Chapter 41

Given the lateness of the hour, Simpson had reluctantly offered them the use of the parlor for the remainder of the evening. Saffron was forced to take the couch, while the two men did their best to make themselves comfortable in the armchairs.

Saffron didn't sleep. She knew Alexander didn't either, from the dark glitter of his eyes beneath lowered eyelids. He waited until Simpson's snores became regular before he rose and went to the couch to sit next to her.

Whispering, he said, "I might be misunderstanding the note."

"I wish you were," she whispered back. "But I think it's obvious what it means."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and that nervous action made her stomach turn. Alexander worrying made her own anxiety spike. She retrieved the crumpled note from her bag, where she'd tucked it away for further examination. The light was so low it was hard to make out the words, but she'd read it over so many times already that she hardly needed to see them. She could practically hear Quinn speaking.

The insect in question suffered a distended thorax covered in dark green growth. Microscopic observation confirmed fungus, tubular protrusion discovered to be ready to burst through exoskeleton. Neville gave it to Sutcliffe despite warning.

The paper had one ripped side, which clearly came from Quinn's personal notebook. The reference to Narramore by his Christian name was evidence enough for Saffron, further emphasized by the messy handwriting and uneven lines. After seeing Quinn's writing in the daily logs, Saffron guessed she'd been in a rush to write these observations now, possibly angry that Narramore had given the sample to Sutcliffe. "Despite warning" bothered Saffron. Warning of what? Simply that Sutcliffe was disagreeable, or something more?

She shuddered, both at the implications about Sutcliffe and the horrible visual that Quinn's description had provided. Worse was what Alexander had said.

"I've heard of this," he'd told her as she read the note over the first time. "The local Brazilian guides told stories about a fungus that took over insects' bodies. There was a species that took over ants' bodies, changed their behavior. They'd find the ants attached to the bottom of leaves; their bodies covered in tiny spores."

"But that was in Brazil," Saffron had said. "A tropical fungus."

He hadn't replied, just as he did not speak now as she stared down at Quinn's words on a separate paper, similarly crumpled then smoothed.

Absolutely outrageous that no one but me sees the potential. Initial results showed stupendous potential for predatory pest control. There is work to be done to correct the problem of the earwigs eating everything in sight, but a few years of development—

The note stopped there, leaving Saffron deeply uneasy. Quinn's scrawls, in addition to the words from the report they'd found in the mixed-up pages from the record room, painted a picture Saffron didn't care to imagine. "Eating everything in sight" and "prolific destruction" added up to something potentially catastrophic.

Eventually, Alexander tugged the papers from her hands and set them on the floor. He inched over to the side of the couch, bringing Saffron with him, and wrapped an arm around her so she leaned her head on his chest.

Despite the increased comfort of having him near, she was too worried about what exactly it meant that the Path Lab had apparently been sent a new fungus that infected insects and made them cause prolific destruction with their insatiable appetites—only to have a staff member steal those secrets and then be killed. She wrapped an arm around Alexander's waist to settle closer but did not bother attempting to sleep.

After they were fed breakfast by a remarkably unfazed woman Simpson introduced as his second-cousin Nelly, Simpson walked them to the train station and saw them off with promises of adding their discoveries in the lab to his report. Alexander held his tongue about demanding Simpson leave out their breaking into the lab. He'd deal with that issue another time.

His first goal was to get Saffron safely to her flat so he could get on to the most important business of the day: finding Nick.

Saffron was dead on her feet. Her words were slurred with exhaustion, earning him some scathing looks from the people on the train who no doubt thought he'd kept his girl out all night drinking. He had kept his girl out all night, but it had been the furthest thing from a fun night on the town that he could imagine.

The train back to London was packed with folks commuting to work in the city, but he snagged a seat for Saffron while he stood. Her head sagged onto his hip, and he kept her upright but asleep the whole way back. She was adorably groggy when he woke her and clung to his arm as he walked them to the bus stop. Even with her half-asleep, after her reaction to being trapped in the records room last night, he wasn't going to attempt to take her on the Underground.

His heart gave a pang to recall how she'd struggled to breathe, and he tightened his grip on her arm.

She looked up at him with a squinting smile. "I won't fall over, don't worry."

He forced a smile back. He couldn't put a finger on what he was feeling, but it wasn't worry. Not over her falling asleep walking, anyway.

Alexander retrieved her keys from her handbag, slipping the papers from Simpson out as he did so, and unlocked Saffron's door. He helped her inside, told her to go to bed, and was surprised when she gave him a very thorough kiss in reply.

Something about how she clung to him, the door hanging open behind them, made him wary rather than inflamed. He eased away from her, placing a final chaste kiss on her lips. "Go to sleep, Saffron."

"I'll have horrible dreams," she said, burrowing her face into his neck.

He wasn't sure if she meant that as the invitation it sounded like. "Telephone me at the university when you wake up, please."

"You're going to the U?"

"Someone has to keep your plants alive."

She sighed, her breath tickling his throat. "Very well. Be responsible. I'll telephone you and we'll make a plan for what to do with Simpson's information. I'm not sure what it all means yet, but I'll think on it."

He hummed noncommittally, kissed the top of her head, and left the flat before he could change his mind.

From the beginning, he'd known Nick would bring nothing but danger to Saffron and Elizabeth, but now he cursed Nick anew. He might not be manipulating politicians and businessmen anymore, but he'd forced himself, and Saffron, into something just as dangerous. He had no doubt Nick would keep plaguing her about joining up with the very scientists who had inadvertently stumbled into what could very well be an incredibly destructive biological threat.

Nick's hotel was close, so Alexander went there on foot. He was rapping on the door in minutes, not stopping until Nick answered. He wore shirtsleeves with no collar, tie, or shoes, but he did wear a neutral frown of confusion. "Alexander?" He must have recognized Alexander's cold determination for the warning it was, for his expression snapped into the same cool competence that meant Alexander should be careful. "What's wrong?"

Alexander stepped inside and shut the door. "Saffron and I found something. I will give it to you if you will personally guarantee that you and anyone else working with you will leave her alone."

"You will give me all of the information regardless," Nick snapped. He seemed to regret it immediately. He propped his hands on his hips. "You know I can't promise anything. I'm here on a job. And I'll do my job."

"Saffron isn't part of the job."

Nick's reply came too slow. Alexander unclenched his jaw and ground out, "Saffron isn't a part of the job, Nick."

Nick sighed. "Let's cope with whatever crisis brought you here first. What happened?"

Alexander had just finished explaining the events of the previous evening when the door to Nick's room exploded. They both fell back, showered with splinters of wood from the door. Alexander's ears rang even though he saw, as two massive men shouldered their way into the room, that there had been no explosion, only a pair of heavily booted feet that kicked the door in.

They hauled him to his feet.

"This ain't the right one," grunted one of the men.

"I believe you're looking for me," Nick said, coming around the bed with a pistol aimed steadily at them.

Alexander stopped struggling against their grip.

The one to Alexander's left nodded, a slow grin spreading across scarred features. "Aye, you're the one, all right. Drop that little barker, or your friend gets a knife to the belly."

"What do you want?" Nick asked, not lowering his weapon.

From just behind the two bruisers, someone pronounced, "You."

Alexander couldn't see the speaker, but he could see Nick, his face twisted with rage for a split second before going completely smooth. Voice cool, he said, "I knew I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance."