Chapter 49

Saffron stared at the man she was now certain was not a police officer. "We haven't met before, I'm sure of it."

"No, you're not." Bill took a step forward, and Saffron took an automatic step back. With exaggerated purpose, he lowered himself into an armchair. He gestured for her to sit too.

She hesitated, tempted to run to the kitchen to Elizabeth, or even to the telephone. She wet her dry lips. "Where have we met, then?"

"I'm hurt you don't remember me. We've known each other for years, in one way or another."

She didn't know how to respond to that. He had plain features, dark brown hair swept back from his forehead, and soft eyes that would require closer inspection to determine the color. She couldn't determine his age either. He was certainly older than Alexander, who was in his early thirties, but not yet middle-aged. His nose was on the larger side, but it wasn't memorable. Nothing about his face was. She swallowed hard. "Well, if we're such good friends, perhaps you should let me go."

Bill's brow puckered. "You are at liberty to leave any time you like. You are not a prisoner here."

She caught his unspoken meaning. "I suppose you wouldn't leave if I asked politely."

"I will, after you give me what I want."

"I don't have it."

Bill's lips pressed together in a stern line, but his eyes danced. "Saffron, it's unnecessary to lie to me. Give me what you took from Jeffery Wells's case, and you'll never have to see me again."

Again, she caught the nuance. "But you'll be seeing me regardless?"

Bill let out a soft chuckle. "You always were clever. Even as a little girl, I recall you getting into all sorts of mischief with that active mind of yours."

She found her lungs did not want to fill with air. He acted as if he'd known her as a child. But he couldn't—

"You think I must be lying." Bill leaned forward in his chair. With his elbows on his knees and his face forward, he gave the impression of earnestness. "I assure you; I've watched your progress just as surely as you watched your strychnos seeds sprout. Except you haven't been watching them. You've allowed Alexander to tend them for you. A good idea, too, as you're not too popular at the university, especially at the moment. Dr. Aster may have forgiven you for your absence to help Nick, but the rest of your colleagues see it as a continuation of the preferential treatment they think you've been receiving since you were a student. Luckily, Alexander doesn't see you in so negative a light. Despite your differences of opinion, I believe he's in love with you."

A choked sound came from Saffron's throat.

"I shouldn't distress you by telling you before he does," Bill said. "But it illustrates the point you must understand if our conversation is to progress: I know everything, Saffron. I know who you care for. I know who they care for. I know about the flowers and vines you draw in your notebooks. I know the shop where Elizabeth prefers to buy her wine. I know what Alexander's shaving soap is scented with. I can't say for sure whether or not you like it, but I'd wager you do."

Throat constricted by the flood of fear at his gently spoken words, she managed to ask, "What do you want?"

"You know what I want. I want what you took from Wells's case."

"I didn't take—"

Warning laced his quiet voice. "Did I not make my point clear? I know everything, including that you took materials from the case before you turned it over to Nick's friends and the police. I want it."

Saffron believed him. If he'd been spying on her and the others—but why would he?—then he likely would know. He might be the scientist Colin had warned would examine the materials to ensure she hadn't swapped out anything. She didn't see the point in lying, then. "I can't give it to you."

Bill was silent for a beat. "Why not?"

"I destroyed it," she whispered.

"Show me," Bill ordered. He rose, straightening to an unimpressive height, though straight-backed as an arrow.

He squashed her hopes of enlisting Elizabeth's help by murmuring, "I have a colleague keeping Elizabeth company. Let's not interrupt them."

Shivers broke out over her body, pebbling her skin. Elizabeth was in just as much danger—more, probably. Bill must know how much Saffron loved her friend, and he would be furious when he realized Saffron wasn't lying about destroying the stolen materials.

In the bathroom, still damp and muddy, Saffron pointed him to the basin on the floor.

Bill walked slowly over, kneeling beside it. His nose wrinkled as he took in the trio of vials, their contents soaked.

"Hydrogen peroxide," he muttered. He picked up a piece of paper, the ink long since muddled by the acid. "Clever."

He stood, and as he did so, he rolled his shoulders. The action of a man attempting to collect his temper.

Saffron swallowed hard. She knew she'd done the right thing, stealing and destroying the information, but what would the consequences be?

Bill walked slowly, deliberately, to the door where Saffron stood. He stopped just before her. This close, she still couldn't see the color of his irises. His lashes were straight, shading them somewhat as he studied her.

"You owe me, Saffron Everleigh," he murmured. "You owe me something big to make up for this loss."

"I—I won't steal secrets for you," Saffron stammered. "I won't. If Alfie had gotten his hands on that specimen, it could have killed hundreds of thousands of people."

"Alfie?" Bill smirked. "He was going to give it to me. I would have killed hundreds of thousands of people with it."

Fear gripped her at his cool manner. Bill was Alfie's collaborator, the one Colin and all his men feared. The prospect of being responsible for the deaths of so many people didn't bother him in the least. "Who are you? Why are you doing any of this?"

"Bill Wyatt. Please, continue to call me Bill."

He held his hand out for her, which she could not have been paid a thousand pounds to take. "I've made you uncomfortable. I apologize. In my eagerness to finally speak with you in this open way, I'm afraid I've forgotten my manners."

She was torn between demanding answers from him and wanting desperately for him to leave. But she didn't know how to do either without threatening herself or Elizabeth.

"I am a member of an organization that …" he hummed thoughtfully, "disseminates information. I gather it, and interested parties offer me trades to receive it."

"People pay money for the secrets you steal from the government."

He shrugged. "I cannot deny that some information does come from within governments. It is often those same governments that pay me for similar information, strangely enough."

She wasn't going to be tangled up in his subtleties. He stole and sold secrets, dangerous ones. And now he thought she owed him something. Too boldly, she said, "And you kill those who refuse to do your bidding."

"Like any good gardener, I remove the weeds." Bill's lips stretched into a smile that shone in his eyes. "But I always leave behind sprouts with the potential to grow."

Ignoring that strange smile, she asked, "How did you manage to kill Wells so quickly with Mucor indicus?"

"A strange coincidence, that," Bill replied. "It might have killed him if left to fester long enough. But I had access to something a little quicker. Nearly impossible to identify in the human body after just a few hours."

A poison, no doubt. Saffron wet her dry lips. "Another secret you stole?" Bill only smiled. "Did you kill Petrov too?"

His sense of levity disappeared. "I did not kill Demian. I liked him, in fact. I think it a great pity he never found a solution to his Aristolochia problem."

Saffron blinked, bewildered by the gentle bitterness in his tone. But she had no opportunity to ponder it.

Bill canted his head again toward the front door. A pale scar, thick and ugly, was notched just below his ear. "Ah." He turned to the kitchen door. "Time to go," he barked in a commanding tone.

The kitchen door opened, and the other man in a policeman's uniform came out. He was tall but slender and wore a faint mustache. His hair was covered by a custodian's helmet.

Bill took his own helmet from the table just inside the front door, donned it, and gave her a little bow. "I'll be seeing you, Saffron. Good evening."

They exited the flat. Indecision froze her in place. Did she telephone the police? Nick's flat? Should she run after them, to try to see where they went?

She was still standing in the hall when the door flew open, and two men appeared in the frame.

Saffron stood in the hall, her face stark white. Guilt lashed Alexander. He'd all but kicked in the door, likely terrifying her. He was no better than the thugs who'd abducted him and Nick.

He'd been told what Saffron and Elizabeth had gone through: being tricked out of the flat by Colin Smith, forced to search the Path Lab again, and the strange conclusion with Sergeant Simpson. He ought to have been gentler about this.

But none of his feelings were gentle now. He stormed inside, not caring about Nick, standing just behind him, and took Saffron in his arms.

He buried his face into her neck and held her for a long time. His heart, which hadn't stopped racing since he'd heard Colin had forced them into Alfie Tennison's clutches, finally eased to its usual steady rhythm, and he came back to full awareness. They stood in the hall, and Saffron was stroking his back. She was saying the same thing over and over again, "I'm fine, Alexander. I'm fine."

He couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed. He'd thought he might die today. Saffron might have died, and he wouldn't have been able to do a thing about it.

He'd known it for ages, maybe from the moment he stepped onto the ship to Brazil and felt he was making a terrible mistake leaving her behind. It was too soon and too late, but there was nothing else to say. Staring into her eyes, such a precious shade of blue, he said, "I love you."

A strange emotion flickered in their depths before they filled with tears. Her breath caught on a sob. "I love you, Alexander. I'm so—"

He cut her off with a searing kiss. He ignored the burning ache of his shoulder and ribs, the twinges of his bruised nose, the stinging of the bandages chafing at his raw wrists. Nothing mattered but this.

Neither attempted to break apart for a long time. Eventually, Saffron pulled back enough to rest her forehead against his. He didn't loosen his grip on her waist. He wasn't going to be able to let her go for a long time. Maybe never.

"Alexander," she whispered.

His whole body tensed up at the trepidation he saw in her eyes.

With a shuddering breath, she said, "I have to tell you about Bill."