Ellie sailed for the exit, aware of the guaranteed death hurtling her way.
Bernard outpaced her with his long legs, but to her surprise, he reached back and snagged her hand, dragging her forward with him. The copperhead careened toward them, ready to hit the floorboards past the tables and the bar, right near the entrance they were racing toward.
Ellie’s calves squeezed tight as she lunged for the door, gripping Bernard’s hand tight. Her shoulder clipped the frame as she hurtled through.
A deliberate click echoed inside the bar.
Ellie tumbled onto the cobblestones outside, her knees slamming to the splintered stone. Bernard let go of her hand and hurled himself down.
A buzz filled the air, increasingly louder.
Tick, tick, tick…pop.
The gust of heat rolled out of the open door first, followed by the boom that shook the timbers of the old building.
The screams came next. Horrified moans, loud, ear-splitting rage and hoarse howls that made her skin crawl. Ellie clutched her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sounds. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and sucked in a shallow aluminum breath. Guilt scrubbed her raw, but it had been lacerating her skin to the bone for a long while now.
She pushed herself up amid the metallic fumes pouring from the open door. Gusts of oily black smoke trailed out, and based on the twitch of her nose, fires had started inside. No one had asked that cur to bring a copperhead into the building, though she couldn’t quite shake the lingering tug at her heels that she brought trouble with her wherever she went. Not like she’d ever be the good daughter.
Bernard hovered above her, his hand thrust out. “Let’s get out of here.”
She accepted his hand, rough and warm against hers as he tugged her up with ease. The man’s muscles bunched with the motion, causing the fabric of his sleeves to wrinkle. Those dark eyes held an alluring intensity as he heaved her like she weighed little more than a dry leaf.
“Your place or mine?” Ellie drawled, the words coming out far more sensual than anticipated. She wasn’t one for denying urges, though, however they might appear.
The corner of his mouth twitched, revealing a delicious smirk framed by his thick black moustache and beard. “What sort of gentleman would I be if I didn’t escort a lady home?” He cast a fast glance to the tavern behind them, the first golden lick of flame flickering from inside. A few men stumbled out through the front door, coughing and spluttering.
Some might blame James Donovan, but others would find fault with her, and she didn’t want to stick around to attract their censure.
Ellie brushed her trousers down and set off at a cracking pace along the street in the opposite direction they’d come from. The tenement she called home wasn’t far from this tavern, so she took the lead. If the handsome officer wanted to escort her back, she wouldn’t complain. After all, she’d half expected this night to end at the bottom of a river or clapped in irons.
She took in one more glimpse of the Drowned Rat, casting her guilt behind to burn like the timbers that had caught. Fire flickered from the windows, and more and more men stumbled out from the bar, some bleeding from open cuts while others coughed like they’d come down with consumption. The building would burn and potentially others nearby, boxes of tinder waiting for a blaze. Not like the officials would give a whit—the plights of the poor never concerned the lawmen.
Bernard strode beside her, an enigma in a tailored waistcoat and a well-fitting pair of slacks. The man exuded a raw masculinity despite the trappings, something primal that had drawn her attention from the moment he’d aimed a pistol at her. He could’ve been an uptight prick like most of the mutton shunters she’d run afoul of, but this detective contained layers she wanted to peel away.
“I’m beginning to suspect you summon enemies every time you step into a new locale,” Bernard murmured, his voice a rich timbre she found she enjoyed. The arch look he cast sent a shiver up her spine.
“It’s a gift,” Ellie responded. “I find boredom abhorrent.” She sucked in a deep breath. Her clothes still hadn’t dried, her shirt and trousers clinging to her skin with a chill that bit deep. Pale green beams filtered from a broken gas lamp up ahead, and the darkened windows of the two-story buildings they passed glared down at her with condemnation.
“Hence the offer to join my hunt for a serial killer?” he asked. Brittle leaves scraped against the cobblestones, a scratching that echoed like claws. Groans came from the nearest alley they strode by, but she knew better than to risk a glimpse.
“You bore witness to the sheer number of friendly faces I attract,” Ellie responded. “What makes you think I long for the coppers chasing me through this city over a falsehood?” Her stomach squeezed tight. Surely, she hadn’t fallen so far from grace. “Besides, I might have dabbled in some light misdemeanors, but I’ve never killed in cold blood.”
“Why do you think I’m not hauling you off?” Bernard murmured.
She caught a whiff of the delicious scent of gunpowder and cedar coming off him, and it stroked her core. She dared to glance in his direction and found herself arrested by the way those eyes didn’t just glide over her—they saw right through her.
“Because you’ve fallen victim to my multi-faceted charms?” she teased, needing to still the elevated thump-thump-thump of her heart.
“You’re multi-faceted,” he responded. “I’ll give you as much.” Amusement glinted in his eyes, barely visible in the ghastly lantern light as they strolled by. Already, she caught the height of her tenement peeking over the other buildings along their path a mere couple of blocks away.
They looped around a corner to the back wall. Old Susie sat sprawled against the brick, her eyes glazed over in the thrall of whatever substance she could shoot through her veins. Benjamin stood at the back entrance, smoking his pipe and minding his own, like everyone did in this neighborhood.
“So, lawman,” Ellie said, slowing to a halt as she faced Bernard. “Tomorrow night?”
He’d slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, which highlighted those broad shoulders and the sheer stature of the man. Her gaze lingered on the way the moonlight skimmed across his square jaw. As she scanned him over, she caught sight of her satchel hanging from his pocket.
That rat bastard. Ellie withheld her growl, a thrum of shock filtering through her. When had he snagged it from her? If he thought to keep her honest while they worked together, he’d find himself hard pressed.
“I’ll meet you here tomorrow evening,” Bernard said, tipping his fingers in a salute. He pivoted his heel as he prepared to walk away.
Not with my month’s rent on his person.
Ellie reached for his wrist. Once her fingers brushed against his skin, he turned toward her. This close, she could smell the crisp bite of gin on his breath and feel the heat emanating off him. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
All the while, she slipped her fingers to the satchel. Ellie brushed her lips against the warm skin of his cheek, and his breath hitched, his focus on her. Good. The knot slipped undone and she pulled the satchel to her side.
Ellie drew away and offered a wink. He blinked for a moment, then that intense gaze descended on her. He palmed his waist, searching for the missing item.
“Nice try,” she murmured, lifting the satchel as she took a few more paces backward. “See you tomorrow, darling.”
Chapter Four
Night had fallen, and he found himself anticipating his encounter with Eleanor Whitfield far more than he’d expected.
Bernard strode through the streets with ease, his watch heavy in his pocket. He’d made sure to leave his other trappings and niceties at home. He was less concerned about pickpockets wandering the streets than the one he planned on meeting with. The brazen way she’d snatched her satchel without him realizing had impressed him, even if the woman most likely broke the law as often as she breathed.
Her tenement building loomed in the distance, dozens
of dark windows glaring at him with menace. The shadows bred disaster and heartbreak around here, whether a slipped knife or the Butcher of Broad Street themselves waited in an alley. Most of the killer’s victims had been discovered in poorer neighborhoods far after they’d left this world. The only reason the last one had been found so fresh was due to having been left near a richer area.
The cops of this city had long been pocketed by the wealthy. He shared Ellie’s derision for the corruption rampant through every corner of London, but he chose to make his stand from inside the organization.
He strode up past the gas lamps that winked with sickly beams onto split cobblestones which might never get repaired. The light illuminated dark splatters on the street—whether bile or blood, he couldn’t be sure.
Upon stepping closer, he caught sight of Ellie leaning against the brick wall outside the building. Her raven curls weren’t bound today and they tapered freely across her shoulders and back, framing a beautiful face. Despite the obvious ploy it had been, Bernard couldn’t help but replay the soft press of her lips as she’d kissed his cheek. The high riding boots and slate trousers she wore helped her blend into the shadows, and even the high-collar shirt was a dove gray, accented by suspenders his fingers itched to slide off her shoulders.
Already the woman infected his mind, but how could she not? He’d never met anyone with her spark and determination, even if she was the sort of thief his peers would lock behind bars in a heartbeat.
“Any man with half a mind wouldn’t have arrived at this rendezvous,” Ellie called out by way of greeting. “After the thrilling escapades I escorted you through yesterday, I’d bet upon you vanishing into the night, never to be seen again.”
Bernard crooked an eyebrow at her as he came to a stop mere feet away. “Are you disclosing your eventual plans for me? I find that to be a bit of bad form, my dear.”
Ellie pursed her lips to quash a burgeoning smile. “Mayhaps,” she murmured. “Though I do love to keep an air of mystery. Now, let’s stop rotting about and head to the first destination.”
Bernard offered his arm, half expecting her to turn him down. Instead, she looped her arm through his, bringing her body closer. She smelled like orange and clove oil, the scents sharp and bright, just like the woman. The shadows highlighted her straight nose and deepened the fringe of her alluring lashes. Despite her loud presence, the woman was petite, from her height to the slender curve of her waist.
“However did you manage to spare time from your busy schedule of thieving?” Bernard mentioned, allowing himself a small grin. “You do know you can’t nip off to nick some purses while an officer’s by your side.”
“You ruin all my fun,” Ellie shot back, giving a slight tug to his arm to signal direction. They strolled down another street in Islington, this one in worse repair than her own. “To repay you, I’m about to introduce you to some of the seediest spots in all of London. Be prepared.”
Bernard let out a snort. “Trust me, I’m well aware of what London has to offer. What I’m not abreast of are how things have shifted since my time at sea. Ever since I became a detective on the force, I haven’t had the access to underworld goings-on I used to.”
Ellie lifted an eyebrow. “Shocking, that. You’d think every criminal would welcome the mutton shunters in with open arms.”
Bernard tried to suppress the thrum of warmth in his chest at their easy conversation. Truth be told, he’d been lonelier than he ever cared to admit since he’d returned. As a detective who focused more on the worst the city offered, he didn’t share much camaraderie with the rest of the force, and he couldn’t bring himself to frequent the brothels for company either. Instead, he poured himself into tracking down these serial killers that infested London worse than the plague.
He’d be lying if the idea of a woman as gorgeous as Eleanor Whitfield sharing his bed didn’t make his blood scorch. However, they had a task to accomplish, a serial killer to track down, and those thoughts would only serve to distract him—as she’d already proved.
At the end of the street, a derelict house stood out.
The place must’ve been a storefront once upon a time, the wide broken windows up front looking more businesslike. A less-than-welcoming porch stretched out in front of the door, splintered steps leading down. Bernard drew his shoulders together. No signs of life stood out, yet an oily slick lingered around the area as if some presence remained there. As much as he’d been trained to observe what his senses registered and not travel on any flights of fancy, trusting the twinge in his gut had been what had saved him many times over.
“Tighten your bootstraps, darling,” Ellie murmured upon approach. “Guaranteed, unless you’re familiar with this house already, you haven’t seen sights like these.”
They reached the front entrance, but Ellie didn’t bother attempting the twigs the steps had become. Instead, she led him around the side of the house. His gaze remained upward as he scanned for other doors or entrances, catching a glimpse of shuttered windows above and darkened maws that glared at him. However, Ellie didn’t head toward anything of the sort. Instead, she tiptoed around to the back and crouched in front of the peeling cellar doors.
A shiver ran down his spine. He thought he knew most of the secret places in London, but this thief could teach him a trick or two.
Ellie paused with her fingers on the latch and glanced at him. “If you try to shut this spot down, the market will just re-open elsewhere, and you’ll make it more difficult to discover. They’ve traveled before and won’t hesitate to do so again.”
Bernard lifted a hand in defense. “I’m here as an observer, nothing more. My goal is to discover the whereabouts of the Butcher of Broad Street.”
Even though Ellie’s lips pursed and a level of skepticism flickered in her eyes, she undid the latch and brought the cellar doors open with a creak. Ellie didn’t glance back as she strode down the steps, unafraid.
Bernard trailed behind her, enveloped by the scent of must, of moss and of something other. They plunged into velvet darkness as thick as sulfur, and his breath snagged in his throat. A rattle echoed while Ellie fiddled with the door handle. As it swung open, a hallway stretched out before them, lit by aether that flowed round and round in globes attached to the walls by copper claws.
They passed by closed black doors on either side of them. Even though he couldn’t hear a sound before they’d entered, the moment they strode through the hall, the noises began to carry. Distant wails, several screeches and sobs caused his blood to chill, but Ellie waded through unperturbed.
“No one’s in danger,” she murmured. “People pay handsomely around here to unleash certain proclivities—ones they may not find relief for in a brothel.”
Bernard’s eyebrows rose a few inches, but her words calmed him. Whatever dark fantasies people succumbed to were none of his business. He simply wanted to take the true monsters off the streets. When they headed farther down the corridor, goosebumps prickled up his arms. It was as if he’d stepped back in time to the musty halls of the tenement he’d grown up in, sneaking over to his friend Tabitha’s apartment because no one remained in his home and his stomach wouldn’t stop rumbling.
He’d found safety there, at least until her father had arrived home, and that man’s stern voice had struck into him fiercer than any fist or palm Bernard had tried to levy.
Bernard brushed off his sleeve, as if the motion might rid him of the residue the memories had left behind. He’d escaped that life, long ago.
Ellie came to a halt in front of an old oak door with an ornate black handle. Down here, the fixtures and floorboards were in far better shape than he’d anticipated from the gaunt house above.
“Let me do the talking,” she said, casting him a warning glance before she turned the knob and stepped inside. Bernard skimmed his fingers along the brim of his bowler hat as he followed her in.
They stepped into a room as large as a social parlor, dim amber lighting bathing the plac
e in a heady glow. A woman in a striped evening dress sat on a large armchair tucked into the far corner, and two gentlemen reclined on a brown settee together, deep in discussion. A massive mahogany desk took up the opposite corner of the room where a wiry man with a large mustache sat hunched over, scanning through a thick tome in front of him. Stacks of papers teetered on the desk as if they might collapse at any moment.
Along the wall, a woman in scarlet robes sat in front of a small table. A crystal ball perched between her palms, glowing an unnatural purple. Her breaths remained even, but her eyes were closed in concentration. Bernard’s gaze lingered on the cards splayed across the table, ornate drawings depicted across each one.
Ellie didn’t bother announcing herself as she strode in, and no one bothered looking at them either. She headed for the man seated behind the desk.
“Shadow Dealer, I request your services,” Ellie demanded, her voice carrying clearly through the room. Bernard had begun to doubt the woman possessed another setting beyond direct.
The man adjusted his glasses and glanced up to them. “Payment or barter?”
“Barter,” Ellie said. She flattened her palms on the mahogany desk and leaned in to whisper something in the man’s ear. Bernard glided his thumb over the smooth surface of the watch in his pocket. He detested feeling useless, but this entire place caused him to be out of his depth. Even when he’d lived in the poorer neighborhoods, he’d never uncovered the inner workings of the criminal underground. Truth be told, this whole marketplace fascinated him.
“You always bring me the most interesting news, Eleanor,” the old man responded, dusting the cobwebs from his voice. “Now what is it you wish to know more about?”
“We’re looking for the whereabouts of the Butcher of Broad Street,” Ellie said, straightening from her crouch. She hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her trousers, her shoulders back with a confidence Bernard had been drawn to from the start.
The old man made a pretense of flicking a few pages from his massive tome back and forth, as if he were consulting it for answers. However, Bernard noticed the almost reptilian look in the man’s eyes, an unparalleled intelligence. If he had to place a bet, those books were props and the man retained all the information on his own.
Of Coppers and Cracksmen Page 3
