Love Unbidden: Tales of the Bedford Street Brigade

by Landon, Laura

  The guard came out the front of the warehouse and fired again.

  Quinn felt a fiery sting at his side and knew he’d been hit yet again, but not too badly. He could still move. He could still breathe.

  He wasn’t sure how he made it back to his carriage, but somehow he did. He slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps and jerked backward against the cushion when the carriage moved. Damn, but he hurt. Especially his arm. The wound to his side was nothing more than a nuisance, but he was afraid the bullet was still lodged in the flesh of his arm. And Jack was the only one at Nellie’s to help him.

  Having Jack dig the bullet out of his arm wasn’t a comforting thought.

  . . .

  “Shouldn’t Quinn be back by now?” Nellie checked the street in front of the house again. She couldn’t resist the pull to watch for him to return.

  “Come back and sit down, Nellie,” Mack said from a chair on the other side of the room. “Watching never helps.”

  Mack had arrived shortly after Quinn left. Nellie was glad. There was something settling in having him here.

  Nellie left the window, then sat on the sofa. When she was seated, she lifted her gaze to Mack’s composed features. “How does your wife do it?”

  Mack laughed. “Actually, Nellie, Cora handled my job and the risks I took so well she turned down my offer of marriage and left me.”

  “Left you?”

  “Yes. And the thought of living my life without her broke my heart.”

  “But she came back,” Nellie said.

  “Yes,” Mack said. “Thanks to her sister. She convinced her that there were no guarantees in this world. That knowing love for even one day is better than never knowing love at all.”

  Nellie hesitated before asking her next question. “Did you ever consider giving up your work?”

  Mack locked his gaze with hers and shook his head. “No.”

  Nellie didn’t have time to ponder Mack’s words. The door flew open and Jack walked in with Quinn’s arm draped across his shoulders.

  “Mack! I need some help here.”

  Jack’s words brought them racing to the entryway.

  “Take him to the kitchen,” Mack said, then went in ahead of them. By the time Jack had Quinn in a chair and his jacket and shirt off, Nellie had water and cloths ready.

  “It’s not bad,” Quinn tried to say. But his blood-soaked shirt indicated the opposite.

  “I’ll need to get a needle and thread,” Nellie said. She handed a cloth to Jack. “Clean the wound as well as you can.”

  Jack took her place and she ran to get her sewing kit, some bandages, and the salve Eileen always kept in case of a skinned knee. When she returned, she took the cloth back from Jack.

  Before she could continue cleaning Quinn’s wound, he reached for her hand. “It looks worse than it is, Nellie.”

  She tried to be brave. Tried to pretend she wasn’t scared out of her mind. “The bullet’s still in there. It will have to come out.”

  “Mack will take it out. He’s an expert at this. Just don’t let Jack do it. It didn’t go well the last time I took a bullet from his side. I know he’s waiting to return the favor.”

  Nellie wanted to hit Quinn. How could he joke at a time like this? How could he speak so cavalierly about the risks they took? The bullets they took?

  “Are you ready?” Mack asked, holding a knife and a pair of long pinchers.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be. Can you come over here, Nellie, so I have something pretty to look at while Mack works?”

  Nellie rushed to Quinn’s other side. When she knelt at his feet, he reached for her hand.

  Nellie didn’t look when Mack started digging for the bullet. Instead, she kept her gaze locked with Quinn’s and grasped his hand as if she could will her strength to him.

  Huge drops of perspiration beaded on Quinn’s forehead as Mack worked. Quinn kept his teeth clenched tight, and each time Mack made another try for the bullet, Quinn sucked in a harsh breath.

  Nellie tightened her hold on Quinn’s hand. She wanted to scream for Mack to hurry. She wanted Quinn’s torture to be over. But the ordeal seemed to take forever.

  Finally, Mack dropped a metal bullet onto the table and stepped back. “Done.”

  Quinn sagged in relief.

  “I’m sorry it took so long, Quinn, but the bullet was deeper than I thought.”

  Quinn tried to smile. “You were gentle as a lamb, Mack. Any pain I felt was nothing compared to what Jack would have put me through.”

  “I’ll remember that, friend, the next time you get into trouble and I’m the one who gets to dig on you.”

  Nellie listened to the two banter back and forth, as if bullets and almost dying were a common occurrence. She needed to be by herself. She needed to get a grasp on what Quinn went through on a daily basis. She stood, but had to reach out to steady herself. The room spun around her and the roaring inside her head grew louder.

  “Jack! Grab Nellie and help her to a chair. Then get the brandy from the other room.”

  Strong arms wrapped around her and led her to a chair. Before the room stopped spinning, a glass was held to her lips and she had no choice but to drink.

  She sputtered when she took her first swallow, but at least the room stopped spinning.

  “Are you all right, Nellie?” Quinn’s voice was filled with concern.

  She lifted her gaze and found herself drowning in the intense worry in Quinn’s deep brown eyes. “I’m fine. It’s just the excitement.”

  Quinn reached for her hand. “Everything’s over now. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Quinn gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then turned his attention to Jack. “There’s a package in the carriage. I think it might shed some light on what Paxton is involved in.”

  Jack left, and returned a minute later carrying a small bundle.

  “I found this at a warehouse Paxton Import is using. There are dozens more just like it there.”

  Mack looked up from bandaging Quinn’s arm. “My guess would be opium,” he said.

  Jack set the bundle on the table and peeled away the outer layer. What remained was a large brick of the poison that had destroyed the lives of so many people.

  The three men looked from one to the other.

  “We have to get the rest of the bundles before Paxton moves them,” Mack said. “Jack and I will swing by Hugh and Roarke’s boarding house, then pick up Briggs. But we have to hurry. I’m sure whoever shot Quinn has already gone to inform Paxton that they’ve been discovered.”

  Jack was already on his feet and heading for the door.

  “I’m coming, too,” Quinn said, struggling to get to his feet.

  “No,” Mack ordered. “Stay here. The rest of us will take care of this. You’ll only get yourself killed.”

  “No! This is my problem.”

  “Stay here, Quinn,” Mack said. “That’s an order.”

  The minute Mack left the kitchen, Quinn picked up the glass of brandy on the table and threw it.

  Nellie wasn’t sure what startled her more, the shattering of the glass Quinn threw against the wall. Or the front door slamming behind Mack.

  CHAPTER 8

  Quinn reached for his gun that lay on the table and struggled to rise. He was weak, but there was no way he was going to stay where he was safe while the other investigators risked their lives. He’d never forgive himself if he wasn’t there to help them.

  “I need your help, Nellie,” he said when his second attempt to rise failed.

  When she didn’t move, he darted a glance to where she stood.

  The expression on her face sent a wave of alarm racing through him. “Nellie, please. Help me rise. I’ll be fine once I get to my feet.”

  She twisted her hands in front of her then shook her head. “You can’t. You’re not strong enough.”

  “I don’t have a choice, Nellie. I can’t let Mack and the others face Paxton alone. He’s smart…too damn smart, the
way he forged the papers to hide the money, the way he kept the smuggling going right under his father’s nose, the way—”

  Her expression filled with fear. Fear for him. “Stay here. Please.”

  “You know that’s not possible.”

  Nellie stared at him for several long moments. He saw by the expression on her face that her desire to keep him where he’d be safe warred with the responsibility she knew he felt to finish his mission. He watched her struggle to make a decision. He knew the choice was difficult for her.

  “I have to go, Nellie. You know I do. Please, don’t make me do something that I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”

  Quinn knew the exact moment Nellie realized what he meant. He knew the second she realized that forcing him to stay where he’d be safe seemed cowardly to him. And that weakness would eat away at him forever.

  She nodded, then stepped close to help him to his feet.

  When he stood, he wasn’t steady. Digging the bullet from his arm had taken a lot from him. He’d lost a lot of blood. But he’d have time to recover later—after he made sure Paxton was no longer a threat.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m going to go to the warehouse Paxton uses to hide the opium. You’re going to stay here until I return.”

  “You’re not strong enough to go by yourself. I’m going with you.”

  “No.”

  Nellie released her grip around his waist. He staggered and had to steady himself against the door frame.

  “We either both go, or neither of us goes.”

  Quinn looked at her set features and knew arguing with her would waste valuable time. “Very well. You can go. But you’re not getting out of the carriage.”

  Nellie wrapped her arm around his waist again and helped him to the door. The fact that she hadn’t agreed to stay in the carriage wasn’t lost on him, but he’d cross that bridge when they got to it.

  Nellie helped him step up into the carriage, then gave him the reins. As the carriage neared the wharf, Quinn hoped that they weren’t too far behind Mack and the others. Perhaps they’d even arrive before them, since Mack intended to stop for Roarke, Briggs, and Hugh.

  They turned the last corner and the warehouse came into view.

  The area was a hive of activity. Several wagons were pulled up to the front, and men were toting bundles of the contraband out of the warehouse, and loading them in the wagons.

  Mack and the others weren’t there yet. Other than the men carrying the bundles of opium, the only other carriage in sight was a shiny black carriage with the letter P on the door. That meant Carter Paxton was here.

  “Stay here,” Quinn ordered Nellie, then reached for the door.

  “No, don’t go, Quinn. Wait for Mack and the others.”

  “I can’t. From the look of it, they’re almost finished. They have to be stopped now or they’ll get away.”

  “You can’t stop them by yourself. There are too many of them.”

  “Mack and the others will be here soon. I can hold them off until help arrives.”

  “No!”

  “I have to, Nellie. This is what I do.”

  Quinn stepped out of the carriage, then turned back to her. He couldn’t leave her unprotected. What if the others didn’t arrive in time? What if something happened to him before they did? He reached in his pocket. “Here. Take this.”

  Quinn handed her the second gun he always carried. “Be careful with it. It’s ready to fire.”

  She pulled back from the pistol. “No, you keep it. You might need it.”

  “Take it, Nellie. And don’t be afraid to fire it.”

  “Quinn—”

  “Shh, lass. I can’t waste any more time.” Quinn turned away from the carriage, then stopped. There was something else he had to tell Nellie—just in case he didn’t have the chance later.

  He turned. “I love you, Nellie. I have for a very long time.”

  Tears filled her eyes but he couldn’t go back to hold her like he wanted to. He couldn’t kiss her one last time. He needed to move before Paxton’s men finished and they escaped.

  Quinn made his way to the warehouse on shaky legs, praying that he’d have the strength to hold Paxton’s men until Mack and the others got here. When he reached the open warehouse door, he cocked his pistol, then looked inside.

  There were six men removing the bundles of opium. They were all inside at the moment and in relatively close proximity to each other. If he stepped forward now, they’d be easier to control. He aimed his gun, and stepped inside the door.

  “Stop where you are.”

  The six men turned. Four of them held onto the bundles in their arms. Two did not. It would be less likely any of them could reach for a weapon if they were holding bundles of opium.

  “You two, pick up the bundles you dropped.”

  When neither of the men moved, Quinn waved his pistol. “I’d pick up your bundles if I were you. Especially you,” Quinn said, pointing to the man who’d shot him when he was there earlier. “I’d love to put a bullet in your gut.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “That’s mighty brave talk for one man facing the six of us.”

  “Except he’s not just one,” Nellie’s voice said from behind him.

  Quinn thought he knew fear. But nothing caused terror to race through him like knowing that Nellie had put herself in danger because of him.

  Quinn motioned for her to step beside him. If she were close, perhaps he could shield her if things went wrong.

  She moved toward him, then pointed her gun at the man standing closest to her. “I’m not a very good shot,” she said in a voice that sounded amazingly calm and steady, “but even I doubt I’d miss hitting at least one of you from this distance.”

  The two men who’d dropped their bundles slowly bent to retrieve them.

  “That’s better,” Quinn said. “Now, stand in a line against the wall.”

  Quinn pointed to the spot where he wanted them to go, but before they could move, a loud, angry voice stopped them from moving.

  “You!” an irate voice said from the side of the warehouse. “This is all your fault!”

  Quinn turned. He expected to face Carter Paxton. Instead, Baron Paxton stepped out from behind the bundles.

  Paxton took several steps toward them. His face was an angry mottled red, and the hand holding a pistol aimed at Quinn’s chest shook uncontrollably.

  “You’ve ruined everything! Everything!”

  “Put the gun down, Lord Paxton. Murder is far worse than what you’ve done so far.”

  “Maybe,” Paxton answered, “but killing you will give me great satisfaction.”

  “It will also give the authorities more cause to go after you.”

  “Do you think they’re likely to overlook what I’m doing here?”

  “No, not overlook it. But perhaps exact a sentence that isn’t as harsh as the one you will get for murder.”

  “Only if they discover what I’ve done.”

  “They’ll discover,” Quinn said. “Five more Bedford Street investigators are right behind me. They’ll be here before you can safely get away.”

  “Do you expect me to believe you?”

  Before Quinn could assure Baron Paxton that Mack and the others were on their way, his son, Carter Paxton stepped into the warehouse.

  “Father! What are you doing?”

  “Carter, go home!”

  Carter Paxton looked around the area—at the bundles of contraband, and the men standing against the wall. “Father? What is the meaning of this?”

  “I’m saving you. I’m saving Paxton Import.”

  “Saving it from what?”

  The incredulous expression on Carter Paxton’s face told Quinn that Baron Paxton’s son didn’t have a clue as to what was going on.

  “Stay out of this, Carter. I’ll handle this. Like I’ve always handled everything.”

  “What do you have to handle?” Carter Paxton took a step toward
his father.

  “Get back, Carter. Go home.”

  “No.”

  The gun in Baron Paxton’s hand shook. Quinn saw the trembling as a sign of desperation. Desperation to salvage what he could from a situation that was unraveling before him. Desperation to keep his son in the dark as to what was going on. Desperation to pretend there was a way for things to be as they’d been before Wharton had discovered the ledgers, before the baron had framed the wrong man. Before Quinn had discovered he was smuggling opium to make sure there was enough money for his son to continue the lifestyle to which he was accustomed.

  “Go home and let me take care of this!”

  “What have you done, Father?”

  “I saved you.”

  “Saved me from what?”

  “From bankruptcy.”

  “Bankruptcy? We’re not bankrupt, Father.”

  “How would you know, Carter? All you do is live life without a care where your next pound comes from.”

  Carter Paxton stared at his father as if he were seeing him for the first time. “Are you saying that we’re short of money?”

  “Not short of money, Carter. We’re destitute. We’ve been living on borrowed pounds and credit for years.” Paxton shifted his gaze back to where Quinn stood. “Except I made a mistake, didn’t I?”

  “What mistake, Father?”

  “I framed the wrong person. Henry Dunston didn’t take the ledger. He didn’t know anything about this.” The baron waved his arm to encompass the bundles of opium. “Phineas Wharton took it. He was the one who discovered what I was doing. He was the one who could ruin us.”

  “Are you saying that Henry Dunston didn’t steal the money that was found in his home?”

  Baron Paxton looked at his son, then his gaze darted around the room like the trapped animal he was.

  Quinn answered Carter Paxton’s question. “No. Your father planted the money, then told the authorities he suspected Henry of stealing from him. He even told them where they would likely find the money.”

  “Why, Father?”

  “To keep him quiet! I thought he’d discovered what I was doing. I needed to get rid of him.” Baron Paxton’s shoulders sagged. “But it wasn’t him. It was Phineas. My long-time friend, Phineas.”