Then his words caught up with her. “Your prototype?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Indeed. When you gave it to me to fix, you handed over the decisions and rights concerning the finished product.”
She pulled the machine close, wrapping her arms around the metal body. “This is my father’s invention. There has been no signing over of any right—”
“Gentlemen, you entered my office without invitation. I will have to ask you to leave.” Kemmer’s gray eyes burned with anger, but his manner didn’t show it.
Archer pulled out a badge. “I consult for the Metropolitan Police. The machine is part of a large-scale program to protect the citizens of this city. It is not hers to give.”
Numbness crystallized around her heart. He worked for the police, but never deemed her important enough to share this with her. That put her in her place.
And he’d gotten her father’s invention working and now planned to take credit. It had been bad enough to hand over her father’s dream to Kemmer, to have all the hard work disappear into a hole never to be seen again. But having the device out in the open and in use with another name attached to it would kill Mr. Rigdon. “My father signed no contract giving you the rights to this device.”
“As I said, it is part of a large-scale plan to help identify false banknotes and to ensure no more are put into circulation.” He looked Kemmer up and down, his insinuation clear. Then he threw her a glance, too quick for her to read his face. But it dawned on her that he believed her connected to Kemmer, that he thought her involved with the forgery ring.
“This makes the device highly valuable. It cannot be trusted in hands other than those of a select few.”
He finally looked at her, his brown eyes raging with anger and disgust. His expression ripped off the numbness that had encased her until now. Scorching pain filled her. She’d thought he’d trusted her, had believed he respected her.
But his face told her a very different story.
She turned, pressing the machine against her chest so she wouldn’t stretch out her arms to him. “Over the last five years, while my father developed the Rigdon Banknote Verification Device, I taught myself everything I could about the fabrication and printing of banknotes. We needed false notes to test the machine. None of those notes were close to the real ones and not a single one ever left our house.”
His brows drew together and his lips compressed.
“I have meticulous records of every note printed and its use.”
“Records only you had access to?”
Her heart sank. He didn’t believe her. Archer had already judged and convicted her.
“Sarah, why are you here at this time of night handing over your father’s invention to Mr. Kemmer?” Warren’s voice slid over her like warm honey. His expression showed no accusation.
But neither did it show support.
Neither of the men she loved more than life itself believed in her. She hadn’t imagined there could be pain harsher than when she had to leave them.
She was wrong.
Sarah withdrew. She didn’t move physically. Up until now she’d mentally reached out to her two men, had tried to connect with them, but now she shut down completely. She’d been a ninny to hope for their love. Clearly she had only been a distraction and not one worthy of emotional attachment.
Her vision blurred as she rebuilt the walls she’d used all her life to protect herself. The walls the two men before her had convinced her to take down.
What an idiot she’d been. She would not allow herself to be vulnerable.
“My only connection to this…this thing,” Kemmer waved at the machine in Sarah’s arms, “is my attempt to do Miss Rigdon and her father a huge favor. They do not have the funds to pay Her Majesty’s taxes, so I was going to take this useless thing in payment instead.”
She flinched. There it was. Her father’s weakness, his reputation, open to the slashing of one of the most in-control and organized men she had ever met.
Archer nodded as if confirming an internal thought.
Warren stepped slightly in front of Archer. “Sarah, you should have come to us. We would have helped you no matter how difficult the situation.”
Sarah. Warren usually called her sweet, not by her name.
But no longer.
Sarah took a step back from them.
“How lovely.” Kemmer’s voice grated like chalk on a board. “The bum hugger is pretending to offer you help.” He snorted. “You better realize quickly that they are only using you for cover.” He sat behind his desk. “Isn’t that right, gentlemen? You want to keep buggering, so you need a woman to pretend you’re actual men.”
Sarah stared at Warren and Archer, waiting for them to deny Kemmer’s accusation, waiting for them to laugh it off. Even if they didn’t love her she wanted them to at least have liked her enough for herself, for the woman she was.
But they remained silent.
The skin around Warren’s eyes tightened and he pressed his lips together. Archer broadened his stance and tilted his chin forward. “Do you have any evidence or are you just talking to hear your own voice?”
She had never heard him speak in that tone.
Warren and Archer stepped closer together, an instinctive move that had them facing the world side by side.
The silly, irrepressible part of her that had clung to the hope that they loved her for herself died. Kemmer was speaking the truth. Archer and Warren were in love with each other.
And she was nothing but a shield for them.
Warren held himself together with all his might. He wanted to pound the face of the jackass before them, but one step in that direction would release the flood of rage building deep inside him.
He also wanted to sit Sarah down and lecture her until he ran out of steam. Why hadn’t she told them she needed the money for taxes? It made him so angry to think she had to face the likes of Kemmer on her own.
But worst of all was the disgust he had for himself.
Archer’s temper had supplied him with a model he’d wanted to paint more than life itself. At no point had he dug deeper or asked Sarah why she’d agreed to sit for him. No, he’d been happy as a lark to have her as a model and someone who could fulfill Archer’s dream of a family. The current situation showed that the end did not justify the means. And to top it all off they now had to worry about exposure.
So far Archer’s great plan had not given them any insights into Kemmer and his operation.
Kemmer shook his head in response to Archer’s question. “I don’t, but any idiot could see what you are.” He shrugged. “I only have to drop a few hints here and there and you won’t be consulting for much longer.”
Archer took a couple of steps forward. “And if you do that I will start mentioning to certain people at the Inland Revenue how funds appear to go missing or how false notes appear to accumulate at this particular office.” He leaned even closer. “Forgery of Her Majesty’s money is a crime punished by death.”
Kemmer paled and sweat stood on his upper lip.
Footsteps echoed in the outer office and Johnson appeared in the doorway. “Well then, what do we have here?”
Warren pinched the bridge of his nose. Some of the tension drained out of him. With Johnson here they would get to the bottom of this.
“Officer, these two men just barged into my office babbling about me not being able to take Miss Rigdon’s device to pay her taxes. They are interrupting our meeting, when all I’m doing is working late, doing my duty for Queen and Country. Please remove them and I won’t press charges.”
Johnson’s brows shot up. Warren had always liked how the man’s green eyes carried a spark of laughter, even in the direst situations. He was very good at his job and one of Archer’s closest friends.
Johnson studied the scene and bowed to Sarah. “Miss Rigdon, I presume. I am Detective Inspector Johnson from the Metropolitan Police. Latimer sent me a message saying I may be of help.�
� He pulled out a pencil and his small notebook. “Would you be so kind as to tell me what happened and why you are here at this late time?”
Sarah studied Johnson for a minute. He let her, keeping his mien amenable and calm. Finally she took a deep breath. “Circumstances I am not prepared to go into have led me here to hand over my father’s latest invention.”
“Ah, is this the magical machine that will make it possible for everyone and their dog to ensure that the money they are handed is legitimate?”
Sarah said, “No,” in the same instant Archer said, “Yes.”
She clenched her jaw. “Mr. Latimer did not see the necessity to inform me that the machine now fulfilled its original purpose.”
Warren winced. Chunks of ice dripped off every word.
“When I brought the machine to Mr. Kemmer I was unaware of its true value.”
Johnson scribbled a few notes and whipped back and forth on his feet.
Warren frowned. He looked like an overeager puppy and he knew no one who was further away. What kind of game was he playing?
“Very good. Mr. Kemmer, why were you so determined to collect something that was a pile of junk you forced poor Miss Rigdon to come by at this time of night?”
“I was being a gentleman and a good citizen by helping Miss Rigdon to pay her taxes.” Kemmer straightened his shoulders. “I had to work late. I only told Miss Rigdon that I would be at the office the whole night and she could drop it off at any time convenient for her. In no way did I force her to come this late.” He lifted his chin. “Of course, now that I am aware of the true value of the machine I will wait for Miss Rigdon to pay her taxes from its proceeds. I will even waive the additional charges for being late.”
Johnson made a production of taking more notes. Kemmer relaxed and a smirk appeared on his lips. The detective nodded to the bottle of scotch and the half-full glass. “Looks like you were enjoying your evening.”
The smirk grew.
Movement out of the corner of his eye drew Warren to Archer. His friend watched the production with a sharp frown.
“As I said numerous times now, I enjoy my position, but a man deserves some pleasure while fulfilling his duty.”
Johnson nodded. “Absolutely, sir.” He looked around the office. “Nice place you have here. My tax office isn’t half as big.”
Kemmer relaxed more and his posture grew cocky. “I do what I can with what Her Majesty supplies me with.”
The detective nodded again. “Good for you.” He turned his back on Kemmer and walked along the shelves. “Nice collection.” He nodded at some of the big leather tomes.
“It is important for a man in my position to have all the relevant laws and bylaws at hand.” Kemmer pursed his lips and tapped his foot. “Detective Inspector, can we please bring this to an end? I still have a lot to do.”
“Certainly, sir.” Johnson whirled around and pinned Kemmer in place with the force of his gaze. “Can you explain why your office delivers a statistically higher number of fake banknotes to the Bank of England than any other tax office in the city?”
Here we go. This was the Johnson Warren had expected.
Kemmer froze. The smirk disappeared. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“When I was here a few days ago I found a fake note and residue of ink on his desk.” Sarah’s clear voice cut through the tension.
Archer stilled.
Johnson turned to her. “Would you mind showing me where?”
Sarah stepped over to the far end of the desk and lifted a couple of files. “Right here.” She rubbed her fingers across the surface and they came away stained.
Kemmer looked less happy, but he still showed no signs of worry. “I make my own ink from powdered pigment.” He waved at his desk. “I don’t see any fake notes.” He looked at Johnson. “Thirty-four people work in this office alone. Any one of them could have exchanged the real for the fake money. There is no way for you to prove that it was me.”
Warren agreed. They needed to catch him red-handed. Filled with helpless anger he studied the office. There was something that had disturbed him since he’d entered. Something was just off. He walked out of the office and studied the front room. He walked along the length of the office wall before stepping back into the office.
“What is it?” Archer stood in the center of the room watching Kemmer.
“The dimensions are off. The office is smaller than it should be.”
Archer’s brows rose. He disappeared through the doorway and returned a minute later. “You’re right. How did we miss that?”
Warren shrugged. “We weren’t expecting a secret hideaway in a tax office.”
Johnson came to stand beside them. “Can you think of a better place?”
Chapter Fifteen
Glad he had something to focus on, Archer set his engineering mind to work.
“He’ll probably need about six feet in width to have enough room for the press and the paper,” Sarah said.
He gritted his teeth. He wanted to believe that she did what she did to support her father, but why on earth would she waste five years of her life assisting with something she had no confidence in? She’d made it more than obvious a number of times her father dreamed big, but never delivered. And now Archer was supposed to believe she learned how to print false money to help her father in a fruitless endeavor?
He pushed all that aside and focused on the room’s dimensions before stepping back into the front room. Johnson and Warren gave him space. Standing in the doorway he realized the shelves along the right office wall were a front. Somewhere in there had to be a mechanism that would open the door to the secret compartment.
He studied Kemmer. The other man had remained behind his desk, the only outside sign of worry the slow tapping of one finger against the tabletop. The bastard was very sure they wouldn’t find the entrance. “Detective Inspector, you may want to contact your office and ask for some constables to bring sledgehammers. We will probably have to break through the wall.”
Kemmer slammed his fist on the desk. “You can’t do that. This is my office.”
Johnson leaned against the shelves. “This office and everything in it belongs to Her Majesty. It is not a private residence and therefore does not require me to ask for permission to search it.”
He stepped beside Archer, turning his back on Kemmer, and said in a low voice, “I cannot involve the department until we have tangible proof. At the moment all I have is my bluffs.”
Sarah stepped up to the shelves. “Or you could just use common sense. All of these books are tax codes, appropriate for this office.” She tapped a blue leather spine. “But this one has dimensions that are slightly off from the rest of the books.” She moved as if to pull the book off the shelf, but she couldn’t. Not completely. Instead the book folded back as if on a hinge and a snick echoed through the room.
Kemmer paled and jumped to his feet. “I know nothing of this hidden room. Don’t you find it convenient that Miss Rigdon knew exactly where to pull? After she supposedly found a fake note on my desk? It is clear to me I am being set up as the victim.”
Archer studied her. Her beautiful face was sheet white. Her blue eyes filled with clouds so dark he expected them to drown her any minute now. She’d clasped her fingers together and stood beside the open door, her chin high and her expression shuttered.
He suddenly realized she’d stopped defending herself.
When they had first walked in she had looked at them with a mixture of relief and fear, but most of all hope, as if their presence would help her lift the weight off her shoulders. Her body had turned to him and she’d stepped closer, seeking his support.
But with every exchange, every word spoken, she’d pulled back.
She no longer looked to Warren and him for help and had wrenched down a barrier far stronger than anything they had already circumvented.
Had he made a mistake?
If the consequences of her actions only
concerned him, Archer would have taken the risk, would have chosen her above his duty. But with the whole of London and possibly the rest of the country at stake he needed proof of her innocence.
He stared at Kemmer. “Don’t try to clear your name by using her as a scapegoat.” He nodded at the bookcase that had become uncoupled. “What would you like to gamble that we will find your fingerprints all over the tools in there?”
Kemmer cleared his throat. “I believe it is time for me to contact my solicitor.” He sat back down and opened one of the drawers of his desk.
Archer jumped toward him. “No!”
But he was too late. Kemmer had pulled a long-barreled pistol and pointed it at Sarah.
Archer, Warren and Johnson all drew their own guns.
“Ah-ah-ah!” Kemmer shook his head. “You don’t want to do that. This gun is just off the line from Holland & Holland, not even available for the general public. It has an extended barrel and a modified trigger, one that isn’t pulled but goes off when I no longer hold it down.” He wiggled the tip of his index finger, demonstrating how he held down the trigger. “She dies if you kill me and I let go.”
Sweat trickled down the side of Archer’s face. For a second his knees weakened.
She could die.
Johnson carefully stepped sideways, attempting to get behind Kemmer.
He gestured to Warren to remain still as Archer moved in the opposite direction of Johnson, trying to give Kemmer something to focus on. But the other man guessed their plan to surround him and slid sideways until he could see the whole room and had shelves and the wall at his back. “Miss Rigdon, please come closer.”
“Don’t move, Sarah.” If Kemmer got his hands on her he would use her as a shield, making things even more desperate.
She froze after her second step and looked between him and Kemmer.
“How do you expect to get away?” Johnson asked. “You have to get past three guns and even if you get through the door we will be on your tail immediately.”
Kemmer chuckled. “Is this where I am supposed to tell you all my plans and give you opportunity to counter them?” He dropped the smile, his face deadly serious and filled with no emotion whatsoever. “Miss Rigdon will accompany me until I am out of reach. If you follow me I will kill her. I have always planned for this day.” Inhuman rage spread across his features as he looked at Sarah. “And for all the trouble you have caused me, Miss Rigdon, I will ensure you and your father lose everything. The photographs I mentioned will make their way to The Daily Mail.” He briefly rubbed the right side of his chest with his free hand.
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