by Shana Galen
“I’ll not risk you. I’ll go.”
She shook her head wildly. He might be good with a sword, but he was too large to move about undetected. “You’ll get us both caught.”
“Then we wait for the interloper to reveal himself.”
She understood the gist of his message, and would have protested, if a low whistle she knew well hadn’t sounded at that moment. She whistled back, and Dane hissed, “What are you doing?”
“It’s Gideon,” she said, pushing Dane back and sitting. She peered cautiously over the wall and saw a familiar form emerge from the darkness of the warehouse. He moved quickly into sight, and she flicked a hand so he would know where she hid. A moment later, he tumbled beside her, pressing his back to the wall where she was similarly seated.
“How dost do my buff?” he asked, giving her the familiar flash greeting.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered. Dane was crouched across from them, his arms crossed over his chest in a disapproving manner.
“And a good evening to you too,” Gideon said. “I’m here to save your lovely arse.”
“Watch your language,” Dane said, voice low and edged with warning.
Marlowe cut her gaze to him. “Since when did you start worrying about my virgin ears?”
“It’s not your ears he’s worried about, it’s your arse. He doesn’t want any man but himself noticing it. That about right, cove?”
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Oh, we understand each other,” Gideon said. “And if I’d known what an arse you were, I wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.” He looked at Marlowe. “I did it for her, not the likes of you.”
“Then you found Sir Brook.”
“I found him. Had to walk right into the offices on Bow Street, but I found him.”
“And he’s coming?” Dane asked.
Gideon didn’t even look in the other man’s direction. “He’ll be here. I hope.”
“You’re not sure?”
Gideon shrugged. “Are you even sure Satin will be here?”
Marlowe raised a brow. “I can spout court holy water as good as any man.”
“That you can.” He rose on his haunches. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it. When word gets out Satin’s been nabbed, I want to be there for the cubs. Maybe I can keep a few of them from being gobbled up by other gangs. Not that Beezle will let them go.”
“Beezle might not be as much a problem as you think,” Marlowe said, peering over the wall again in the direction of the warehouse.
“Oh, really? What have you done?”
“Just kept him out of the way for a little while. If there’s anything you can do for the cubs, do it. Especially Gap and Tiny.”
“And if I can help, I’m more than willing,” Dane said, surprising her.
Gideon scowled at him. “How would you help? Stick them in an orphanage? Most of us were lucky to escape.”
“What if I took them on as stable boys at my country house? They’d be away from London, they’d learn a trade, and I’d even provide an education.”
“Why?” Marlowe asked before Gideon could. His mouth was hanging open, and she figured it would be a moment before he shut it and was able to speak again.
Dane looked thoughtful. “It’s not much. I know it’s a drop in the ocean, but it’s a start. I told you. I will introduce a bill in Parliament.”
Gideon snorted. “You do that. You know where to find us if your lofty ideas don’t fade with your lust.”
Marlowe recoiled as though he’d slapped her. Was that what everyone was thinking? Dane was simply lusting after her? Had all of the changes she’d seen in him been merely pretense to woo her into his bed?
“I would call you out for that,” Dane said, voice low and menacing, “but what else should I expect? You’re not a gentleman.”
“And never will be,” Gideon said. “I got too much honor to call myself by that name.”
Dane lunged forward, and Gideon would have followed if Marlowe hadn’t moved quickly. She’d broken up a hundred fights or more, and she had been ready when this one began to brew. She wedged herself between the two men, pushing them both sharply back to capture their attention. It was no good if they started swinging and she was in the middle. “You”—she pointed to Dane—“over there. And you”—she leveled a finger at Gideon—“it’s time for you to go.”
“With pleasure,” Gideon said, brushing his trousers off. “But this isn’t over.”
“No, it’s not,” Dane agreed.
Marlowe gave Gideon a last threatening look, and he gave a short wave and was gone. Dane moved beside Marlowe again, and she shook her head at him before peeking over the wall. “You’ve now managed to make enemies with the man who was our only ally.”
“It might not have been the best course of action.”
She rolled her eyes. “Then why did you do it?”
He turned to look at her, and her heart thumped hard. There was something in his eyes that made her throat dry. She tried to swallow, and let out a small squeak instead. “Because you’re mine,” he said. Even as she shook her head, he gripped her chin lightly with two fingers. “You are. This isn’t mere lust, Marlowe. I don’t…I don’t know what the hell it is, but I won’t have your character impugned.”
She squinted at him. “So you were jealous?”
He wet his lips then dipped his head to kiss her quickly. “I’d be a fool not to be.”
***
Gideon cursed under his breath as he made his way through the shadows and back toward St. Giles. He didn’t know why he’d even come to the docks. They stank worse than the dirtiest hole in Seven Dials, and he had to maneuver around wharf doxies and sailors three sheets to the wind. Wouldn’t they love to get ahold of him and bloody him up for sport? He must have been daft to come. As daft as Marlowe for plotting this whole racket. At least the nob she’d tapped to help her wasn’t as much a coward as most of the gentry coves he knew. Gideon wouldn’t have minded bloodying the man’s nose. Then maybe he wouldn’t look quite so pretty.
Not that it mattered at this point. Marlowe had made her choice, and it was obviously not Gideon. He should be glad. He should celebrate now that she had a chance to get away from the rookeries and start a new life, a better life. Then why did he feel so depressed to lose her? Why did his feet feel like they were cased in lead as he made his way back to the flash ken? He’d always known Marlowe would find a way out; the same as he’d known he’d live and die in Seven Dials. But maybe he could save a few of the cubs before he met his Maker.
Gideon hunched his shoulders as he spotted another group of sailors in the dim light of a tavern. The most direct path was right by them, but he didn’t want to risk it, and cut behind the building, keeping to the shadows. He still had his head down when something in the dark reached out and grasped his arm. Gideon would have yelled, but he was too busy fighting off the arm around his throat, cutting off his air.
“Hold still,” a familiar voice murmured in his ear. Gideon went rigid. Slowly, the pressure on his throat eased. When he could breathe again, Gideon stepped forward then brought his elbow back with enough force to cause the other man to expel a breath of air and an “oof.”
Gideon bent to look in the man’s eyes. “Don’t ever surprise me again.”
“Next time I’ll just call out,” Sir Brook muttered, straightening. “I’m sure that won’t attract any attention.”
“You’re late,” Gideon said.
“How would you know? You’ve never had a watch you haven’t stolen.”
“I can tell time, and you’re late.”
Sir Brook shrugged. “I’m here now.”
“I told you to meet me by the warehouse.”
“Caught sight of you headed this way and doubled back. Are Dane and Marlowe still waitin
g for Satin, or is it all over?”
“They’re still waiting,” Gideon answered.
“Then why are you over here?”
“Your brother didn’t want my help.”
“Then he’s an idiot. I thought we went over the plan earlier.”
Gideon scowled. “And I thought I made it clear I’m not working with a thief-taker.”
Sir Brook didn’t speak, and Gideon could feel his piercing gaze. The inspector hadn’t needed to threaten Gideon earlier, and he didn’t need to now. Gideon knew the man could make his life miserable, if he so chose. He blew out a breath. “Fine. I’ll show you where they are.”
“Quietly now.”
And that was when they heard the scream.
***
Marlowe heard Satin approach just after the bells tolled a quarter to twelve. He had a distinctive walk, one which she had learned to recognize. When Satin was coming toward her, she moved out of the way. She’d suffered his kicks often enough that avoidance became second nature. Now she forced herself to stand her ground. He was expecting to meet her, expecting to make enough blunt to be able to walk away from the flash ken and his old life forever. She glanced at Dane, who leaned negligently on his walking stick. She could not decide if he was playing his part or really that unconcerned. “He’s here,” she murmured.
Dane straightened as Satin came into view. He tipped his hat and gave the crime lord a sweeping bow. Satin looked unimpressed. “Let’s get this done.”
“Not much for chitchat, are you?” Dane quipped.
Marlowe would have rolled her eyes, but she was reluctant to take her gaze from Satin. Something didn’t feel right. Bony fingers skittered up and down her spine, and she moved in front of Dane slightly.
“This it?” Satin asked, nodding to the warehouse just a few feet away.
“I believe so,” Dane said with a nod. “We have a horse and wagon over there. You get inside, get past my father’s men, and forty percent is yours.”
Satin’s eyes narrowed. “It’s fifty percent, or I walk right now.”
Dane sighed heavily. “Fine. Fifty percent.”
Satin’s gaze shifted to the warehouse. “I don’t see no guards.”
“That doesn’t mean they aren’t there,” Marlowe said, speaking for the first time. “They might be inside.”
“Then you and I will just have to take care of them, won’t we?”
Marlowe shook her head. “This is your job, Satin. I’m with Lord Maxwell.”
“You’re with me.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a snapper with one hand while grasping Marlowe by the wrist with the other. She let out a surprised scream, but in one quick motion, Satin hauled her against his foul-smelling chest and pressed the cold pistol barrel to her forehead. Marlowe’s entire body convulsed in shock. Satin had never had a snapper before. Why did he have one now? Why hadn’t she seen this coming?
Satin pulled her back with him, toward the warehouse. Marlowe dragged her feet, trying to slow him even as she cut her gaze to Dane. He held his walking stick at the ready, and Marlowe wanted to shake her head. If he unsheathed the tilter now, Satin might very well kill her and bolt. Of course, if Sir Brook was waiting to apprehend Satin on the other side of the warehouse, she was also done for. Satin’s hand was shaking. One false move, and she would be dead.
“Let her go, Satin,” Dane ordered, moving forward but keeping his tilter sheathed.
“Why? Two work quicker than one, and you and me ’ave worked together plenty, haven’t we, Marlowe?”
“Yes,” she managed, her voice sounding far stronger than she felt. “Put the snapper away. If you wanted my help that badly, you only had to ask.”
Marlowe hadn’t prayed in years—possibly in forever—but she was praying silently now. She didn’t ask God to spare her. She figured she didn’t matter as much to Him. But she asked God to make sure Satin didn’t have second thoughts about pilfering the warehouse. She needed Sir Brook to catch Satin in the midst of the crime. If not, Satin would go free, and she did figure God cared a bit about all the harm and misery Satin caused.
Her gaze never left Dane’s, and she could feel the intensity of his stare. The night was dark and the shadows long, but the clouds that had hovered all day had cleared, and the moon shone in the sky. Dane, heedless of his position in the open, stood with his gaze locked on hers. It might have been her imagination, but she could have sworn she saw more than affection, more than simple concern in his eyes. Yes, she wanted to see evidence that his feelings mirrored hers, but if she was going to die, was it so bad to die getting what she wanted?
“If ye’re feeling so helpful,” Satin said near her ear, his breath reeking of onions, “then you go in first.”
Marlowe’s gaze cut away from Dane, and she angled her head until she could see the warehouse. It was closer than she’d realized. Her feeble efforts at slowing Satin hadn’t worked as well as she’d hoped. Suddenly, he turned her and shoved her up against the warehouse door. There was no one in the warehouse. Marlowe knew that as a fact, because Dane had leased the empty warehouse himself. Satin would see as soon as she opened the door that this was a fob. But getting the door open was quite another matter. Dane had been given a key to the padlock on the door, but she couldn’t very well ask him for it. After all, if they had the key, why would they need a thief to break in?
“Open it,” Satin hissed.
Marlowe shook her head. “You know I’m a hopeless dubber. Besides, I don’t have my cracking tools.”
“You got a dub. You always do. And you’d better be quiet about it. I don’t want whoever’s inside getting suspicious.”
Marlowe fumbled in her hair for the special tool, the dub, used to pick locks. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d used it, but that didn’t mean she didn’t keep it close. Her fingers shook as she pulled it free from the mass of hair she’d re-pinned tightly, and she almost dropped it on the ground.
“Easy there,” Satin whispered. “What has you so jumpy? You’re not going to turn stag, are you?”
“I’m no snitch,” she lied. “I’m not used to working with a pistol pressed to my head.” She gripped the dub tighter and fit it into the padlock. She’d seen Gideon do this dozens of times. He always made it look simple. It was far from simple, but she could do it if she concentrated. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the metal of the snapper now warming against her flesh. She blocked out the wild thumping of her heart and the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. She turned the dub, jiggling it this way and that, until she heard one of the pins click. Now she had to manage to unlock the others without clicking that one back into place.
A bead of perspiration trickled down her neck. This was not how she wanted to spend her last moments, and these were her last moments if she opened that warehouse door and Sir Brook didn’t step in to nab Satin. What was the inspector waiting for? If he was nearby and watching, he could clearly see Satin—well, she—was cracking it. Why didn’t Sir Brook nab Satin now—before he decided to put a pistol ball in her brain?
Another pin clicked open, and Marlowe prayed there was just one more. Deftly, she moved the dub into place and angled her wrist. She had a feel for the lock now. She could picture its inner workings in her mind. She flicked her wrist then eased the dub up just a fraction, and the pin clicked into place. The lock opened, and Marlowe stared at the door. She reached for the handle, her hand trembling.
“Go ahead,” Satin whispered. “Open it.”
***
Gideon shoved Sir Brook back into the shadows of an abandoned building and ducked back himself. “Where the devil is Marlowe?” he muttered.
“Let me take a look,” Sir Brook said, edging toward the side of the building.
“I’ll look,” Gideon said, pushing Brook back.
“Out of my way!” Brook shoved Gideon aside
and peered out. Gideon slinked forward and squinted into the darkness. There was Lord Dane, looking tense and at attention as he stared at the warehouse he and Marlowe had targeted. But where was Marlowe?
“He has her,” Sir Brook said, nodding to the warehouse.
“Who?”
“The man by the door.”
Gideon narrowed his eyes at the shadows and swore under his breath.
“Is it him? Satin?”
“That’s the arch rogue bastard. He has her dubbing the lock. We have to get inside. Once she opens the door, Satin is going to know he was fobbed.”
Brook pointed to a high warehouse window. “If I hoist you up, can you break it silently and crawl through?”
Gideon studied it. “I can mill a glaze in my sleep. How will you get in, or are you playing the diver, and I’m supposed to drop Marlowe down to you?”
“We’re not cracking a house, Mr. Harrow.”
“If I was, at least I could count on my cronies. How do I know you won’t turn and run once I’m inside?”
Brook shrugged. “You don’t. And don’t think I’m not tempted to let the lot of you rogues kill each other off.”
“Then why are you here?”
Brook nodded to Lord Dane. “Because he is. Let’s go.”
***
The door creaked open, and Dane wanted to shout. He’d had a dozen opportunities to run Satin through with his sword, but every time his hands itched to pull the blade free, he thought about the pistol resting against Marlowe’s temple, and he held his ground.
Brook wasn’t coming. That much was obvious. Dane was on his own, and as soon as Satin stepped inside the building, Marlowe was as good as dead. Dane would reach the crime lord before he could prime his pistol again, but it would be too late for Marlowe. Still, he couldn’t sit back and do nothing. He couldn’t lose her.
Marlowe stood and pushed the door open. Satin gave her a shove into the dark warehouse and then stepped into the darkness himself. Dane ran forward and unsheathed his sword.
***