Mission to Love (Brothers in Arms Book 14)

by Samantha Kane

“Never thought about the tit for tat, eh? A lot of men don’t.”

  “Well, I suppose it is logical,” Robert said, considering it.

  Simon laughed. “Indeed,” he said. “So let your imagination run wild, my dear. Take any one individual act, say me sucking your cock.” The last was said in a soft, intimate voice. Robert had to lean in to hear him, and his eyes darted up to meet Simon’s heated gaze. “I could do that while I was lying down, with you over me, and Christy could ride me, fuck me, at the same time.”

  Robert’s breath was getting a bit shallow. It was a good thing it was so hot out or people might notice how overheated he was becoming.

  “Or I could fuck Christy and you could fuck me,” Simon suggested. Robert had difficulty swallowing as he imagined it. “And last, but not least,” Simon said, building up Robert’s anticipation, “We could both fuck Christy at the same time, one of us in her delicious cunt, and one in her very pretty bottom.”

  Robert had to put a hand on the nearby railing for support.

  “So you see, my dearest, darling, innocent Robert, if you want to learn it, I can teach you.” Simon whispered the last in his ear as he walked by, heading back to the sidewalk.

  Robert wondered how he was supposed to walk when he had an obvious erection. It took him several minutes of staring out at the water and thinking about the gruesome details of the murders he’d been investigating before he could turn and follow Simon.

  He didn’t have far to go. Simon was just a few doors down, leaning against the corner of a warehouse, observing a building across the street. “Do you see what I see?” he asked. Robert looked.

  “Demetriev Imports, Limited,” Robert read off the window. “There can’t be more than one down here.”

  “Perhaps in St. Petersburg, but not in London,” Simon agreed. He straightened and started walking toward the warehouse.

  “Where are you going?” Robert asked, following him.

  “I’m going to speak with Mr. Demetriev,” Simon said.

  “And you think he’ll just give you the information we seek?”

  “I am ever hopeful in situations such as this one,” Simon said, winking at him. “Isn’t that what you said? We’ll start with this and hope it works, and if it doesn’t we’ll just have to find another way to get it out of him.”

  “Hope springs eternal,” Robert muttered.

  “Exactly,” Simon said cheerfully. He stepped through the open door into the dusty and overly warm empty offices of Demetriev Imports. “Greetings,” he called out. “Is anyone here?”

  A young man came out of a back office and closed the door behind him. “Yes. Good morning. Can I help?” He had a thick Russian accent, although his English was rather good. He sounded quite nervous.

  “We are looking for Mr. Demetriev,” Simon said pleasantly. “Is he in?”

  “May I inquire who is asking after him?” the clerk said, trying to be very formal.

  “Mr. Gantry and Mr. Manderley, presently with the Home Office.”

  At Simon’s introductions the young man’s face turned pasty white. “I will see if Mr. Demetriev is available,” he said in a mumbled undertone as he backed into the office door behind him and opened it just enough to slide through into the back office.

  Robert turned to Simon, and they looked at one another for a second. “Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all,” Simon said.

  “I believe I have to disagree,” Robert said. “Sorry, old man, but I found it most suspicious.”

  “Well, then the best was to settle this is to go in there and see what they’re up to, I suppose. We can’t be arguing about it all day.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. I would find that most irritating.” He waved a hand in invitation in front of him. “After you.”

  “No, after you,” Simon said, imitating Robert by waving his hand in invitation. “You are the constable.”

  “This is true,” Robert agreed. “And I do believe I’m younger.” At that, Simon pushed in front of him.

  “Age before beauty,” Simon muttered as he passed. Robert was about to protest when he realized it was a compliment, and he grinned in spite of the circumstances.

  Simon didn’t knock, he simply opened the door and walked in. It was clear he’d taken the room’s occupants by surprise. The young clerk was holding a satchel that was half full of papers, and a man behind a large desk currently held a large pile of papers in his hands which had obviously been destined for the overfilled satchel.

  “Well, how do you do?” Simon said. “You must be Mr. Demetriev. And I assume those papers must contain information on your misdeeds. I do love it when villains do all the work for me.”

  “I win,” Robert joked as he took a step toward the desk, intent on apprehending the ridiculously inept Mr. Demetriev. The sudden, sharp pain in his side came just a moment before Simon’s shout of “Watch out!”

  Robert grabbed the hand holding the knife in his side as he spun around. The pain caused his vision to waver, but he gritted his teeth as he faced his attacker. He’d expected another one of Fat Linnie’s assassins, so he was surprised to encounter a rather large Russian fellow who did not look inept at all. As a matter of fact, when he pulled back his fist, Robert was relatively sure the Russian had very good odds of winning this particular fight.

  “Use the knife,” Simon called out to him. It was enough of a distraction to delay the Russian long enough for Robert to pull the knife from his side and, ignoring the searing pain, slice it out in front of him. He didn’t connect with his opponent, but he did make him jump back out of the way, giving Robert some room to breathe and assess the situation.

  Simon was engaged with another Russian on the other side of the room. The clerk was in an unconscious heap on the floor, and Mr. Demetriev was gone.

  Robert and his opponent circled one another, but Robert realized he was trying to gain access to the door, clearly so he could escape. That was unacceptable. He’d only be another asset to Demetriev if he did. For all Robert knew, he was a necessary part of Demetriev’s escape plan.

  He stopped and feinted a lunge, staying out of reach of the Russian’s long arms. As the Russian went to grab him, Robert spun out of the way and shoved him with a well-placed kick to the posterior. It was a move Thom Longfellow had taught him. He cried out in agony as fire spread from the wound in his side. The Russian stumbled and went head first into the corner of the ornate desk. He fell down and his head slammed into the floor.

  Once he was sure the Russian was down, Robert turned, intent on helping Simon. But Simon had his opponent in a choke hold and the poor man was turning blue.

  “Don’t kill him,” Robert said, panting. He put a hand to his side and was dismayed to feel how bloody it was. This jacket was ruined. He sat down on the edge of the desk.

  Simon immediately let the Russian drop to the floor. “Are you all right?” he asked. He looked as if he might be sick.

  “I’m fine,” Robert said, fairly certain he was right. He held up the knife. “It’s not very large and he didn’t get a good thrust in.” He winked at Simon.

  “I cannot believe you are making tawdry jokes at a time like this,” Simon said, sounding a bit on the edge of hysteria. “He could have killed you.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t. Come on.” Robert stood up, ignoring the pain. “We’ve got to catch Demetriev. I don’t think these idiots will be able to tell us much.” He limped over to the door, took the key out of the lock and held it up for Simon to see. “I’m always amazed how many people simply leave them in there during the daylight hours when they are in residence.” He shook his head. “Let’s lock them in for now.”

  Amazingly enough, when they came out of the office it was to find Demetriev waiting in a carriage on the corner for his associates. They each climbed in from a door on opposite sides of the carriage.

  “Well, we meet again,” Robert said. Simon was uncharacteristically grim. “Let’s start over, shall we? I’m Mr. Manderley and this is Mr. G
antry, and we are both here as representatives of the Home Office. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your association with a certain Dutchman by the name of Van de Berg and, of course, about that little fracas in your office where your associates just tried to kill us.”

  Demetriev pulled a gun from his satchel, but before he could fire a shot, Simon grabbed his arm and twisted it roughly. Robert heard a bone snap, and Demetriev screamed as he dropped the gun. Robert caught it in midair and gingerly unloaded it, thankful it hadn’t discharged in the struggle.

  Simon let go of Demetriev’s arm, which hung limp in his lap at an odd angle. He yanked Demetriev’s head back, shaking him a little. The poor Russian looked as if he might faint.

  “Don’t you dare,” Simon growled at him. “Not before you tell us everything we want to know.”

  “I will tell you nothing,” Demetriev said in a quavering voice. Robert doubted his denial, which was weak.

  “I know exactly where all the bones in the human body are located and how to break each one,” Simon told him menacingly. “Trust me, you will tell me everything I need to know, and quite a bit I don’t, by the time I’m through with you.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I tell you,” Demetriev said with a smug smile. “You cannot stop it.”

  “Stop what?” Robert asked, pretending more interest in his wound than in Demetriev’s words.

  “What is happening. Not just here, but everywhere.”

  That got Robert’s attention. “Everywhere? You’re planning to blow up multiple locations?”

  Simon yanked on Demetriev’s hair to get him to answer. “Yes! Our movement will grow. Soon the world will burn and the proletariat will rise, displacing imperialists such as you and your king.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Simon said in disgust. “Revolutionaries. When am I going to be free of them?”

  “Where exactly are the explosives, Demetriev?” Robert asked.

  “Where they belong,” he answered. Simon picked up Demetriev’s hand on his broken arm, making Demetriev scream. Then he snapped his little finger. Robert winced. Demetriev cried out.

  “Try that one again,” Simon told him. He moved on to the next finger and held it, waiting for his answer.

  “Where are the explosives?” Robert asked grimly, hating the process as much as he knew Simon did, but knowing it was necessary.

  “They are already in place,” Demetriev said, his words slurring a bit.

  “At the bridge?” Robert asked. Demetriev’s head swung around, and he stared at Robert.

  “So we were right.” Robert looked at Simon, thinking. “They need a great deal of black powder to blow the bridge. I doubt they have enough as of yet to blow it, much less another location. They only have the explosives from the ship.”

  “Let’s take him to Barnabas,” Simon said. “He’ll get answers. We need to get your wound looked after, too. Then we can go and inspect the bridge.”

  “Why would you already have the powder on the bridge?” Robert asked, something bothering him that he couldn’t put his finger on. “If you don’t mean to blow it until next week, it seems foolhardy to risk the explosives so soon. A stray spark could set them off. A good rain could ruin them, although the weather is on your side right now, that’s true. But still, after all this planning. And you have a limited supply of explosives.”

  Demetriev looked smug and calculating even through the pain, not the look of a man whose nefarious plot had been foiled.

  “You’ve already stolen more explosives,” Robert said, the light dawning. The victorious look on Demetriev’s face said it all.

  “Damn it, man, let’s go,” Simon said, throwing open his door and dragging Demetriev out of the now-driverless carriage. “We haven’t a minute to lose. We have to tell Barnabas.”

  Chapter 32

  When they arrived at the Home Office, Barnabas and Hastings were in Barnabas’s office looking at maps of London Bridge along with several other men. Sir Barnabas waved them over.

  “We expect they will try to blow the bridge here, here and here,” he said, pointing to areas on the map. “Philips”—he indicated one of the men—“is my best engineer. He tells me these are the weakest spots. Taking out these sections will effectively destroy the bridge. The damage will be irreparable.”

  Simon took Demetriev by the nape of the neck and shoved his face toward the map. “Is that right, Mr. Demetriev? Is that where you’ve placed the powder?”

  “It’s already in place?” Hastings asked.

  “Yes, I suspected as much,” Barnabas said. “The Admiralty informed me this morning they had a large shipment of black powder go missing several months ago. Mr. Demetriev was just waiting for an opportunity to use it when Mr. Van de Berg came along.”

  Demetriev began to laugh. “He thought he was being so clever to hire me to get his powder. And all along I use him. He and the whore set the powder and take the blame.” He frowned. “He couldn’t even do that right. He is huge failure.”

  Barnabas handed Demetriev off to two other agents. “I will be there directly,” he told them. He turned back to Simon, Robert and Hastings. “I will get more information out of him and his compatriots, particularly if there are more targets, as well as the whereabouts of Van de Berg and Mrs. Gaines. But I want you two at the bridge. Start searching for the explosives. As soon as he tells me where he’s hidden them, I will send word. If we’re lucky we’ll find them ourselves.”

  “We need as many agents as you can spare,” Simon told him. “The three of us cannot cover the entire bridge.”

  Just then there was a knock at his door and his secretary came in. “Excuse me sir, but there are some…ladies here to see you.” His hesitation was odd.

  “I’m an entirely too busy to see some ladies right now, Cranley,” Barnabas said.

  His secretary disappeared, yanked out of the way by a woman wearing men’s clothes, dressed all in black. She was tall and thin, with a long, thin face to match. Her nose was sharp, and she had shrewd, dark eyes. Simon recognized her immediately as one of Mrs. Gaines’s assassins. The very one who had unmanned him in the alley with a well-placed kick.

  She hadn’t even stepped into the office before several guns and as many knives were pointed at her. She put her hands out.

  “I’m unarmed,” she said. “I come of my own free will, didn’t I?” A petite, rather bedraggled blonde pushed her way in front of the larger woman.

  “Don’t kill her,” she implored. “I made her come. We’ve been at the constable’s house. It’s us—well, Essie, really—and a few of the other girls what’s been protecting the lady with the baby.”

  “We come to tell ya they’ve rigged the bridge. They’re going to blow it early. Tomorrow, I think. Saturday,” the assassin said grudgingly. “Some of us, Linnie’s girls, I mean, we didn’t want to do what she told us. We didn’t kill them boys. We did other work for her, see? But now she’s got this idea in her head. She’s gone mad, I tell ya. Blowin’ London Bridge.”

  Barnabas waved off the weapons pointed at them. “Who are you?” He pointed at the mousey blonde.

  “Oh, I kept house for her,” she said. “The washing and cleaning and so on. But I didn’t want no part of this. And I told Essie she couldn’t, neither. It isn’t right, killing a lady and a baby.”

  “What?” Robert said in alarm.

  Simon put his hand on Robert’s arm. “They just said they wouldn’t do it,” he told him grimly. “And it appears they’ve prevented others from trying. She must be the one who saved Christy before. I believe we owe them our gratitude.”

  “My sincerest gratitude,” Robert said, bowing his head respectfully. “Are you sure they’re safe?”

  “Oh, aye,” the one named Essie said. “I left Cal in charge. No worries. Fat Linnie’s pulled all the others off anyways. Trouble’s brewin’. That’s why we come.”

  “I swear we won’t let no harm come to ’em,” the little blonde said. “It ain’t right, hurting a b
aby.”

  “There you go, Manderley,” Hastings said. “I’ve found your new nanny.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Robert scoffed. “It takes more to be a nanny than a lack of desire to kill the baby.”

  “Watch what you say about my girl,” Essie the assassin said menacingly.” That brought the room to a momentary standstill. Essie was oblivious. “They tried to get you, eh?” she asked, pointing at Robert’s side.

  “Bloody hell,” Barnabas exclaimed. “Someone fetch a doctor. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “It’s just a scratch,” Robert said, gingerly picking at his bloody clothes to try to see the wound. “We haven’t time to worry about it.”

  Barnabas pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Fine.” He took a deep breath, let go of his nose and looked around. “You.” He pointed at an agent in the corner. “Give Manderley your coat. You’re about the same size.”

  The agent immediately stripped his coat off and came over and helped Robert off with his.

  “You three.” Barnabas pointed at Simon, Robert, and Hastings. “Take her”—he pointed at Essie—“and go to the bridge. Find the explosives. Expect a large contingent of men to meet you there.”

  “I can signal the rest of my girls to meet us there,” Essie said.

  “No,” Simon said sharply. Essie clearly didn’t like that. “How are we to tell the good from the bad?” he asked, indicating her clothing. “You all dress alike. I’d hate to kill a friend and not a foe.”

  Essie’s expression cleared. “Aye,” she agreed. “I see the problem.”

  “We will start in the middle of the bridge and work our way toward the South Gate,” Simon said to Barnabas.

  “I will have my men spread out and report to you as they clear sections,” Sir Barnabas said. “Go.”

  “What about me?” the blonde girl said.

  “You?” Barnabas looked at her in consternation, and then he grinned. “You are indeed the new nanny. Go to the Manderley’s and stay there until this is over. If you recognize any of your friend’s former associates, let my agents know.” He snapped his fingers at one of the agents. “Take her and stay there. Send word if there’s trouble.”