prefer to work these matters out when we have time, not in the middle of a potentially dangerous case.”
The words sounded reasonable, but all she could hear was the sound of rushing thunder in her ears. “Don’t you dare push me off this case.”
“Christ,” he snapped, his roughened accent emerging in the heat of his temper. “This ain’t...” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “This has nothing to do with your worth, Perry. This entire case has been a mess from the start, and I don’t even bloody know what we’re arguing about!”
They glared at each other. Perry turned away first. She wasn’t entirely certain why she was so angry with him.
Or perhaps she knew exactly why.
I don’t even bloody know what we’re arguing about… And he didn’t. Garrett was completely oblivious to the way she felt about him.
She’d been oblivious.
Perry had always known he carried on affairs, but Garrett was discreet and usually conducted them outside guild matters. Usually she only realized what was going on when she smelt a hint of perfume on his skin. She’d never been present during the start of the flirtation, and it had rocked her to see him smiling and flirting with Miss Radcliffe, whom he obviously found attractive.
And why wouldn’t he? The young actress was beautiful, gracious, and brave. Everything that a young lady should be, and everything that Perry wasn’t. Perhaps that was the true problem? Miss Radcliffe was so perfect - the kind of young woman that Perry had once wished she could be, before realizing that no matter how hard she forced herself, she would never fit that mold.
She’d accused him of letting his emotions and flirtations interfere with their work, when she’d compromised it far more severely.
This was all her fault.
“Perry, are you all right?” The floorboards creaked as he took a step toward her. “I didn’t mean to say I didn’t wish to work with you. I didn’t mean–”
“I know you didn’t.” She’d made a right royal muck of things. “I shouldn’t have made you feel like you’d compromised your professionalism. You didn’t. It was only–”
“No, you were right. I was attracted to Miss Radcliffe, and I couldn’t see it, so don’t apologise for that.” Garrett stepped into her vision, taking her by the upper arms. This time his grip was firm, his expression more confident than it had been before. “Apology accepted?”
“Apology accepted,” she repeated. “Back to Nelly’s apartment tomorrow?” she asked, forcing her voice to lighten, as though nothing had ever occurred between them.
He nodded. “I’ll try and track Millington down today with Byrnes, and see if he has any answers. You just rest. Tomorrow we’ll see if we can find anything at Nelly’s that we missed in the first sweep, now we know what to look for.”
Determination filled her. Cases could often be slow, but Perry needed to find some answers now, with three people dead. Poor Lovecraft, he’d never stood a chance...
I’ll find them, she promised Lovecraft silently. And I’ll make them pay for what they did to the pair of us, for what they did to Nelly and Hobbs...
The darkness of the hunger surfaced within her at the thought.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MILLINGTON WAS AT The Cap and Thistle, in Holborn, with several fellows who met for darts each Sunday. The Cap and Thistle was an old pub, with diamond-shaped windowpanes, and mahogany paneling inside. It stunk of smoke and beer, and laughter rocked its small confines.
Garrett strode in and located his target, throwing darts in the corner.
“That him?” Byrnes asked, at his side.
“Aye.”
Millington swilled a mugful of beer, laughing at something someone had said. It had taken three hours to track him down - both by rumor of his habits on his day off, and his scent trail. Byrnes was almost as good at tracking as Perry was.
Millington saw them enter over the rim of his mug, and choked a little on his beer. Garrett tipped his chin, indicating he wanted a word, and Millington handed the pair of darts in his hand to someone else.
“Christ,” the man muttered. “Ain’t you fellows finished up, yet? Thought we got him.”
Garrett’s smile was tight. “We’re not entirely certain Lovecraft had anything to do with Nelly Tate’s murder, but what I want to speak to you about is what occurred when you shot him. Specifically, if there was another individual in the area when you arrived on scene.”
Millington grumbled under his breath as he dragged out a barstool, the whites of his eyes flashing as he eyed the dartboard longingly. “I can’t bloody remember. Were about a dozen of us, all told, and it all happening at once...”
“And the pistol you were carrying at the time?” Byrnes asked.
“A Colt 1862 Trapper. Why?”
A .36 caliber. “No reason.”
Garrett grilled him for the next half hour but the story didn’t change. Millington seemed uninterested.
“Bloody hell, we got him, didn’t he?” A sneer curled his lip. “Took care o’ matters when you lot couldn’t. You ain’t got any proof that clockwork menace did it? Hell, you only had to look at him!”
“In
the Nighthawks, we prefer facts.”
“Attacked Miss Radcliffe, he did!”
“Did he?” Garrett murmured, then deliberately set out to fish for information. “I was under the impression that she simply got in his way.”
Millington’s eyes narrowed. “Saw it with me own eyes. You ask Lord Rommell! He were there, too.”
“Yes, we’re aware that Rommell was standing there. Makes us all kinds of curious.” Byrnes cut him an enigmatic smile that could have meant anything.
“Rommell’s a good man,” Millington blustered. “Took care of matters when you lot didn’t.” He drained the dregs of his beer, and slammed the mug down. “I’ve had enough of this. The monster’s dead. Case is solved. You ought to move on.”
“The problem is, that whoever the other person is that shot Lovecraft, is also responsible for assaulting my partner, Perry.” Garrett bared his teeth in a smile. “I’m afraid I’m not just going to let that sit.”
Millington paled at the threat. “The lass as dresses like a man?”
“Yes.” Garrett stood, shrugging back into his leather coat. “I’m fairly certain that when she wakes up, she’ll be able to point us in the right direction. I was hoping you might have had an idea, but I suppose we’ll just have to wait for Perry.”
“Interesting tactic there,” Byrnes commented as they strode along the footpath. “I thought Perry was awake.”
“She is,” Garrett replied.
“You suspect something?”
“Millington?” His brows shot up. “I’m not certain. He was very defensive.”
“Covering for someone?”
“Possibly. Either that, or he doesn’t like us very much.”
“If he does know who did it, then that somebody just received fair warning,” Byrnes pointed out.
Garrett felt a tight smile stretch over his face. “Good. I want them to be warned. I want them on edge about what Perry might know. So far we’ve got very little. Maybe this will push the murderer into revealing his hand.”
