28. Chapter 28

Chapter twenty-eight

He had to be dreaming it. There was no way anyone who knew Rowland was calling him in the dead of night, disturbing his sleep after he’d lost the most important person in his life. In fairness to whoever was on the other end of the line, they wouldn’t have any way of knowing that, but it irked him nonetheless. With a grumble, he rolled over in bed and snatched the phone off the receiver.

“Do you have any fucking idea what time it is?” he growled.

He didn’t care who was calling. Even if it was Iris. It was downright barbaric to be calling at—he glanced at the clock—three in the morning.

“Rowland, hello, it’s Charles Percy.”

“Hello, Charles,” Rowland said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Do you have any fucking idea what time it is?”

“Right, sorry it’s so late, but you see Sybil had the baby tonight and—”

“Congratulations. This couldn’t have waited until morning?”

“I’m not ringing you about the baby. It’s about Iris.”

Rowland froze. “What about her?”

“She stepped outside after the baby was born, and hasn’t come back. I just looked outside, and she wasn’t there. It’s been half an hour now. Did she go to yours? ”

“No,” Rowland said as icy fear twisted around his heart. “Are you looking outside now?”

“Yes.”

“Do you see anyone?”

“No.” Charles paused. “Well, perhaps. I see something across the street, but they must be lying down? I can’t make them out.”

Rowland’s pulse went erratic, and he took a steadying breath. “Charles. I need you to listen to me very carefully. Do not leave your house and do not call the police.”

“What’s going on?” Charles replied, an edge to his voice.

“I need you to trust me, all right? Stay right where you are. Close the blinds and lock the doors. I’m coming over and when I arrive, I’m going to knock exactly five times. Don’t answer for anyone else.”

Charles hesitated for a long moment. “All right, but do it softly. Sybil’s resting, and I don’t want to frighten her.”

“You got it, five soft knocks. I’ll be there soon.”

***

Rowland’s heart was beating out of control by the time his knuckles rapped against the Percy’s front door. He parked his car down the street and jogged the rest of the way there. Charles answered the door swiftly, looking tired, but curious.

“Come in,” he said.

Rowland nodded and crossed the threshold. He didn’t remove his hat or his coat. “Is it only you and Sybil here?”

“And the new baby,” Charles answered. “The other children are with my brothers.”

“Good,” Rowland said. “You served in the war, didn’t you, Charles?”

“I sunk German U-boats near Dover and Dunkirk as captain of my own destroyer, yes,” Charles said. “Why?”

“Damn, I was hoping you could use a gun,” Rowland muttered.

Charles went to the entryway table and opened the drawer, retrieving a revolver. “I can do that too.”

Rowland might have smirked if he wasn’t so worried about Iris. “Excellent. I don’t need much, just someone to watch my back while I see what’s across the street.”

“All right. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“The less you know, the better. But I will say there are some dangerous men after me, and it looks like they’ve made a significant move tonight. Now, I’m going to walk out. Keep your eyes peeled and if you see anything move, fucking shoot it, eh?”

Charles nodded. Rowland withdrew his own pistol from the holster under his arm and opened the door, taking a deep inhale before stepping back onto the pavement. He looked both ways before crossing to the other side. There weren’t any houses there, only a park, and the lights were out. He could make out the heap Charles mentioned on the phone, and as he got closer, he recognized them. Two Crimson Devils, Carl Gillet and Simon Langsdale, lying crumpled together, throats cut, blood pooling beneath their still bodies.

Rowland hated himself for thinking it, but he was grateful for a moment. Grateful it wasn’t Iris. Even if it did mean something else must have happened to her.

An unsealed envelope sat on Carl’s chest. Rowland suspected he was about to find out what became of Iris as he picked it up and opened it. There was a note inside, but also a lock of hair. He couldn’t see either in the dark, so he jogged back over to where Charles was waiting in the doorway. They slipped back inside and Charles locked the door.

In the dim light, Rowland held the lock of hair between his fingers. It shone like gold and was soft as silk. He recognized it right away as Iris’s. Hands shaking as rage coursed through him, he pulled out the note and read it.

Mr. Sinclair , it began. This game has gone on long enough. I almost bought that Lady Iris was just a fuck for you, but then we saw you kiss at the station. It was more than obvious what she means to you. If you want her back, you’ll bring a truck full of weapons, the same as you sold to the IRA, to my warehouse by the docks. You have 24 hours. Come alone and unarmed. Bishop Goddard.

At the bottom, he wrote the exact address of the warehouse. Rowland fisted the paper, and it crinkled between his fingers.

“Rowland?” Charles questioned. “What does it say?”

“He’s taken her.”

***

The last time Iris was this cold, she was sitting in a lifeboat in the North Atlantic, watching Titanic sink into the ocean. But the air of her surroundings was too stale to be at sea. The whole drive, she’d tried to count how many turns they took, the minutes between them, and whether they went left or right, but she couldn’t keep track. She was too worried about where they were taking her, what would happen next, and if any harm was headed in Charles and Sybil’s direction.

When they’d arrived at their destination, they hauled her out of the car and into what she assumed was a building due to the lack of fresh air. Plus she heard a door clang shut behind them. After that, she was forced into a small chair, hands still tied behind her, while her ankles were secured to the chilly legs of the chair. She wondered how much time had passed.

Someone whipped the blindfold off her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the harsh lighting that greeted her. Then, that same someone took a bruising hold of her chin and forced her face forward. Hot, whiskey scented breath hit her cheek, and she cracked one eye open. She glanced around to get an idea of her surroundings. Wooden crates stood stacked around them, stamped with something she couldn’t make out, and dollies leaned against them. Metallic walls were on all sides, with no windows in sight. She must have been in a warehouse of some sort.

The young man before her had a long, thin face, but wide features, especially his eyes and mouth. His eyes were a muddy brown, with a wild gleam in them as they roved over her face. A chilling smile parted his thin lips as he looked over her body, still barely clothed in her nightgown and dressing gown. It had fallen open in the struggle against her captors.

“Rowland sure picked a pretty one, didn’t he?” the man said with a sneer. “Pleasure to meet you, Lady Iris. I’m Bishop Goddard.”

Iris spat in his face. He jumped back with a yelp, wiping her saliva out of his eye.

“Well,” he said. “I see even ladies forget their manners.”

She said nothing. Mostly because she didn’t have the words to respond to him. Anger and vitriol consumed part of her, and the other was overrun with fear. She knew what this man was capable of, and in the time it took for Rowland to find her, she could easily be returned to him with scars. Physical and otherwise.

But that thought caught her attention. She had no doubt that Rowland was coming for her. It didn’t matter that they had a fight or were possibly done for good. He would never let her be sacrificed in this war between him and Goddard.

And suddenly, it was all clear. Rowland was right—she had been afraid to trust him. And it turned out she trusted him all along, she just didn’t know it. But it was automatic, engraved in her soul. There was no other reason she got a tattoo to commemorate her connection to him, and why she had absolute faith he would come to her rescue. More than anything, she believed in him. All her doubt had disappeared.

“You needn’t worry,” Bishop said. “As long as your darling Rowland gets me what I want, no harm will come to you.”

“I needn’t worry, Mr. Goddard,” Iris repeated coolly. “Because if any harm does come to me, my darling Rowland will make sure it’s the last thing you ever do.”