Reese picked up her cup of coffee and walked to the edge of the warehouse. There was far too much noise to think. She stopped in the doorway and stared into the shadows of the massive room beyond, mind ticking away. And despite her caution in retracing her steps, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had followed them from the tavern.
“I mean, it’s one thing to be thorough,” Tyrone went on—she could picture him without even looking, the epitome of outraged innocence— “but I’m beginning to think they actually want to find something.”
Joplin mumbled in reply.
Reese leaned her shoulder against the side of the doorframe, closed her eyes, and took a long sip of coffee. The dark liquid flooded in over her tongue, carrying a faint aroma of the mainland. Think, she told herself, pulling in her mental focus. The question of the king had mercifully been overshadowed by the policeman’s note. What does this Stryker want? It didn’t take much imagination to guess. Help finding and arresting his enemies. And that’s not going to happen. She blew into the porcelain cup. If Stryker is really hoping to bargain with me, he’s keeping my crew somewhere easy to get to. Somewhere close.
Memories blurred into a mesmerizing stream. Random bits of data popped to the surface, like splashes of light. If they’re still alive. She set the drink on a broken crate. And how long has this Stryker been watching me? He claims he set up Grahm’s betrayal. What if he’s working with the king as well?
“Are you all right?” Tyrone’s voice asked in her ear.
A burst of new thoughts streaked through Reese’s mind. She jumped and swung around, trying to brush the threads away. Her elbow crashed into Tyrone’s chest. What is he doing right behind me? She stepped back and tried to clear the tangle in her head. “What did you say?”
Tyrone stood on the other side of the doorway, one hand held where Reese had elbowed him. The light from the oil lamp on the table fell on the shoulder of his deep red vest and illuminated half his face. “Did you know,” he began, studying the lace on his sleeve, “that on the mainland, if you go far enough northeast, they can walk outside at night without worrying about the fog?” His coy smile eased into a thoughtful expression. He folded his arms and leaned against the wooden frame. “They even have little balconies and things just so they can go out in the cool night air and think.” His gaze met Reese’s. “I have a feeling you’d love that right about now.”
Days long gone by rose in Reese’s mind. The colored lights of an evening garden party in the Inner Circle. Laughing. Talking. Her father congratulating the young prince on becoming king, condoling him for the loss of his father. Reese’s chest constricted. The king. With a monumental effort, she pulled her thoughts from the memory and planted them in the present. “Where’s Joplin?” she asked, standing on tiptoe. She peered over the merchant’s shoulder at the empty dining room. What if he’s running for the police?
Tyrone half turned to follow her gaze. “Off somewhere being Joplin.” He looked back at her and grinned. “Or whatever it is you types do when you’re not trying to save society.” His smile faded and a look of tender earnestness filled his eyes. “Reese, what’s wrong?”
Something fluttered in Reese’s heart. She hadn’t seen that look in years. Childhood secrets, growing-up pains. How long has it been since we really talked? she wondered. When he was serious, Tyrone could be a good listener. Slowly, Reese reached into the pocket of her vest and withdrew the crumpled sheet of paper. The note trembled as she held it out to him.
Tyrone took the parchment and smoothed it out.
Reese saw that he was looking at the warrant side, and her stomach twisted. Please don’t make a joke about it. Not now.
The merchant glanced up at her, then turned the paper over and read. A shadow crossed his face. “You’re not…” He caught himself and lowered the sheet. “What are you going to do?” he asked, an odd tightness in his voice.
Reese folded her arms. The warehouse felt colder than before. “Go after them.” Her grip tightened. “I don’t see much choice.” She registered his expression without wanting to. Why does he think it’s a bad idea? “If I can find out where they are,” Reese added. She nodded at the parchment in the merchant’s hand. “They should be alive. I don’t think he was bluffing about being willing to exchange.”
Tyrone frowned down at her. “And then what?” he asked. The green of his eyes looked dark with concern.
Reese hesitated. She watched the merchant’s face, wishing she really could read his thoughts. “I’ll plan the next step.”
Tyrone crumpled the paper in one hand. “You’ve played chess. This fellow—” he shook the paper, “—is planning rings around you.” A few stray wisps of dark hair escaped his careful ponytail and flickered bronze in the lamplight. “He’s planned all the way to the end of the game.”
The words hit Reese like a fist. Possibilities exploded in her mind, swirling like a hurricane. But before they achieved a result, the question of the king took its place at the front. Pain lanced through her head. Reese clenched her jaw and tried to force the calculations back down. “There’s too much to think about,” she said, looking away. What if something really is wrong with me? Thinking shouldn’t be this hard.
The merchant seemed to be weighing his words. “You remember when I got my father to believe you were still a noble? When I got him to not bat an eye at your coming for dinner night after night? I out-maneuvered him because I knew where I was going. I knew what I wanted.” He raised a hand and reached toward her, then hesitated. “All you’ve been doing is surviving, haven’t you?” he said. Frustration seeped between his words. “You used to know exactly what you wanted to do. What happened?”
Indecision. People. Lives. Reese began trembling. Her head felt like it would explode.
Tyrone stooped and looked her straight in the eye. “You’re keeping it all in again,” he said softly. “I know you, Reese.”
Reese caught her breath. The look shot past her carefully guarded walls, touching an old wound that threatened to engulf her. Her hands felt clammy. Not now, she told herself, struggling to breathe. She could smell him, and for once the smell was home. “There are too many factors,” she said. The words slipped from her mouth as if drawn by his presence. “Even the greatest mastermind in the world couldn’t plan that far in advance.”
“Not when you’re overthinking,” Tyrone said. He moved closer and slowly laid one hand on her shoulder. “Sometimes I think you’d be better off without that gift.”
Reese’s neck tingled. A strange sense of lightheadedness swept over her, as if her mind was hesitating. She could feel Tyrone’s presence like a supporting wall. A wall that was pulling her in. Not now! Reese let her breath out slowly and focused on the oil lamp. She had a most irrational urge to cry and laugh at the same time.
“Look,” Tyrone said. Warmth from his hand seeped into Reese as his grip on her shoulder grew stronger. “If I help you find your gang,” he said, a smile easing onto his face, “will you at least think about what I said this time, instead of disappearing for a couple of years?”
Reese felt her whole body trembling. Does Tyrone still love me? The thought kept circling in her mind. Circling and multiplying as if refracted from thousands of crystal mirrors. Heat flooded over her face. Once it had seemed obvious, but they had never discussed it. Then she had left. But now… The thought went on, driving away the plans, the data streams—the effect was maddening, but somehow wonderful. Like the man who inspired it. A soft, curving smile crept to Reese’s lips. Who knows? she wondered. Maybe I even—
“You know,” Tyrone said, straightening and tapping his chin with a long forefinger. “I bet your gang is still on the island.”
Reese felt the shock of her brain shifting back into gear. The magic swirled away into the depths of the warehouse. Sea Level Prison. She rubbed her sweating hands on the sides of her pant legs. “I think I know where,”
she said. The thought made her dizzy. She grabbed the edge of the doorway and hung on, trying to stop the room spinning.
“Reese, what’s wrong?” Tyrone lunged forward and caught her by the arms. “Are you all right?” His grip felt strong and supportive. “Don’t make me get those tablets out again.”
Breathe. Reese forced herself to inhale. “I’m all right,” she gasped. Unshed tears tingled at the back of her eyes. Back to work. Back to business. Think. She half turned and leaned against the tabletop. The oil lamp rocked as she bumped into its stand. “Do you have a map of Sea Level?” she asked.
Tyrone snorted. “Nobody has a map of that prison, unless they built it.”
Reese shook her head. “I meant outside.” The movement broke loose one of the tears. Reese felt its warm touch trail down her face. “The outside of the prison. The back palace grounds.”
“Oh, that.” Tyrone’s voice sounded relieved. “I’ve got maps of practically every back alleyway on the island, although I don’t like everyone to know that.” He supported her elbow. “I’ll get Daro to bring them in, and you can sit down before you give me the scare of my life.”
Reese lowered herself into a chair and tried to keep her focus on the issue at hand. Memories collided with new plans and possibilities in a dizzying dance. Really, Reese scolded herself, I don’t know when you’ve been this easily distracted before. And emotional.
Across the room, Tyrone stuck his head out into the building lobby. “Daro?” he shouted. “Bring me the reports on off-shore woolen prices, will you?” He pulled his head back in and left the door ajar. “They should be pretty recent,” he said, walking back to the table. He slid another chair out and folded himself down onto the seat. “Although I don’t know how much good they’ll do you.” He glanced at the door, then folded his hands on the tabletop. “Are you actually planning to break into Sea Level Prison?” he asked, voice low.
A piece of Reese’s hair fell into her face. She brushed it away. “I’ve done it before.”
Tyrone’s eyebrows shot upward and he stared at her. “Well,” he said. “You’ve had a busy few years since I saw you last.”
A lump rose in Reese’s chest. She could feel it just beneath her heart, challenging its movement. “It was before that,” she said. She looked down at the table. Wood grain slipped in and out of her vision. “Years ago.” She traced along the lip of the table, feeling its dents and splinters. “When they took my father,” she added softly.
Tyrone gasped. Silence hung in the air between them. “And you never tol—” Tyrone began.
The dining room door swung open, and Daro entered, a thick book held in one hand. “Here you are,” he said, his dry gaze moving from one to the other. “Need anything else?” He hefted the book onto the table. It landed with a thump, dust rising from the scratched leather jacket.
Tyrone reached out and grabbed the book. “No, thanks, that’ll be all.” He dragged the tome across the table in a tangle of dinnerware. “Shut the door behind you, will you?”
Daro looked at Tyrone for a long moment, then nodded and left. The latch clicked shut.
15
“Let’s get this out of the way,” Tyrone said, standing up. With one motion, he swept his arm across the tabletop, sending plates and platters of crumbs crashing to the floor.
Reese jumped at the noise, then focused on taming the flare-up of calculations. She felt tired. Far more tired than she had been for years.
Tyrone flopped the cover of the book open, revealing a stack of folded brown parchment. “Mainland Harbor, King’s theater,” he muttered as he flipped through the crackling sheets. Then he snorted. “Old family house.” He picked the offending map up between finger and thumb and flicked it onto the table. “If I ever go back there it’ll be to hang myself.” He cleared his throat and picked up another map. “Ah, here we are. But before we begin,” he said, pressing one hand down on top of the maps and looking at Reese, “you never told me you were in Sea Level Prison.” His voice carried a plaintive note.
“I wasn’t supposed to be,” Reese replied. Her stomach clenched at the bitter taste in her mouth. “The king gave my father and me a special amnesty that let us stay on the island if we wanted.” Anger roiled up at the memory. “Then police broke into the house. They arrested him and carried him away.” She scowled down at the table. “We had a signed paper from the king, but they said he had changed his mind.” The room seemed to grow cold. Reese kept her gaze on the table. “I knew where they were going, so I got a gun out of our cellar and followed them.” She felt her mind begin to speed up. Stay calm. It’s just a memory.
She forced a weak smile. “That was my first experience using my skills on the wrong side of the law.” Reese tapped the edge of the table. “A twelve-year-old girl with a gun. I got all the way in. Right into the heart of the prison.” A sob rose in her throat. “He was dead. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t an execution.” She leaned back in her chair, feeling the old anger and fear. Bile rose in her mouth. “The police had just… killed him. I had to run. I barely made it back out of the prison.” She stretched one hand and felt the scarred muscle on her upper right arm. “The next morning is when we met.”
Revelation shone in Tyrone’s eyes. “When I ran into you in that shed? Little Reese, looking like something the tide washed in.” His mouth hung open for a moment, then a teasing light sprang into his face. “I seem to make a habit out of finding you plastered in fog and running for your life.” He grinned. “I don’t know how you managed during these last few years.”
Reese tensed. “I managed,” she said. She straightened in her seat and held out a hand. “Give me the map.”
Slowly, Tyrone held out the folded paper. “It was a joke,” he said. “You can laugh.”
Reese hesitated a moment, unsure of what to say. She took the map. The brown parchment crackled in her fingers as she spread it on the table and let the ink stains burn into her memory.
Beside her, Tyrone gave a frustrated sigh. He strode to the door and pulled it a few inches open. “Daro?” he called. “Some more coffee, if you can find some.” He swung around to lean his back against the wall, arms folded. “I have a feeling this will take all night.”
It will if you keep talking while I’m trying to think. Reese ran her finger along the map, tracing the outer boundary of the prison complex. If we can hide in the old shipping ports, we should be able to reach the cliff gate when it gets dark. She frowned in concentration as the data streams mounted. Hopefully they still use wheel locks. What kind of guns do we have available?
Tyrone’s voice cut in on her plans. “You know I won’t be able to help you with this, right, Reese?”
Calculations stalled. Reese looked up from the map. The merchant stood on the other side of the table, leaning his elbows on the back of a carved wooden chair.
He met her gaze for a moment, then looked away. “I can’t just go bursting into a prison with you,” he said. His long fingers twitched. “I’m still a merchant, I have some good connections in the royal court. I’ve even got an invitation to the royal ball.” His shoulders slumped, and for a moment he looked like a dejected shadow of himself. “If I’m seen helping you…”
A cold, hard knot settled in Reese’s stomach. “You’re leaving me to do this myself?” Fear snaked through her mind. I can’t do it on my own. I nearly died the first time.
Tyrone dragged his gaze back to hers. “Believe me, I don’t want to,” he said. Helplessness flickered across his pale face. “You know what would happen if I lost the company.”
We’d lose our primary smuggler. “Yes,” Reese answered automatically. It made sense. It was the logical answer. She turned back to the map, blinking hard against the sudden tears. Accept it and move on. A dry sob caught in her throat.
With a loud creak, the door swung open, and the king stepped into the room. “You wanted this?” he
asked, holding up a clay pitcher. His linen shirt hung loose, the knots at his throat half-untied.
Not Joplin. Not now. Reese bent her focus to the map. I can’t think about him. She heard Tyrone step away from the table.
“Right over here,” the merchant said. “Bring any extra cups?”
I’ll have to find a place closer to the gates to hide, or I won’t make it across all that open space before they see me.
Glasses clinked. “Brought two.” Joplin’s husky voice filled Reese’s ears. It sounded very innocent. Almost too innocent. “And Daro said something about an inspection?”
Tyrone snorted. “They’re threatening to come back and move everything around again.” Coffee poured into a cup. “If I get you a crew of men with hair on their chests, could you put the warehouse to rights tomorrow?” The cups clinked again. “Here, give this to Reese.”
The inky lines seemed to blur before Reese’s gaze. She heard footsteps approaching. Could feel him getting nearer. Then a hand pushed a mug of steaming liquid toward her. Reese’s breath caught in her throat, and she looked up into the smiling gaze of the king. Her words stuck in her mouth. “Thank you,” she managed.
Joplin nodded. His tousled red-brown hair brushed forward into his eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said. Then his expression turned serious. “Are you doing better now?” he asked, lowering himself into the chair opposite. “When we got back from the tavern you looked like you wanted to kill someone.”
Reese’s head felt as if it would explode. The prison break plans, Tyrone’s glimmers of love, and the question of the king swirled in a mind-numbing cacophony. She could feel herself slipping dangerously near to overdrive. I need resolution on something. Now. Beneath the table, her grip tightened on the chair.
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