Forged by Desire (London Steampunk Book 4)

by Bec McMaster

  “Nobody seems to know much about him, except that he rarely comes in early.” Garrett scratched at his jaw. “It’s all adding up. Fifty quid it’s Sykes.”

  “Fifty quid it’s Steel Jaw,” she countered, a nervous little shiver sliding over her skin. What were the odds that after she’d cut half of Hague’s face off, now there were rumors of a man with a steel jaw prowling the East End, just as two girls were murdered—and the events weren’t related? She could ask Garrett; he was a sporting man. If she could explain how she knew about the doctor.

  Or perhaps Sykes, Hague, and Steel Jaw were the same person? But how would he disguise his deformation? Synthetic skin? It was never quite the same as real skin, but it helped disguise mechanical enhancements if one could afford the exorbitant price.

  Then she remembered something. “Sykes has a beard, doesn’t he?”

  “As thick as the hair on his head allegedly.”

  Her heart started pounding. “Do we have any old cases like this?” Garrett had access to more case files than she did, and she rarely bothered to go through them. “Cutting out a girl’s heart is a rather distinctive murder pattern.”

  She held her breath, hoping that Hague had been indiscreet in the past. Moncrieff had evidently covered Hague’s tracks in the fire, but perhaps there were others. Men like that never stopped. They had to start somewhere, and perhaps Garrett would recall word of it. She needed to let him in on the Hague angle somehow. By herself, she was clever enough to pick out facts and put them together, but working with Garrett always produced better results.

  “Nothing, as I can recall. And the experimental aspects are definitely unusual.” He sighed. “Well, no sign of Sykes but we might as well search the place while we’re here. Do you wish to take the washroom?”

  “My pleasure,” she drawled. “I shall leave you the bedchamber.”

  Several minutes later, she made her first discovery in a jar on the vanity. The jar was filled with inch-long hairs of a russet brown. “What the devil?”

  Garrett poked his head through the door. “What is it?”

  She held up the jar. “Someone collects his hair clippings.”

  “No toenails?”

  “That’s disgusting.” Still, she opened the jar and unrolled the small leather kit that Fitz had given her onto the vanity. Tucked in each slot was a small glass tube with a rubber seal. Using thin pliers, she popped several hairs into a tube and capped it for Fitz to examine at the lab. Just in case.

  The hair troubled her. If it was Hague’s, then it was a good deal lighter than it had been. The man had thick, almost-black hair that he combed precisely into place. A little niggle of doubt washed through her.

  “Anything?” Perry tucked the kit behind her belt. Garrett had given her a detailed description of Sykes from the witnesses—thick brown beard, gruff voice, tall and stocky with the sort of shoulders that belonged on a dockworker. It didn’t sound like Hague at all, but he might have disguised himself. The hair proved otherwise, unless he’d taken it from someone else. One of his victims? Why would he keep it here? She leaned forward, her coat riding up over her hips as she took one last look behind the mirror.

  “Nothing you’d wish to see.” His voice sounded slightly distracted.

  There was a flicker of movement in the mirror and Perry looked up, catching his eyes directly on her bottom. “You’re right,” she drawled, and those devilish blue eyes lifted to meet hers in the reflection.

  The damned man smiled.

  Slowly her heart began to beat a little faster. Treacherous thing. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him admiring certain female characteristics. Still a part of her felt flushed and heated that this time it was her. As a young girl she’d been hopelessly tall and slender, and until she’d finally grown into her body, she’d been prone to clumsiness. Men hadn’t looked at her then, not like this. The only one who’d ever seen something attractive in her had been a monster.

  Dressing as a man had its advantages, but sometimes she wished she could acknowledge her female desires. Sometimes she wished that a man would look at her like that, and now Garrett was and she didn’t completely trust it…

  “Stop thinking so much about it,” he said, lifting one hand to grip the door frame. An eminently masculine pose that flexed the muscle in those strong arms. That smile grew, stretching in an entirely satisfied way across his face. “You’ve colored up.”

  “I’m not thinking about it.”

  “No?” Far too satisfied with himself. “You look pretty when you blush.”

  Soft, dangerous words.

  “And I’m not pretty when I’m not blushing?”

  “You’re pretty when you smile. That shy little smile I can win from you if I work hard. You don’t smile enough, do you realize that?”

  She didn’t smile enough?

  Garrett’s arm lowered. “And you’re pretty when you get that stubborn look on your face, which means I have no chance of winning the argument. I still try. Because I enjoy teasing you. Or when you’re focused on beating me in the ring when we’re sparring. And you’re dangerously alluring when you’re soft and relaxed and drinking blud-wein… In fact, I think I like you best like that.”

  His gaze lost its focus and she knew he was picturing it. Holding her in his arms. Slowly dragging her leather leggings down her long, slender legs… “You let me see her then. The woman I got a glimpse of at the opera. The woman who ran her hands all over me in that alley. The woman who smiles and teases and looks at me as if she’s stripping me naked.” He took a step toward her.

  Perry took a step back. This wasn’t what she’d expected. “Her?” she replied nervously. “You make it sound as if I’m two different people.” Her back hit the wall.

  “You are.” Garrett stopped. Looked at her. “I know she’s in there somewhere. You just like to hide her, to keep her locked away so that no one sees her. I don’t know why. I know you don’t like letting me—or anyone—know your secrets, but I wish you’d let me in.” His fist tightened. “It’s growing increasingly frustrating. I never pushed because I thought you would tell me in your own time. But you have no intention of revealing anything, do you?”

  Because one secret would lead to another, and Perry didn’t know how to tell him who she was. She wanted to, she suddenly realized, with a fierceness that almost ached. Garrett was the only one who might understand.

  And she knew immediately what he’d do if he found out what the duke and Hague had done to her.

  “There’s nothing interesting about me,” she replied quietly. For his own damned sake.

  “I’d beg to differ.”

  That brought heat into her cheeks. “What are you doing?”

  Garrett arched a brow.

  “This flirtation,” she said. “You never paid one ounce of attention to me before, and now you’re flirting. And…you kissed me last night.”

  “Did I?” Noncommittal, damn him. “That wasn’t a kiss, Perry.”

  Perry made as if to shove past him, but he was blocking the washroom door. Filling it with his body. Sometimes she didn’t notice just how tall he was. “Move.”

  “Why should I?”

  “I have a dozen reasons. Most of them involving rather painful nerves and certain pressure points.”

  Slowly he gave way, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Bare inches separated his hard body from the other side of the door frame. She could fit through. If she squeezed.

  Damn him, why was he pushing at her like this? She was so angry she wanted to kick him. Did he think this was a jest?

  Suddenly he leaned close, the heated spice of his cologne overwhelming her. The largeness of his body caged her in, trapping her against the doorjamb. If she turned her face, her lips would brush his jaw. Do it. Her treacherous heart leaped into her throat.

  “I have one thing to say in my defense about the kiss…” Garret whispered, sending shivers across her skin. “You asked me to.” Then he was gone, pushing past her an
d sauntering back into the main room. “The next time you ask, I’m not going to be a gentleman, Perry.”

  She collapsed back against the doorjamb as he vanished. Bloody hell. This was getting out of hand. Idle flirtation was one matter, but he didn’t sound idle at all. Not anymore. No, he sounded as if he had no doubt that she’d ask him to kiss her again.

  Stomach dropping through the pit of her abdomen, Perry pushed away from the door frame. Time to pull herself together. She could barely think with the nightmare of Hague and this mysterious killer looming at the edges of her life, and now Garrett was confusing her.

  “This needs to stop,” she blurted.

  Garrett froze, a slightly incredulous expression lighting his face. “What?” His brows drew together. “Why?”

  She skirted around him. “We both know this is a game. It’s…it’s been amusing, but…you’re my friend, Garrett.”

  “Which didn’t stop you at the opera. You weren’t thinking about friendship then, Perry. Now things have changed—”

  “I don’t want them to.”

  His brows shot up. “You don’t want—” Garrett gave a shaky laugh. “I cannot believe this. You”—his jaw tightened—“you have that look on your face.”

  “The one that says this isn’t an argument you can win?”

  Nothing.

  She watched a dozen emotions roll across his face like clouds covering the sun. Thinking. Always dangerous. Garrett rarely fought with her. He outpaced her. One moment she would think the argument over, and the next she’d realize that he’d flanked her and was coming back at her from another direction.

  “Whatever you’re plotting, don’t,” she advised. “I can’t think about this—about what’s going on between us right now. I do know it probably isn’t a good idea.”

  “Too messy,” he agreed, with a telling gleam in his eye.

  “Yes.”

  “And you would have to take a risk.”

  There was no answer to that. He wasn’t arguing, but she couldn’t see where his slippery mind was going with this…

  The anger melted out of him. Definitely not a good sign. “Fine. Let’s play this your way. No more touching. No teasing. Back to the way things were, which means—” He reached out, his fingers pausing just before they brushed the hair off her face. His eyes were smoldering. Daring her. The touch sent shivers racing along her skin. “Definitely no more kisses.”

  She swallowed. “You said you didn’t kiss me.”

  “I lied.” The hand dropped and Garrett stepped back, his expression closing over. “For what it’s worth, I was willing to take the chance.” With a clipped nod, he turned and strode out into the streets.

  Perry stared after him. I was willing to take the chance… The thought of it ached more than she’d thought it would.

  She’d earned that. And she knew it in her heart too. But Garrett didn’t understand. If she didn’t stop this now, he’d destroy her. She’d never be able to be what he wanted, and she didn’t think she’d be able to withstand seeing the disappointment in his eyes when he realized that.

  No more kisses…

  Damn him.

  ***

  Hours later, Garrett stepped out of the White Hart with Perry at his heels. They’d spent the intervening hours questioning local businesses about the mysterious Mr. Sykes. This close to the factories, soot clung to the white walls of the pub they’d exited, making it seem as though it too was choking on the taste of coal. The moment he stepped outside the pub, the smell of piss and rotting fish hit him in the face like a shovel, and Garrett tried to stop breathing.

  Perry’s delicate little nose wrinkled and she tucked her hand up in front of her face, no doubt breathing in the scent of the Bourbon vanilla that she dabbed at her wrists. He’d bought it for her years ago when she complained about the filthy places he dragged her to. “For a man known to have a certain proclivity for drink, Sykes rarely imbibes much at all,” she said.

  Just one pint of ale every Friday night, the man behind the bar had murmured. Ten o’clock regular.

  “So either Mallory is lying about him being a drunk—”

  “Or Sykes allows him to believe it,” she replied, a small frown furrowing her brow. “Why?”

  “He needs an excuse to explain his absence at work. Mallory said in his first statement that Sykes never arrives before ten.”

  “So what’s he doing until ten?”

  A flash of the darkened laboratory swept to mind. “He’s in the laboratory. I’ll bet a quid on it.” The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. “The factory shuts down at night—or at least it used to until the recent factory burnings put them on double shifts. The equipment we saw down there requires boilers. Noise and smoke. So he goes in the morning to see to the girls and do…whatever he’s doing, because the work in the factory shields him from discovery. Nobody would hear him or notice a little extra smoke. Explains why he’s there late too. Or maybe he doesn’t leave. I’m fairly certain he rarely stays at his home.”

  Another little frown, her eyes a million miles away. “I like the theory, but I don’t believe we should discard others.” A little hesitation. “I want to go through some old case files when we get back to the guild. See if anything like this has happened before.”

  “I’ve never known you to be so eager to review old files.” Perry preferred to leave the paperwork to either him or the clerks.

  She didn’t reply. She was still staring at nothing as she strode at his side with her hands in her pockets. This wasn’t the first time he’d thought that Perry was troubled. But if he asked her, he knew he’d not get an answer. Best thing to do was wait her out, much as he hated it.

  Garrett glanced down, avoiding a wooden crate and the small boy curled up beside it. He absently flicked some chink toward the lad, who plucked the shilling out of the air in surprise. Nothing else he could damned well do to help the children littering the streets. For a moment his expression darkened and he shot a look toward the gleaming Ivory Tower that soared over London, home to the blue bloods and, most important, the prince consort and his puppet queen.

  The crowd parted around them, men and women alike shooting them blank-faced stares. Nighthawks weren’t as hated as the blue bloods of the Echelon, but they were still the law. For the humans that lived in this borough, they were little better than the pox. Recent riots had fueled the tension, and martial law had only recently been lifted. The prince consort might have crushed the spirit of the people for the moment, but Garrett had the vague sensation of thunder brewing in the distance.

  He’d always felt safe before, but for some reason the hairs along the back of his neck were standing on end. This was more than the rumble of discontent among the human classes.

  He knew that feeling.

  The type of feeling he’d always had when he worked the streets as a lad. As if someone was watching them.

  Placing a hand in the small of Perry’s back, he directed her around a barrow boy.

  “I thought you weren’t going to touch me.”

  “I think we’ve got eyes on our tail,” he replied. “Pretend you see something in the window that you’re interested in.”

  The street was narrow, edged by several pubs and shops. With the afternoon light fading, the streetlamps were few and far between and wouldn’t be lit by the lamplighter until later. Perry arched a dubious brow, then turned, dutifully pointing something out to him.

  “A butcher,” she murmured. A full pig carcass hung in the window and the butcher glanced up at their interest, his hands swiftly wrapping a piece of meat in waxed paper. “And they call us barbaric with our thirst for blood.”

  “See anything?”

  A quick glance. “Dozens of people. It’s late afternoon, Garrett. Are you certain you’re not simply—”

  “Five quid we’re being followed,” he countered.

  She rarely took his bets. He always won. Perry’s lips thinned. “Fine. Let’s draw them out, whoever they a
re.”

  As she turned to separate, he caught her arm above the elbow, a fierce flash of heat spiraling through him. “No.”

  Perry twisted, throwing him off with a dark glare. “Don’t,” she warned.

  “Perry.” He caught up to her, the street vanishing into a chiaroscuro landscape. The idea of watching her walk away from him into potential danger was more than he could bear, particularly following the incident at the factory. “I’m not going to let you—”

  A distressed sound echoed in her throat. Garrett looked down in surprise.

  “Don’t hold me back,” she whispered. “I know what happened at the factory. I know how poorly I reacted. I promise I won’t do it again. I’ll hold myself together. I can do this.”

  She was thinking he didn’t believe her capable? “I don’t give a damn about that.” One look at her showed she didn’t believe him. Bloody hell. “Fine. Separate. Let’s play a little cat and mouse. You draw him. I’ll double back and see if I can get a line on him.”

  At least if he sent her ahead through the streets, she’d be a little safer and he could keep an eye on her. Garrett slipped the small aural communicator from his pocket and clipped the brass clockwork piece in his ear, insisting she do the same with hers.

  They separated, making a great show of her being interested in something farther down the street. Garrett shook his head, shoved his hands in his pockets, and stalked up one of the alleys, snapping his fingers to catch the attention of several sprawling youths as though to question them.

  He gave her two minutes, feeling the tick of every second. Then he shimmied up one of the old rusted ladders attached to the building beside him until he stood on the rooftop, with its excellent vantage point.

  She was gone.

  Not something that should concern him, as she could move quickly when she wished, but the knot of dread in his stomach wouldn’t relax. Garrett traced over the rooftops. Laborers were beginning the long trudge home and the streets bustled with activity, hawkers crying out their wares.

  “Lovely bit o’ mutton!”

  “Some flowers for your lass? Buy her favors! Pretty daisies! Or perhaps some violets?”