Chapter 28

28

M uscles straining, Samantha pulled herself onto the roof and broke into an immediate run, racing along the flat ridge until she reached the opposite end. Her foot met the edge, allowing her to push off and jump toward the next building.

Knees bent, she landed with a soft thud and vaulted over a pair of chimney stacks before continuing onward to her destination – a spot directly across from Number 5 Portman Square.

Perched there, she pulled a spyglass from her jacket's inside pocket and settled onto her belly. The rooms visible from this angle were few in number. A parlor, a study, two bedchambers upstairs, and the staff quarters on the top floor.

She focused on the study first. Judging from what little she was able to see, it wasn't much different from Harlowe's, though in her opinion the space was too bold to suit Mr. Croft. The gilded lion statue she glimpsed didn't quite suit the man she believed him to be.

Someone entered the room and she stilled, her breath caught, until she saw it was merely a maid. The woman moved about as though clearing a few things before leaving once more. Samantha frowned, her focus on the bookcase that stood beyond the desk.

Was that where Mr. Croft kept the blackmail information he was supposed to possess?

He'd not be so careless, surely.

She slid the spyglass higher, over the bedchamber to the right and then across the white brick fa?ade to the left. Her pulse leapt and she nearly sprang from her spot when Mr. Croft's magnified face came into view.

Recalling the distance between him and the vantage point from which she watched, she blew out a slow breath and gave him her full attention. He was already turning away, his hands yanking his shirt and…

Aware that he was undressing, she started to lower the spy-glass, only to still when a welt traversing his back caught her gaze. It wasn't the only one. More came into view as he pulled the shirt over his head. Her heart froze in response to the awful sight. Hundreds of lines were embedded upon his flesh, some more pronounced than others.

She dropped the spyglass and swallowed against the sick feeling that gripped her.

Who had done this?

What kind of monster had tortured him so?

If she ever found out, she'd drag the bastard into the darkest hole she could find and whip him as soundly as he had whipped Croft. Good God, she was so spitting mad on his behalf, she wished she had someone to fight as an outlet for some of the rage.

Closing her eyes briefly, she reminded herself that whatever had happened to him in the past was not her concern. She should not care. Couldn't afford to.

So she shoved the spyglass back into her pocket and headed back to the room she'd rented. It took her less than half an hour to arrive on the sloped roof. Without pausing, she slid to the eve, grabbed the drainpipe, and dropped down to the open window below.

In one fluid motion she swung herself into the space where she came to collect her thoughts, poured herself a large glass of water, and drank. She couldn't afford to lose focus because of some ugly scars.

She shook her head, forced herself to reflect on yesterday's conversation with Croft. His expression had been guarded when she'd confided stealing the letters.

Maybe giving them to him had been a mistake.

Sneaking into a dead woman's bedroom and riffling through her belongings wasn't exactly the sort of behavior one would expect from a respectable young lady, but rather from a trained operative on a mission.

Stupid.

She drank some more water, then set the glass aside. If he took the time to think about it, he'd surely suspect her of being up to something.

A telltale knock at the door alerted her to Isak's arrival. She let the boy in and offered him part of the minced meat pie she'd purchased for herself earlier.

He took it and handed her the letter he'd brought before shoving the pie in his mouth.

Samantha tore the seal Kendrick used and unfolded the paper, frowning as she read the message.

Meet me at St. Mary's Church tonight. Your progress is unsatisfactory. We need to talk.

She crumpled the paper and shoved it into her pocket. The chief constable's impatience was beyond frustrating. Sighing, she trudged to a rickety wooden table and pulled out a chair. She was aware of the strain the man was under. According to Harlowe, Lundquist was pressuring Bow Street, insisting they meet with results soon. And he wasn't alone, having enlisted Moorland's and Eldridge's support. Not easy, facing the criticism of a marquess and two dukes.

She also realized she ought to have been much closer to Mr. Croft by now. Her assignment was dragging on, taking longer than expected. Although to be fair, she could have warned Kendrick it would be like this if she'd met Croft before she received her assignment.

"Is everything all right?" Isak asked, chewing his food.

"Yes." Samantha retrieved her writing supplies and proceeded to pen her response, the tip of her quill scratching against the paper with each stroke she made.

I'll be there. Make sure you're not followed.

Meeting in person was dangerous, so it was with serious unease that she sealed her message and handed it back to Isak for delivery.

"There's something else," he said, a cagy look about his eyes.

A cool sliver of foreboding lodged itself at the base of Samantha's spine. "What is it?"

He raised his chin, eyes too old for a boy his age meeting hers. "Wycliffe wants to collect the debt you owe. You're to meet him tomorrow evening, ten o'clock at Seven Dials. A disguise is recommended."

She dared not wonder why. "And if I don't show?"

"He'll let Mr. Croft know you're spying on him."

Breathing became a sudden chore. Teeth clamped together so hard it felt like her jaw might snap, she stared at the boy before her. "How the hell did Wycliffe discover this information?"

Isak swallowed hard and retreated a step. "It wasn't from me. He never even asked me about it. I swear."

"So then?"

"I'm guessing one of his other boys tracked our movements."

She stood immobile for a second, allowed that detail to settle. Bloody hell, she'd been careless, and now she'd pay the price.

"Very well." There was no way around it. "Tell him I'll be there."

* * *

With the brim of his hat pulled low so it shielded his face, Adrian kept an eye on Walker's movements across the street. He'd been trailing him for the past half hour in an effort to gain some insight – some hint of the type of man he might be.

Walker didn't strike him as a murderer so far, his stopping to help an old lady climb the steps to a shop not exactly on par with a cold-blooded killer. But looks could be deceiving.

A bakery drew Walker's attention a few seconds later. He stopped to admire the goods in the window, then entered the shop. Despite the distance and the slightly impaired view caused by passing carriages and pedestrians, Adrian could tell his exchange with the woman behind the counter was amicable.

When he re-emerged with a parcel tucked under his arm, the smile on his face was warm and genuine. By all appearances, he lacked the demeanor one would expect from a monster.

Adrian mulled that over while matching Walker's steps. Could it be he was once again chasing the wrong man?

Unsure, he continued to track his movements, interest rising inside him when he spotted Lundquist. The marquess was exiting The Gentlemen's Emporium and didn't seem to have noticed Walker until the other man called out to him. Another clue Walker wasn't the killer? Or simply that he was incredibly skilled at deception?

Lundquist turned, the pain of loss evident in the bleakness of his gaze. Walker approached and Adrian moved a bit farther along the pavement to better gauge Walker's expression as he and Lundquist spoke. Sympathy showed in the dip of his eyebrows and etchings upon his brow, which seemed like further proof that he wasn't the killer.

Adrian frowned as concern slipped through him. For if it wasn't Walker, then who the hell was it?