Gabe didn’t even look up. He was shuffling through documents on his desk in obvious agitation, making notes on another paper with a sort of frantic energy that spoke of desperation. His hair was in disarray, his clothing, though clean, was untidy, and he was muttering to himself as he worked.
Amelia frowned at the sight. Had he found something that could lead them to more answers? He’d said nothing of the sort yesterday, and they’d spent quite a long time together. Surely he would have told her if there was some promising lead.
“What are you doing?” she asked carefully, wondering if he would startle easily.
“Following up a lead,” he replied without looking at her, digging through the papers.
There hadn’t been that many papers on his desk yesterday, and she knew there weren’t that many notes on her case, unless he’d written more after she’d left.
“What lead?” she prodded as she moved toward the desk.
Gabe shook his head quickly as his finger traced down a page. “Not your case.”
That drew her up short, and she felt her brow crinkle further still. “Not my case? What are you working on?”
“The other one.” His answer was short and clipped, leaving no doubt in her mind where his priorities were at the moment.
Her priorities, however, were not going to be swept aside. “Your missing lady friend?” she demanded, her voice rising in pitch and timbre.
Finally, he glanced up at her, his eyes not nearly as wild as his behavior would have suggested. “I never said it was a lady.”
Amelia rolled her eyes and snorted. “Please, anybody could have drawn that conclusion. Why are you so frantically focusing on this today?”
“As I said,” he told her, indicating his desk, “a new lead. I need to move quickly.”
“Is she in danger?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a reason to think she will be?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you should listen to the new lead I have on my case,” she snapped, planting a fist on one hip. “Or don’t you care about that anymore?”
He gave her a derisive look as he began to stack some of the papers into the corner of his desk. “Of course I care. But this is here now, and you know how important this is to me.”
“And you know how important this is to me!” she cried. “Don’t you even want to know what I have?”
“Of course I do.” He shoved some blank pieces of paper in her direction. “Write it all down, and we can go over it after I finish this.”
Amelia gaped at him, her breathing unsteady in her chest. “Write it down… Are you serious, Gabe? Write it down? So you can add it to your pile of work and put it squarely on the bottom, so it comes after your wandering miss?”
His brow snapped down, and he looked irritated for the first time this morning. “Now see here, Amelia…”
“No,” she overrode loudly. “No, I will not see here! Do you even know where I was last night?”
He snorted softly and went back to his messy desk. “Of course I do. You were down at the docks.” He paused to give her a scolding look, then went back to his work. “Knutt followed you, and I happened to be down there myself, so I took over and followed you back. I was surprised at your route, there are more direct paths to the boarding house than the one you chose.”
“I know that,” she barked, folding her arms tightly. “So, you knew I was down there, and you still don’t want to know what I have? Or get angry with me for going against your orders?”
“I want to know,” he said simply, either not caring or simply not reacting to her obvious distress, “and I am upset with you. But you were tailed, you were protected, and you obviously knew what you were doing. And we will work your lead, just not right now.”
Amelia was already shaking her head before he finished. “I’m not waiting for you to get your personal life resolved before my case can be looked at again! Your lady will still be just as missing tomorrow as she is today, and I have information on my case now! Just because I know what I am doing, Gabe, does not mean that you can bow out because you have other things to do!”
“I’m just putting it aside for the moment…”
“No!” she bellowed, slamming her hand down on his desk. “No, you will not be putting it aside! This is your priority, Gabe. I am paying you for this, remember? This is what you are working on right now. Not her, me.”
Gabe sat back in his chair, looking at her speculatively and a trifle amused. “Amelia…” he said slowly, his eyes glittering with a knowing light. “Are you jealous?”
The question stole the breath from Amelia’s lungs, and she could only stare back at him, her mouth working absently.
Of all the ridiculous… That wasn’t even close to… How could he…?
She wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t.
This was business.
She glared at him coldly, ignoring the heat in her cheeks, the burning in her eyes, and how her heart twisted at the thought of him looking for another woman with such fervor. For a long moment, all she could do was stare.
“I hired you to do a job,” she finally hissed. “Do it. The faster you get it done, the faster I’ll be out of your hair, and you can go on your mad hunt for your ladybird.”
Gabe’s expression never altered, but she saw a different light in his eyes. Something defiant and hard. “What are you going to do when you find your father, Amelia? Knowing what I do, what will you do?”
Amelia dipped her chin down a little, leveling him the coldest glare she could muster. “That is not your concern.”
“Amelia.”
She shook her head slowly, then swept away, her kneecaps shaking under her fury and the power of his gaze. “Do your job, Rogue.”
She wished she could have seen his face when she called him by his code name, but only for the pure, vindictive delight it would give her. If he were not going to feel the same way about her as she felt about him, it would only be too perfect for him to feel the sting of her cold, dismissive distance. She needed to remove her heart from the situation.
If that was even possible.
She picked up her coat and bonnet and left the offices without a word to the others. If Gabe was not going to help her, she would finish this on her own.
Gabe stared at the closed office door for a long moment, chewing his lip in thought. Something wasn’t right about this whole situation. Amelia’s coldness, her avoidance of his pointed question, and her fury at his lack of focus all made him wonder what lay beneath the surface. What drove her with such madness?
Granted, he probably could have handled the situation with more delicacy. But he’d received a note from Lady Raeburn that a Mrs. Brimley could have some information about the goddess, as she had been seen speaking with her. He’d never even heard of Mrs. Brimley, so he’d immediately set about trying to find out everything he could about her; her family, her position, her temperament… anything that could help him in dealing with her, or anything that presented a way in which he could approach her.
And then there were always the usual methods of interrogation; blackmail, threats, espionage…
He tried to avoid those when working with members of Society, as he needed to avoid making a questionable name for himself in those circles. And it would undoubtedly be better if Lady Raeburn kept her moderately good opinion of him. She was rather terrifying, and he had repeatedly thought that if she were born within the last two decades, she would be a perfect candidate for the Convent.
There was much to do, and he was anxious to do it.
All of that would now suddenly have to wait, despite his previous words. Mrs. Brimley was not going anywhere, and neither was her memory, if Lady Raeburn’s account of her was correct. And Amelia was right, the goddess wasn’t going to be any less missing in the coming days.
But Amelia Berger could disappear with her mysterious agenda at a moment’s notice.
And that was something he was not w
illing to risk.
He would work her case, but first, he needed information. About her. He needed to know everything about who she was, who she really was, and what sort of secrets she might have kept from him. She would not share these details with him, and he did not have the time to patiently wait for her to decide to trust him enough to do so. Given their relationship, he could eventually have gotten her there, but after her behavior, and his just now, that was suddenly in question.
If last night had taught him anything, it was that Amelia was a dangerous woman. Not because of her skills or her maddening inability to feel fear, but because of those secrets she held. Even now, after weeks of knowing her, observing her, studying her, he had to admit that even he, with all his experience, had no idea what to expect from her or what she was capable of.
And, in the interest of full disclosure, he had to admit that she meant a great deal more to him than he’d ever imagined.
He had to know.
He pushed up out of his desk and shrugged into the worn and faded jacket he wore when he needed to especially blend into his surroundings. He glanced at the clock nearby and nodded to himself.
It was early enough that he could go down to the docks without disturbing their legitimate work. Most of them would be hungover, which was a delightful way to carry on an interrogation, as everyone was always so much more cooperative.
But he knew these men well, and they knew his methods well. It would not take much prodding on his part.
The question was whether their loyalty to Amelia outweighed their loyalty to him.
Gabe stewed in his own questions as he made his way down to the London Docks, this time not being greeted by any of the usual suspects, who were all no doubt asleep or at work, if they were the ambitious sort. He made no attempt to hide his intent or his direction, keeping his focus fixed on the customs house, and the long walk felt good after such a short and restless night’s sleep. He was used to working and wandering at all hours, but Amelia and her case were affecting him more than his usual fare, even in the spy world.
Despite what he had said about his hunt for the goddess, this was personal, too.
He approached the customs house with a forced appearance of dejection and bone-deep weariness that he had seen on various faces all over London’s poorer streets.
A middle-aged man in simple clothing sat at a desk just within the plain building and looked up at him with a bored expression. “Can I help you?”
Gabe removed his cap swiftly and began mangling it nervously in his hand. “I was told to ask for Mr. Valerie,” Gabe near-stammered in a coarse accent, intentionally butchering the last name, as a common Londoner in his situation might have done with a French name. “’e said ‘e might ‘ave a job for me.”
The man looked him over in assessment. “Dock work or ship staff?”
“Docks,” Gabe answered with a firm nod. “I retch somefink awful on the water. Can’t even swim.”
His answer was a grunt that indicated the man could not have cared less. “Stand there, I’ll fetch Mr. Valerie.” He started to go, then looked back. “Don’t sit. You’ll get dirt everywhere.”
“Yes, sir,” Gabe replied obediently. “Sorry, sir.”
When he was alone, Gabe rolled his eyes and eased his stance. That man was rather high in the instep for someone working at a customs house on the docks. The office was in even worse shape than his, and that was saying quite a lot. But there was no sense in having anything finer. This was sufficient, and no doubt did the job well.
Besides, Gabe had seen it look worse.
“Here you are, sir,” the clerk’s voice came from behind him.
Gabe turned to face them and saw Jean’s eyes widen. But the Frenchman only grunted and sniffed once. “Better come to my office, Mr. Clark, and we will discuss where we might put you.” He gestured for Gabe to follow, giving him a hard look.
“Yes, sir,” Gabe said with an awkward half-bow, following with a shuffling step.
Jean’s office was just around the corner, and surprisingly well kept, given the man’s usual state of dress. But then, Gabe did not have a particularly orderly office either. Or a well-kept state of dress. And he was in the aristocracy. Sort of.
Jean closed the door, then turned to face him, his eyes narrowed.
Gabe tossed his cap into a chair, folded his arms, and stared right back at the man, no longer pretending at any sort of timidity or insecurity.
“Impossible as it sounds, I think you have gotten uglier since the last time we met,” Jean commented with a grunt.
Gabe sniffed in amusement. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”
“That is not what your woman says.”
“Yes, it is.”
Jean chuckled a little, shaking his head and pushing off the wall. “Ah, mon ami, it has been a long time. Please, have a seat.”
They both sat, and Gabe forced a bland smile.
“What can I do for you, Rogue?” Jean asked with a slight sweep of his hand.
“I need to talk with you, Jean,” he replied in a too-kind tone.
Jean scoffed and ran a hand through his beard. “Well, I did not think you came for my cognac. What do you need to talk about?”
“A woman.”
“Ah, advice?” Jean shook his head with a laugh. “I knew it was only a matter of time.”
Gabe took care to bestow as much derision into his look as possible. “If I wanted to know how to bore her and make her leave, yes, I would come see you.”
Jean stilled in his chair, his eyes narrowed once more. “You are as ignorant as you are unsightly.”
Gabe inclined his head rather thoughtfully, smiling a little. “You are too kind, as always. Must be those impeccable French manners.”
He saw the Frenchman’s beard twitch as if he would laugh, but then he only heaved a noisy sigh. “Very well, who is the trollop you must ask about?”
Gabe barely avoided laughing. If Jean knew just whom he would be questioned about, he would never have called her anything remotely resembling a trollop. “Someone you know well,” Gabe assured him, crossing an ankle over his knee. He offered the man a cold smirk. “I believe you call her Tribbie. But I know her as Amelia Berger.”
Jean’s eyes widened perceptibly, his jaw going slack. “I don’t…”
“Do not lie to me, Jean,” Gabe sighed, shaking his head. “I’d hate the mess of slitting your throat, and you’d be more wine than blood. The stench would sour me from French wine ever again.”
The Frenchman’s chest rose and fell in great bursts of air, and his jaw tightened. His expression was positively murderous, and his eyes were full of a defiance that Gabe had never seen in his ally before.
Again, Gabe slowly shook his head. “Don’t test me.”
“Why do you want to know?” Jean grunted, shifting in his chair.
He considered adopting his usual derision and dismissiveness, insisting on asking all the questions and giving no answers, giving up nothing of himself or his knowledge. He did not owe anybody anything. There was no reason for him to answer the question. He never answered their questions. He never behaved as anything but controlling, disrespectful, and markedly efficient.
But for Amelia it was different.
Everything was.
“I need to know who she is,” he confessed, keeping his tone as moderate as he could. “I am helping her with an investigation, and she is keeping things from me. I must know the truth about her if I am to help her succeed.”
Jean nodded slowly, his eyes steady on Gabe. “You are helping her find her father.”
“I am.”
“Do you know what she intends to do?”
“No.”
A small smile lit Jean’s mouth. “But you know it is not good.”
Gabe resisted the urge to sigh, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yes,” he admitted. “I know that much.”
Jean tilted his head slightly, considering Gabe from a new light. “This is, ah
, personal for you. In some way.”
He stilled, staring at this man for a long moment. He could not answer, could not bring himself to open up to such an extent with a bloody dock-working contact who could very well be aiding Amelia in whatever she had planned. But he could not deny it. Not when it could mean everything.
And not when it was true.
Gabe swallowed, then allowed himself to merely nod. Just once.
That seemed to satisfy Jean, and he pulled two cigars out of his desk, clipped the ends, and offered one to Gabe. “You will need this, Rogue. It is a long story.”
Gabe took it and lit it with the candelabra. “I have remarkable endurance. Go on.”
“First of all,” Jean said with a sigh as he sat back, taking a long draw from his cigar, “her name is Amelia Tribbett. But to me, she will always be jus’ Tribbie.”
The story then unfolded, and Gabe could barely retain a hold on his cigar as he listened.
Amelia had met Jean when she was fourteen, and she’d been a starving girl with only her stubbornness and determination to survive on. She’d taken him by surprise with her courage and wit, and he’d decided to hire her on, despite every single one of his co-workers being opposed to the idea. He knew what an ugly place London could be, and it would have been no place for a girl like her on her own. Even the docks were treacherous, but at least there, Jean and the others could protect her.
She had become a universal servant for the club by night and Jean’s assistant during the day. She had been used to deliver notices, to root out cheaters, to eavesdrop on conversations, and to serve drinks, on occasion. She had apparently been of great use to both the legitimate shipping interests of the company as well as the less legitimate smuggling one. Mr. Banes had found her to be intelligent and capable, which was the only reason he’d agreed to add her to the payroll.
According to Jean, Amelia had always been set on finding her father. It was the only thing that drove her. She was also incredibly self-sufficient, which did not surprise anyone who had heard her story. She did not want to depend on anyone or anything. Everyone who worked with her knew her past, and they would have moved heaven and earth to help her if they could.
A Rogue About Town (London League, Book 2) Page 25
